**CAITLIN**
I've had it.
"Keep looking at me like that and I'll rip your eyeballs out." I snapped at the pervert sitting across from me in the van.
His smirk only widened. His tongue flicked out in a slow, deliberate circle, and my stomach turned. I lunged forward, ready to claw his face off, but Micah grabbed my arm and yanked me back down.
"Leave me, Micah," I demanded, trying to wrench free.
"Control her before I do it myself." The creep muttered.
"Pavlo, lower your fucking eyes and stop making her uncomfortable before I kill you myself," Yurik said from across the van, his voice casual but his hand already on the knife at his side. He gave Pavlo a hard hit on the head, and the message was clear. Pavlo looked away immediately.
I turned my glare to Micah and mouthed a single word. Idiot.
Yurik leaned back, twirling his switchblade between his fingers. "I don't get why she's even here," Micah roared. "She's got no business in this mess."
Yurik didn't even look up from his knife. "She can help pay off your debt."
My blood ran cold. The implication sat heavy in the air.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Micah's voice went hard and flat. Dangerous. But Yurik didn't answer. Just kept twirling that blade.
"What the fuck, man? She's innocent!" Micah was on his feet now, his face twisted with regret for every bad choice that had led him here.
"Look, I know what happened wasn't your fault. I'm trying to help you but you're being a pain in my ass." Yurik snapped, his fingers never stopping their deadly dance with the knife.
"If you think you're going to sell off my sister," Micah started, and before he could finish, Yurik was on him. He grabbed Micah by the collar and pressed the tip of his knife against his throat.
I gasped, my hands flying out.
"You remember who the fuck you're talking to, Micah. You and I are friends, but you and my brother are not, and he won't hesitate to put a bullet in your skull. This one," he pointed the blade at me, "is your way out. She's your ticket. So shut the fuck up and stop pissing me off." He shoved Micah away.
Micah opened his mouth to argue. I pinched his thigh hard enough to make him wince. He needed to listen.
The van came to a halt. Yurik grabbed my forearm and dragged me out onto the gravel. My head spun as I took in the sprawling mansion, the guards with assault rifles, the manicured grounds. We were on a hill overlooking the city.
"Don't even think about running unless you want to be chased by a Rottweiler." Yurik's voice was low in my ear. Close enough that I could see the tattoo behind his ear.
My stomach dropped. I knew that tattoo.
"I wasn't going to." I bit out, trying to ignore the dread pooling in my gut.
"Good." He smiled and guided me inside.
The foyer was empty, vast, and cold. No photos. No furniture. Just white walls and echoes. This wasn't a home. It was a compound.
We descended into a basement that smelled of bleach. Concrete floors. A single table. This was where people didn't come back from.
"Wait here. I'll call my brother." Yurik gestured to a chair and left, locking the door behind him.
I sat down next to Micah, my knee bouncing. My head was already starting to pound.
"I don't want to hear it, Caitlin. I already know." Micah buried his face in his hands.
The door opened.
"I don't understand why he's still breathing, Yurik." A very familiar voice growled from the doorway. Deep. Accented. My entire body went rigid.
No. No, no, no.
"He's..." Yurik started.
"Who the fuck is that?" Dominic asked. I heard his footsteps approach. Felt him stop directly behind me.
"Is she sleeping or what?" Yurik asked before pinching my arm. I yelped and jumped up, swinging at him on instinct. He dodged, laughing.
"Dick," I whispered, rubbing my arm.
The room went silent.
I turned. Dominic stood frozen, staring at me with an expression of pure disbelief. He wore a black hoodie and grey sweats instead of his suit. His hair was disheveled, falling across his forehead in a way that made him look younger. Harder.
The danger that didn't advertise itself.
"What is this?" Dominic asked roughly, his gaze moving between me and Micah before settling on Yurik with a glare that could have burned through steel. Even Yurik's smile faltered.
"Don't get mad at me, Domo. She's Micah's sister and I..."
"What? That Micah will get immunity just because..." Dominic stopped mid-sentence. His jaw clenched. He was piecing it all together, and I could pinpoint the exact moment the realization hit him.
"You two, get out. I want to speak to Caitlin alone." He pointed at Micah and Yurik.
"I don't remember telling you her name," Yurik said quietly, his tone shifting. Testing.
"You're fucking insane if you think I'm leaving you alone with my sister." Micah stood, his palms hitting the table.
The gun was drawn and cocked in a heartbeat. Pointed directly at Micah's face. No hesitation.
"If I'm not mistaken, you shouldn't even be alive right now. So I suggest you calm yourself and get the fuck out." Dominic's voice was ice. His finger rested against the trigger.
My heart nearly stopped.
"Wait." I stood. "It's fine. I'll talk to him. Just leave." I practically begged. I could see the war happening behind Dominic's eyes. Eventually, he lowered the gun.
"He won't hurt her." I heard Yurik reassure Micah as they filed out. The door locked behind them.
Dominic stared at me. Then he stalked forward.
I tried to back away but he moved faster, grabbing my neck and pulling me toward him until we were nose to nose.
"Angel, was this a plan?" His voice was dangerously soft. "All of it? The bar. The nod. Letting me see your gun." His gaze dropped to my mouth. "That night. That sweet, tight pussy. Was it all a down payment for your brother's life?"
The accusation was so ridiculous, so infuriating, it burned away every ounce of fear in me. "Go to hell," I snapped, shoving against his chest, but it was like slamming my hands into a concrete wall. "If I were desperate enough to trade my body for his life, I'd have done it before you shot someone's kneecap out. I'm good, but I'm not a miracle worker."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He searched my face, my eyes, for a long, silent moment. The cold suspicion in his gaze finally fractured, replaced by something darker. Acceptance.
"No," he conceded, his voice a low rumble. "You're not."
He released me and stepped back. This wasn't softening. This was a strategic recalculation.
"Your brother owes me money. He screwed up the job, and now the bill's come due," Dominic said, his voice all business, the predatory glint in his eyes swapped for cold, hard calculation. "A dead man pays nothing. But a loyal one, and his sister, could be worth something."
He walked to the table and picked up the gun he'd dropped. "Your brother lives. On one condition."