Bring her back

Sherry's stomach growled, the fierce hunger gnawing at her insides as she stared at the lavish spread before her. Plates of roasted meat, warm bread, and delicacies filled the large oak table, but not a single bite had been offered to her. She shifted in on the floor, trying to ignore the pangs of hunger as the man across from her—Dallion Cross, one of the most feared mafia dons in the underworld—ate in silence. His jaw moved slowly, chewing methodically, like a predator savoring its prey.

Her fingers clenched around the wooden armrest of the close to her as she tried to suppress the urge to lunge at the food. This was a test. Everything with these men was always a test. She had thought she could trust him because he'd saved her from that hall called Bluebeard of Bone lake city—just maybe—but Dallion had proven to be a different kind of monster. One who could afford to buy and sell anyone, even her. The realization hit her like a bullet, lodging deep in her chest.

Eyes burning with brimming tears, Sherry looked away from the table, letting her gaze settle on the wall. A painting hung there, of a stag in a forest, eerily peaceful yet unsettling with its blood-red eyes staring back at her. It felt like an omen, a reminder of the world she was now trapped in—caged and hunted. She lowered her eyes to the ground, resolving to stay quiet until Dallion was done. If she made a wrong move, she knew how quickly things could go from bad to worse.

In the eerie silence of the room, the only sound was the clink of silverware against silk wares. Not once did he glance in her direction, and not once did he offer her a scrap of food. That was how it worked in his world. Sherry was no more than an object to be traded, bought, and used as he saw fit. She’d been foolish to think she could have been anything more. Her heart had betrayed her logic when she saw him earlier, disarming smile and all.

Sherry couldn’t afford to be stupid anymore. Not here. Not now. Her eyes darted toward the hallway she’d seen earlier, the back door that led out into the night. She could still picture it, slightly ajar, almost beckoning to her. Freedom was close—if she could just get to it.

Taking in a slow breath, she began to formulate her plan. If she could slip out unnoticed, make it past his guards, and find her way into the center side of city, she might have a chance. There, she would be free. No more chains. No more masters. She clenched her jaw, the image of the back door glowing in her mind like a beacon.

Sherry shifted her legs, moving just enough for Dallion to take notice. His cold, calculating eyes flickered up to her face, freezing her in place.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice like gravel scraping against concrete.

She forced her face into a frown, feigning discomfort. “I… need to use the bathroom.”

Dallion didn’t speak for a moment. He merely stared at her, his gaze pinning her to the chair next to her, suspicion gleaming in his dark eyes. Time stretched painfully. Sherry could feel her pulse thundering in her ears, her palms growing slick with sweat. Was he going to say no?

“Bring her back,” he finally commanded, turning to the servant who had been waiting by the door. “And don’t take too long. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

The servant, a tired-looking woman with hollow eyes, nodded and motioned for Sherry to follow her. Sherry glanced at Dallion one last time before rising from her seat and trailing behind the servant. The soft click of her chained feet echoed through the long, dimly lit corridor. Every step felt like a countdown, each one bringing her closer to freedom or disaster.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Sherry whispered, but the woman didn’t bother answering, merely trudging ahead as if Sherry's words didn’t exist. The servant seemed almost robotic, detached from everything around her—another cog in the well-oiled machine of Dallion's empire.

Finally, they reached the bathroom. The woman pushed the door open without a word, standing aside. As Sherry stepped in, she caught snippets of hushed voices from down the hall.

“kate ,” called another servant urgently. “Mistress needs you.”

“I’m with Mr. Cross,” the servant, kate, replied with a huff of annoyance.

“It’s important. Some of the kitchen staff say the knives are missing,” whispered the other girl, her voice tinged with panic.

Sherry's heart leaped into her throat. Knives? Missing? That wasn’t good. Not for anyone. Adding to the fact she'd just realized the hotel was owned by Dallion Cross.

“I’ll be back soon,” Kate said, throwing a glance Sherry’s way. “Stay put.”

Sherry nodded, but as soon as the servants disappeared down the hallway, she seized her moment. Slipping out of the bathroom, she crouched low, moving as quickly and quietly as her shackled legs would allow. The clink of the chains scraped against the marble floor, but she pressed on, eyes scanning for the back door. The air was thick with tension, her pulse racing with every step.

Finally, she saw it—the back door was open. Her breath caught in her throat. Freedom. She could almost taste it. Her legs burned from the effort of moving in the chains, but she pushed forward, the door growing larger with every step.

Just as she was about to step into the cool night air, something crashed to the ground in front of her—a heavy thud that shook her to her core.

A body.

Sherry froze, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the lifeless form crumpled on the ground, blood seeping from the woman’s head into the marble floor. Her eyes, still open, reflected nothing but darkness. Sherry’s mind raced. She had to keep moving—had to get out of here before anyone realized she was gone.

But her feet wouldn’t move. Her body wouldn’t let her leave.

“Miss?” she whispered, crouching beside the woman and shaking her. There was no response. Sherry’s fingers fumbled for the woman’s pulse, but she knew it was too late. The body was cold, the skin pale. The woman was dead, her blood spreading like a crimson river under the moonlight.

Sherry stumbled back, the sight of the blood chilling her to the bone. Panic clawed at her throat. She had to get out of here. She turned to run but collided with a wall of muscle. Dallion stood before her, his face like stone, eyes burning with something dangerous.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he growled, his voice low and threatening.

Sherry stammered, “Th-there’s a dead body—outside. She’s—”

Dallion's expression darkened as he pushed past her, striding out to the back door. Moments later, he returned, his face grim, eyes colder than ever before. Without a word, he grabbed her arm, yanking her back inside. His grip was iron, unyielding, and Sherry flinched as pain shot through her arm.

“Where are you taking me?” she gasped, but he didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge her question. Instead, he dragged her through the dim hallways, back into the hotel’s shadowy interior.

Finally, he shoved her into a small, windowless room, locking the door behind her. The sound of the key turning in the lock echoed ominously, and Sherry felt her heart sink. She was trapped.

“Oh God,” she whispered, sinking to the floor. What had just happened? That woman—why had she been killed? And why had Dallion locked her away like some kind of prisoner?

Her thoughts raced, fear gripping her tighter than the chains on her ankles. There was no way out. No escape.

And as Sherry looked around the small, suffocating room, the reality of her situation settled in.

This was her life now.

The door rattled, and she heard the lock turning again. The door creaked open slowly, and when Dallion stepped inside, his eyes were filled with a deadly promise.

“You thought you could run, didn’t you?” His voice was low, menacing. "You'll learn soon enough, Sherry In my world, there's no such thing as escape."