Chapter 4

Nyx's Pov

Alden kept his eyes on the road, and I leaned back slightly, wondering what he had to do with me. He had found me even before I was able to find him.

Alden Black Lombardi. A ruthless mafia lord who killed with cruelty and didn't care about anything else other than what he wanted to do. Gary was supposed to lead me to him, but instead, he was killed and I was captured by this guy instead. So, obviously there was going to be a change of plans.

The car ride felt endless, the city lights flickering like fleeting memories as they streaked past the windows. Yeah… Memories. They began to resurface in my head.

Three years ago, I was captured by a mafia gang and sold to another gang. I was ten at that time, and I had to fight for my life amongst the other girls. Older, more ruthless girls who had been there for a very long time. Some of them had gotten pregnant, some of them had been killed off. The situation I was in was either you survive, or you die. A situation that most of us in this world found ourselves in.

The gang I was sold to was called the Iron Claw and at that time, their cruelty knew no bounds. Women, to them, were not human beings and instead, were properties, tools to be discarded. I was thrown into a room with about fifty other girls who died one by one. The older girls quickly established dominance over us.

One girl, Naomi, had tried to fight back. She refused to comply with their orders, screaming at them with a defiance that could have inspired us all if we weren’t so terrified. But that defiance cost her everything as they made an example out of her, dragging her into the courtyard one cold night. We were all forced to watch as they beat her to death, her screams echoing in my ears. Her blood stained the concrete, and I knew then that this place wasn’t just a prison, it was hell. It was my awakening.

I survived by being invisible. I never drew attention to myself, keeping my head down and doing as I was told. But that didn’t mean I escaped their observation entirely. One of the leaders, a man named Victor, took a particular interest in me. His eyes were always on me, leering at me like I was some prize he was waiting to claim.

One night, he cornered me in the back corridors of their hideout. I still remember the smell of cheap whiskey on his breath and the feel of his rough hands grabbing me. I fought back, scratching and kicking with every bit of strength I had, and somehow, I managed to grab a broken piece of glass from the ground.

I didn’t hesitate.

I drove it into his shoulder, the glass sinking deep into his flesh.

His roar of pain echoed through the building, and I knew I was done for. But instead of killing me, Victor laughed. He yanked the glass out of his shoulder, blood dripping down his arm, and smiled like he had found his next toy.

“You’ve got fire, little girl.” He said, his voice laced with malice, “I like that.”

From that night on, he made my life a living hell. He didn’t kill me outright, no, that would have been too easy. He broke me down piece by piece, starving me, locking me in dark, suffocating rooms for days at a time, and forcing me to watch as he tormented the others. But that was his mistake.

By keeping me locked up, but still in the midst of his men, I was able to observe how they behaved, how they fought, I learnt them all. So I began to plan my escape.

They didn't have a lot of men in their gang, but due to their iron fists that they used to reign over us, we were scared of them, but fear can only go so far.

I wasn’t the only one. There was an older girl, Helena, who had been there longer than most of us. She was ruthless, even to the other girls, but I could tell it was a survival mechanism. She didn’t trust anyone, not even me. But when I started whispering about escape plans in the darkness of our shared cell, she listened.

“We’ll die trying.” She had said, her voice barely audible.

“We’re dead already if we don’t.” I replied.

From then on, we worked together in the shadows. Helena knew things I didn’t, she had been there longer and knew where the guards got lazy, where they hid their weapons. I had the fire, and she had the knowledge.

The night we struck was the night Victor decided to make an example out of another girl. Her name was Lydia. She was barely seventeen, and she had tried to smuggle food for one of the younger girls. Victor dragged her into the courtyard, and the rest of us were forced to line up and watch.

That was the moment Helena and I had been waiting for.

While Victor and his lackeys were distracted, we moved. Helena slipped a sharpened piece of metal, stolen from a broken gate into my hand. My heart pounded as we crept toward the storage room where the guards kept their weapons.

Inside, there were three men. They were supposed to be on watch, but they were laughing, playing cards, and passing a bottle of whiskey around. They didn’t hear us until it was too late.