My breath came in sharp, shallow bursts as I stared at Marcus's lifeless body, the pool of blood around him spreading like ink on a parchment.
I hadn't done this. I couldn’t have done this. Could I?
A jolt of panic coursed through me, snapping me out of my frozen state. I backed away, my gaze darting around the room. The shadows on the walls seemed alive, coming closer to me. I needed to think, to move, but my legs felt like lead.
Get out. Now.
The thought screamed in my head, and suddenly, I was moving. I turned on my heel and stumbled toward the door, my heart hammering so loudly I could barely hear the sound of my own footsteps. My mind raced. Someone had killed Marcus.
Someone else was in that room, watching me.
As I reached for the doorknob, my eyes caught a glint of something on Marcus's wrist. A bracelet—or no, an emblem. It was black and silver, a wolf's head snarling in mid-roar, etched into the metal. The sight of it sent a chill down my spine.
The Wolfe Syndicate.
A sickening realization hit me. Marcus wasn’t just a dangerous man-—he was affiliated to dangerous men. The rumors I'd heard, the whispers of their brutality, their reach... I’d walked straight into a lion’s den without even knowing it.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. Whatever that emblem meant, I couldn't worry about it now. My priority was escaping before anyone else walked through that door.
I wrenched it open and bolted, the hallway spinning around me as adrenaline flowed through my veins. The building was unusually quiet, every step I took echoing louder than it should.
The air outside hit me like a slap, cool and sharp, but it did nothing to calm my nerves. I pulled my coat tighter around me as I slipped into the maze of alleys that crisscrossed the city. The dim streetlights cast sporadic pools of light, but the darkness in between was deep.
My thoughts scattered. Who had killed Marcus? Why had they left me alive? And why the hell did they drop the knife? None of it made sense.
Footsteps behind me. I froze, my breath catching. I glanced over my shoulder, but the alley was empty.
Keep moving, I told myself. It’s just your imagination.
I quickened my pace, my heels clicking against the pavement. The footsteps followed, faint at first but growing louder and heavier. They weren't mine.
“Stop.”
The voice was low and guttural, almost a growl.
I spun around, my heart lurching into my throat. A man stepped out of the shadows, his face obscured by the hood of his jacket.
“Stay back,” I warned, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
The man didn’t respond. He just kept advancing, his movements deliberate.
I turned to run, but another figure blocked my path. Then another. Three men in total, their faces cold and unreadable.
“Leave me alone!” I shouted, but my voice sounded weak, even to me.
The first man rushed forward, and I tried to dodge, but he was too fast. His hand clamped around my arm like a chain, yanking me backward.
“Let go of me!” I struggled, kicking and clawing, but it was no use.
“Keep quiet,” he growled.
The second man grabbed my other arm, and together they dragged me toward the street as the third man followed behind. I fought against them, my chest heaving, but their grip was strong.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded, but they didn’t answer.
We turned a corner, and my blood ran cold.
The building.
They were dragging me back to the room I had just escaped.
“No!” I screamed, thrashing wildly. “I didn’t do anything!”
They ignored me, hauling me through the door and down the hallway. My heels scraped against the floor, my attempts to dig them in a waste.
When we reached the room, they shoved the door open and threw me inside. I stumbled, barely catching myself before hitting the floor.
And then I saw him. Alexander Wolfe.
The rumours were true. Handsome and firece. Having a sick mother in my hands has made me miss what it means to fantasize about sexy, handsome, and well built men. Seeing him now, I almost did. The situation I was in helped me recollect my thoughts.
He sat in the chair Marcus had occupied earlier, his elbows resting on the armrests, his fingers steepled in front of him. His dark eyes locked onto mine with an anger that made my blood turn to ice.
Alexander Wolfe, the man behind the syndicate. The man who could make people disappear with a single word.
He was terrifyingly calm, but his scrunched up face reflected the anger radiating from him like heat from a furnace.
“Cassandra I presume,” he said, his voice low and measured.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Alexander’s gaze flicked to the body on the floor—Marcus, still lying in that pool of blood—and then back to me.
“What,” he said slowly, dangerously, “did you do?”
I shook my head, panic clawing at my throat. “It wasn’t me! I swear, I didn’t—”
“Don't lie to me.”
His voice was like a whip, cutting through the air and silencing me instantly.
“I-I didn’t kill him,” I stammered. “When the lights went out, someone else was in the room. I didn’t see who, but—”
Alexander raised a hand, and I fell silent.
“You expect me to believe that someone else killed Marcus, and you just happened to be standing there?”
“I don’t know how the knife got into the room!” I cried, the desperation in my voice rising. How did he find out I held the knife?, I thought to myself.
Alexander stood, his movements deliberate and scary. He walked toward me, and I instinctively stepped back, but there was nowhere to go.
“It’s either the CCTV footage is wrong or you're wrong, and I trust the camera more since his body is barely cold and there's no way anyone could’ve tampered with the footage so soon. That means, you're lying.” he said, his tone icy.
“I’m not!” I insisted, my voice cracking. “Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t do it.”
He stopped inches away from me, towering over me like a storm cloud.
“You killed the one man I've been searching for, for a long time,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “and you think you can lie your way out of it?”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I didn’t kill him,” I said, my voice barely audible. “I didn't.”
Alexander’s eyes burned into my pair of blue eyes and for a moment, I thought I saw something there—doubt? No, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“You have no idea what you've done,” he said, his voice cold and final. “But you're about to find out.” The door slammed shut behind me, and I realized with chilling clarity that there was no escape.
The sharp antiseptic smell of the hospital clung to the back of my throat as I sat on the edge of the hard plastic chair, my fingers twisting nervously in my lap. The beeping monitor by my mother’s bedside echoed softly in the small, quiet room. She was asleep, or at least pretending to be. I couldn’t tell anymore.Her weak frame seemed even smaller under the hospital blankets, her once vibrant presence dimmed by endless chemo sessions and too many nights of pain. My heart twisted as I looked at her, guilt warring with helplessness.The soft vibration of my phone in my jacket pocket startled me. I pulled it out quickly, glancing down at the screen. "Pickup at 7th and Dock. Don’t be late."The message was from a number I didn’t recognize, but I knew who it was. It always worked that way—anonymous messages, coded words, no questions. The clock on the wall read 9:15 p.m. I didn’t have much time.“Who is it?” My mother’s voice was weak, but her tone was sharp, cutting through the quiet ro
The ride to Velvet Mirage was a blur of neon lights and fear. My head throbbed as I tried to piece together what just happened. My package—my lifeline—was gone. I kept replaying the attack in my head: the rough shove from behind, the way my knees scraped against the pavement, and the speed at which they snatched it from my grip. I should have fought harder. I should have done something. But what could I do against two men?The bus jolted to a stop, and I staggered out, the sticky night air clinging to my skin. The club's glowing red sign loomed ahead. “Velvet Mirage,” it read, flickering slightly, just like the stability in my life.I shoved the door open and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of sweat, cheap perfume, and the faint smell of spilled alcohol. The bass of the music vibrated through my chest, and the chatter of customers blurred with the click of heels against the shiny floor.I was late—again.The manager, Ricardo, was perched at the bar, his sharp eyes scanni
Ricardo’s silence was louder than the bass thrumming through the club. I stared at him, silently pleading for a miracle, but his shoulders sagged under Olivia Steele’s hawk-like glare.“Are you going to let this slide, Ricardo?” Olivia asked with barely restrained anger. “Do you really want to test my patience tonight?”“Ms. Steele,” Ricardo began, his voice measured, almost desperate. “I can’t afford to lose you as a patron. You know that. But Cassie is—”“Expendable,” Olivia interrupted, brushing off his weak defense. “You can replace her with someone competent by tomorrow. I don’t want excuses.”I felt my chest tighten as humiliation burned in my cheeks. My job wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine. Losing it over one stupid mistake? It wasn’t fair.“Ricardo,” I said, stepping forward, my voice trembling but determined. “Please, let me fix this. I’ll pay for the dress. I’ll—”“Pay for my dress? Is that a joke? Olivia snapped, her icy gaze locking on me. “Wait, you serve drinks and what
The door to Marcus Wayne’s private room creaked open, and I stepped inside hesitantly. My heels clicked against the hardwood floor, a sound that felt deafening in the suffocating silence. The dim light cast long shadows across the elegant yet eerie room, with its heavy drapes and dark leather furniture. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to walk out of this mess, but I couldn’t. My boss’s warning echoed in my mind."A favor for a favor is how things are run," he’d said, his tone leaving no room for argument.Marcus sat in a chair by the fireplace, the flames casting an eerie glow on his sharp features. His dark eyes fixed on me as if he could read every thought I was desperately trying to conceal. The corners of his mouth curled into a faint, almost predatory smile.I wrapped the coat tightly around my body instinctively. I only had my briefs for stripping on, as I wanted to get the job done as quickly as I could. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.I hesi
My breath came in sharp, shallow bursts as I stared at Marcus's lifeless body, the pool of blood around him spreading like ink on a parchment.I hadn't done this. I couldn’t have done this. Could I?A jolt of panic coursed through me, snapping me out of my frozen state. I backed away, my gaze darting around the room. The shadows on the walls seemed alive, coming closer to me. I needed to think, to move, but my legs felt like lead.Get out. Now.The thought screamed in my head, and suddenly, I was moving. I turned on my heel and stumbled toward the door, my heart hammering so loudly I could barely hear the sound of my own footsteps. My mind raced. Someone had killed Marcus.Someone else was in that room, watching me.As I reached for the doorknob, my eyes caught a glint of something on Marcus's wrist. A bracelet—or no, an emblem. It was black and silver, a wolf's head snarling in mid-roar, etched into the metal. The sight of it sent a chill down my spine.The Wolfe Syndicate.A sickeni
The door to Marcus Wayne’s private room creaked open, and I stepped inside hesitantly. My heels clicked against the hardwood floor, a sound that felt deafening in the suffocating silence. The dim light cast long shadows across the elegant yet eerie room, with its heavy drapes and dark leather furniture. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to walk out of this mess, but I couldn’t. My boss’s warning echoed in my mind."A favor for a favor is how things are run," he’d said, his tone leaving no room for argument.Marcus sat in a chair by the fireplace, the flames casting an eerie glow on his sharp features. His dark eyes fixed on me as if he could read every thought I was desperately trying to conceal. The corners of his mouth curled into a faint, almost predatory smile.I wrapped the coat tightly around my body instinctively. I only had my briefs for stripping on, as I wanted to get the job done as quickly as I could. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.I hesi
Ricardo’s silence was louder than the bass thrumming through the club. I stared at him, silently pleading for a miracle, but his shoulders sagged under Olivia Steele’s hawk-like glare.“Are you going to let this slide, Ricardo?” Olivia asked with barely restrained anger. “Do you really want to test my patience tonight?”“Ms. Steele,” Ricardo began, his voice measured, almost desperate. “I can’t afford to lose you as a patron. You know that. But Cassie is—”“Expendable,” Olivia interrupted, brushing off his weak defense. “You can replace her with someone competent by tomorrow. I don’t want excuses.”I felt my chest tighten as humiliation burned in my cheeks. My job wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine. Losing it over one stupid mistake? It wasn’t fair.“Ricardo,” I said, stepping forward, my voice trembling but determined. “Please, let me fix this. I’ll pay for the dress. I’ll—”“Pay for my dress? Is that a joke? Olivia snapped, her icy gaze locking on me. “Wait, you serve drinks and what
The ride to Velvet Mirage was a blur of neon lights and fear. My head throbbed as I tried to piece together what just happened. My package—my lifeline—was gone. I kept replaying the attack in my head: the rough shove from behind, the way my knees scraped against the pavement, and the speed at which they snatched it from my grip. I should have fought harder. I should have done something. But what could I do against two men?The bus jolted to a stop, and I staggered out, the sticky night air clinging to my skin. The club's glowing red sign loomed ahead. “Velvet Mirage,” it read, flickering slightly, just like the stability in my life.I shoved the door open and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of sweat, cheap perfume, and the faint smell of spilled alcohol. The bass of the music vibrated through my chest, and the chatter of customers blurred with the click of heels against the shiny floor.I was late—again.The manager, Ricardo, was perched at the bar, his sharp eyes scanni
The sharp antiseptic smell of the hospital clung to the back of my throat as I sat on the edge of the hard plastic chair, my fingers twisting nervously in my lap. The beeping monitor by my mother’s bedside echoed softly in the small, quiet room. She was asleep, or at least pretending to be. I couldn’t tell anymore.Her weak frame seemed even smaller under the hospital blankets, her once vibrant presence dimmed by endless chemo sessions and too many nights of pain. My heart twisted as I looked at her, guilt warring with helplessness.The soft vibration of my phone in my jacket pocket startled me. I pulled it out quickly, glancing down at the screen. "Pickup at 7th and Dock. Don’t be late."The message was from a number I didn’t recognize, but I knew who it was. It always worked that way—anonymous messages, coded words, no questions. The clock on the wall read 9:15 p.m. I didn’t have much time.“Who is it?” My mother’s voice was weak, but her tone was sharp, cutting through the quiet ro