ARIA
"Move." The man who'd just knocked out my kidnapper grabs my elbow, steering me through dark corridors. My head still throbs, but I can feel my rising anger burning brighter than the pain.
I dig in my heels. "I can walk by myself."
"Clearly." His grip doesn't loosen. "But this way's faster."
"In here." He pushes open a heavy metal door. The room is small, bare except for a cot and what looks like a makeshift bathroom behind a partition. My stomach churns at the sight.
He tosses some clothes at me. "Change."
I clutch the bundle, fighting back tears. "Turn around."
"You've got two minutes."
When he doesn't move, I swallow my pride and begged. "Please."
He turns his back, but stays by the door. No escape route for me.
My hands shake as I peel off my bloodied work uniform. The clothes he's given me are plain sweats, worn but clean. They smell like laundry detergent, so jarringly normal it makes my head spin.
"Time's up."
I've barely finished pulling on the shirt. It's huge on me, making me feel smaller, more vulnerable. "What are you going to do with me?"
"That depends on your father." He grabs my arm again. "Move."
The halls seem endless, a maze of concrete and door that I don't want to know what is behind them. I have seen enough horror in this place. Music grows louder as we walk - sounds like some kind of common area. My heart pounds harder with fear with each step we take.
We enter a large room that might have been a loading dock once. Now it's filled with mismatched furniture and about two dozens of men, all of whom stop talking to stare at us. The smell of cigarettes and food hits me - something Italian - making my empty stomach twist.
He shoves me into a chair at one of the tables. "Eat."
The plate he pushes in front of me looks like restaurant takeout. Under any other circumstances, I'd be starving. Now the sight of food makes me nauseous.
"I said eat."
"I'm not hungry." My voice comes out smaller than I mean it to.
His hand slams down on the table, making me jump. "From now on, you'll eat when I say eat. Speak when I say speak. This isn't a negotiation."
Something snaps inside me. Maybe it's fear, maybe it's rage at my father for whatever he did to put me here. Before I can think, my palm connects with his face.
His head turns slightly with the impact. When he looks back at me, his eyes are black with rage. In that moment, I realize just how badly I've miscalculated.
I'm not brave. I'm just scared enough to be stupid.
CASSIAN
The sting of her slap fades quickly. The audacity of it doesn't.
The room went still with everyone holding their breath. My men know what happens to people who challenge me. They've seen it. Some have even helped make examples of those who forgot their place and tried to challenge me.
But this girl—this slip of a thing with fire in her eyes—I wonder should I put a bullet in her head. But she's the leverage to get my money back. And damaged leverage is worthless.
I lean closer, keeping my voice low. "That was your one free shot."
She tries to bolt. I catch her arm, spin her back.
"Let go!" She struggles desperately.
"Sit down."
"Go to hell!"
My grip tightens. Not enough to bruise, but enough to make her feel it. "I said. Sit. Down."
She fights harder. Someone laughs—probably one of the newer guys who doesn't know better. I'll deal with that later.
"Boss." Viktor appears at my shoulder. Always the voice of reason. "Maybe we should—"
"Clear the room."
No one moves.
"NOW."
Chairs scrape and boots shuffle. In thirty seconds, we're alone. Just me and her.
I release her arm. She stumbles back, hits the wall. The fear in her face is clear now—in her rapid breathing, in the way she presses herself against the wall like she might pass through it if she tries hard enough.
Good. Fear I can work with.
"That display you just did? Never happens again." I keep my distance but maintain eye contact. "You're here because your father fucked up. How long you stay, how comfortable you are—that's up to him. And a little bit up to you."
"I don't know anything about—" She slides down the wall, a resigned expression on her face. The tears come silently at first, then build into sobs that shake her whole body.
A small part of me wants to comfort her. That part died as quickly as it came.
"When you're done crying, eat something. You'll need your strength." I turn away, pausing at the door. "And Aria? Don't try running again. Next time I won't be so gentle."
The sound of her sobs follow me down the hallway. Each one chips at something inside me—something I thought I'd buried years ago.
I find Viktor waiting in my office.
"You're going soft," he says without preamble.
"Excuse me?"
"Anyone else slaps you, they're dead before their hand comes down. But—"
"She's worth more alive."
"For now." He studies me. "So what happens when Silas pays up?"
"If."
"When." Viktor knows me too well to let this go. "What then?"
I pour two fingers of whiskey, buying time I don't need. We both know the answer.
"Then she goes home. And we never see her again."