❦•: 02– The Devil's Hour :•❦

❦•: ZARA :•❦

They said the time for the devil to come for you is at the witching hour.

I've been on edge since the clock started to tick on my head. After all, I'd gotten indebted to the Morozov Russian family. The largest, strongest and deadliest Mafia Empire in all of Chicago.

How a waitress for a fancy restaurant managed to get herself in deep debt with them is a story some might find ridiculous.

But I did it for love.

And now that debt had caught up to me.

My skin sizzled as I felt it. A presence in my room. My time was up but at least I hoped I'd get at least till the end of today before he came.

I guess not. My time was up.

My heart skidded in my chest as I opened my eyes and stared into darkness.

No, I'm not talking about the dark state of my room partly lit up by the moonlight.

I meant the real darkness. He was here and he was sitting across from me. The small wooden chair at the corner by the window made creaking sounds under the weight of his body.

I sat up slowly. The air suddenly felt so chill it froze the scream lodged in my throat. My hands gripped the bedsheet in attempt to control my quivering as the blanket slipped off my skin—It wasn't from the cold though.

This wasn't even about waking up my boyfriend sleeping beside me. His soft moans of protest from the loss of my body heat behind me did nothing to drag my attention to him.

Because it was stolen. By the man in the shadow. It was dark everywhere else but I could make out the outline of his body from the cast of the moonlight over him. Well, half of him.

And he was… big. Broad shoulders that's hunched forward. His large, strong arms rested on his knees, supporting the weight of his upper body. His legs were… spread apart to accommodate his frightful aura. His head is hooded by the jacket he wore.

I couldn't see his face or eyes or the color of it. But I know, they're pinned on me. I could feel the piercing intensity of his gaze on me.

But he'd said nothing since I woke up and found him sitting there. Watching me. How long had he been here?

I glanced at the clock on the wall but it's too dark to tell the time. It's probably way past midnight though. My fingers flexed at my side and I sucked in a low breath.

“You're here.” My voice is a whisper but the fright in them is not shaken off. He doesn't say a word to me or make a move. “Are you here to collect?”

Again. No answer. It made me feel dumb, as though I was talking to a statue and hoping it'd response back.

Statue don't talk. They're inanimate objects. But he's not.

Though I’ve heard rumors that no one knew what the collector sounded like.

Some said he was mute by choice. Others seemed to believe that it's not a mental disorder; a result of his torturous and dark past with the mafia. While some said that he doesn't talk to anyone except his master—the Morozov Russian Mafia's family head—and even then, barely.

Maybe he'd speak if I kept talking? I don't even know why I wanted to try or what had possessed me to think of that. It was beyond ridiculous.

“You know who I am?” The sudden sound of his voice coaxed a gasp from my mouth.

I didn't know what to expect his voice to sound like but I never expected it to sound like the richest, silkiest tone I've ever heard. It instantly made my core hum.

Oh. My. God. What the hell is wrong with me?!

I've never had this sort of reaction to any man in my entire existence and absurdly, to the sound of his fucking voice. But that's not what he was here for. He wasn't here to seduce you, I reminded myself.

He was here to collect the debt I owed his bratva.

And… I did not have it. Not enough. Not close. A quarter, maybe but he wasn't going to go home with that.

Now, I just know for a fact that my life was in grave danger. Honestly, I’d thought of running earlier. I’d leave the city or maybe the country where I wouldn’t be found and start all over. A new life. A new identity. I didn’t have much to lose either. I almost laugh at myself. Who was I kidding?

Running wasn't an option either. No one runs from the Russian Bratva. If it were possible, a lot of people would have succeeded. But no one can run from the Bravta and no one can run from the collector. He was a hound dog.

I've been cautious enough to know that's it's a useless act and those who did never lived to tell the tale.

The sound of my heartbeat pounded loudly in my ears and I managed to find my voice. “Yes. You're the collector.” My stomach tightens as the chair creaks under his weight and my response. “You’re here to collect… my debt.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the sudden onslaught of dread that threatened to rock my core. I knew there was no escaping. No sliver of hope against my fate. I’d made my bed and now I was about to lay in it.

I looked behind me, at Alan’s sleeping form. All of this had been for him after all.

They said love made you do crazy things. I’d simply been an ordinary girl in love and I knew Alan would have done the same for me. I never regretted my action even now when the ghost of the underworld sat across from me, in a chair too small to fit his size.

I steeled my resolve. If I were going to die at least I’d be doing it for the sake of the man I love.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I slowly let the air slip out of my mouth and I held his gaze. “Unfortunately though, I don't have it.” My face cracked with a smile but it freezed on my face. “There was no way I could have work up three million dollars in half a year. I’m just a simple waitress with no living relative.” I mutter, not entirely sure why I was telling him all that. He probably didn't care about my sob story. I'm sure a lot of people must have done so too, to win his sympathy.

I knew there was none coming to me but…

Perhaps deep down, I hoped the collector would somehow find said empathy and miraculously spare my life. Or perhaps he’d be considerate enough to let me have more time to work up my debt. I didn’t know how else I was going to do that though.

Even if I worked three jobs at once, there was no freaking way in hell that I’d be able to pull that off unless I partook in a heist to rob a bank or some big organization, which of course, is out of the option for me.

When he doesn’t say anything, my hopes began to crumble. Of course, there was no way in hell he’ll spare me. It was impossible and a far-fetched hallucination. But I couldn’t help but hope. All in all, it was just wishful thinking.

“Are you going to kill me now?” I wasn’t ready to die but this was just inevitable. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared shitless right now. My fate was basically hanging in the balance that is his hands.

But then, his body rose up from the chair. His form hulking and powerful. I had to crane my neck just to look at him. I couldn’t see his face but I couldn’t look away either. It was as though I was being pulled by an ether being. A force so magnetic that I completely ignored that fate of my death to get lost in the red-hot danger aura he was oozing.

Then my back meets the wall before I even realize that I’d moved from my spot. His powerful form caged me in and the reaction it coax out of me has me bristling with shock. Heat formed at my core and a shiver ran down my spine but it wasn’t from fear.

It was because I was… aroused.

In a moment where I should be cowering in fear, I was aroused.

When his big, calloused hand palmed my face, my shivering ignited into flames. Then the pad of his thumb traced my lips and my body tingled from his touch. I wanted to suddenly lick the pad of his thumb. Suck it into my mouth and wrap it with my—oh shit.

I think I’ve lost my mind. I had a boyfriend and he was asleep behind us. But here I am thinking obscene thoughts about a man that’s about to end my life.

Somehow the fear that coursed through me had shifted into something else. Something twisted and depraved the moment he touched me.

Then his hand slid down my neck. I felt his large hand trail over my collarbones before retracing the same path upward. Then that big, calloused hand strongly wrapped around my neck. Firmly but not enough to block my air flow.

Now, I was completely at his mercy but it feel like a different kind of mercy. One that’s not born from the expectation of my untimely demise.

Somehow, the hood of his black leather shirt had pulled back and his face caught the light fleeting into my room from the moonlight.

The moment our eyes locked, I lost my breath.