I'll feed you, as long as you play nice

The dim light of the alleyway barely illuminated the figure sprawled on the ground—lifeless, blood pooling beneath him. The sight sent a jolt of terror through Sherry's veins. Beside the body stood the man who had chased her relentlessly: Dallion Cross. His suit was pristine, not a drop of blood on him, despite the carnage at his feet. With an almost casual grace, he took a step toward her, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

Sherry's instincts kicked in, and she bolted. She tried to run, but the weight of fear and exhaustion made her legs feel like they were dragging through quicksand. Maybe a rabbit could hop away faster, but she was no rabbit. She was shackled—metaphorically and literally—to the darkness Dallion embodied.

"Run, little bird," Dallion called, his voice calm, taunting, as he began to follow her, not in a rush. "You know you won’t get far."

Sherry's heart raced in her chest as she tried to put distance between them, but the sound of his polished shoes clicking on the pavement grew louder, closing in on her. And before she could even comprehend it, Dallion was right behind her. Desperate, she whirled around, breathless and cornered.

"Don't come any closer!" she shouted, her voice trembling, trying to muster some courage, though she knew it was useless.

Dallion's dark eyes glittered with amusement as he stopped, tilting his head at her audacity. "For someone who has spent their whole night running," he said, his voice silky smooth, "you have some nerve talking back to me."

There was a coldness in his smile, a mockery in his eyes that made her skin crawl. Sherry could feel her throat tighten, her pulse hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it. But she held her ground, refusing to let him see her fear.

"I didn't ask you to come after me," Sherry managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt.

He chuckled, a low sound that echoed in the empty street. "Yet here we are. You run, I follow. It's our little game, isn't it, Sherry?" He moved closer, circling her like a predator toying with its prey. "But games have consequences. Disappearing like that, making me come find you…" He clicked his tongue. "You know I don’t like when people waste my time."

Sherry's eyes darted around, searching for an escape, but there was none. She was trapped. "I'm not yours!" she blurted out, her voice trembling. "You had no right to—"

"You’re mine," Dallion interrupted, his tone darkening. "I don't care what deals were made or who told you otherwise. The moment you stepped into my world, you were marked mine." His eyes narrowed, the playful edge gone. "And I don’t tolerate defiance."

"You bought me like a piece of property," Sherry spat, her anger flaring despite the danger. "I'm not some pawn in your empire."

Dallion stopped, his smile fading as he looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "Maybe you’re not a captive," he mused, his voice barely a whisper, "but you belong to me now." He paused, and Sherry felt a shiver run down her spine. "It doesn’t matter whether you came willingly or not."

Sherry could barely breathe, the weight of his words sinking into her. It was like being pulled into quicksand, every step only dragging her deeper into his control. Desperation clawed at her chest. "I’m not like the others!" she protested. "I don’t have any reason to—"

"Reason?" Dallion echoed, his eyes narrowing as he stalked toward her, slow and deliberate. "You think this is about reason? You should know better than that. You were running from the start, weren’t you? Trying to escape something bigger than yourself."

Sherry took a step back, her pulse spiking as she saw the raw intensity in his gaze. He was circling her again, the dangerous glint in his eyes never leaving her.

"I don’t want to be part of this world," she whispered, more to herself than him.

"That’s unfortunate." Dallion stopped abruptly in front of her, his hand reaching out and gripping her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him. "Because whether you want it or not, you’re in it. And running only makes it worse."

Her heart pounded as she stared into his cold, unrelenting eyes. She was trapped, and she knew it.

Dallion's grip loosened slightly, and he released her with a smirk. "I can see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours," he said softly, his tone almost gentle, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. "Thinking of calling for help?" His eyes flickered toward the end of the alley where a couple walked by, unaware of the danger so close to them.

"Go ahead," he whispered darkly. "But remember, Sherry, if you involve them…" He tilted his head toward the dead man on the ground. "I won’t hesitate to make an example of them. I’ll shoot their brains out before you even blink."

A chill ran down her spine, her blood turning cold at the casual cruelty in his voice. She glanced toward the couple, her last glimmer of hope fading as she realized there was no escape. Not for her. Not for them.

Dallion smiled as if reading her thoughts. "Good girl. I knew you’d see reason eventually." He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, but betray me again, and I’ll show you just how ruthless I can be."

"You left me starving," Sherry whispered, her throat dry as she clung to whatever dignity she had left.

Dallion smirk widened. "I’ll feed you," he replied easily. "You’ll have everything you need. As long as you play nice."

There was a sinister gleam in his eyes, a hunger that went beyond mere control. He wanted her obedience, yes—but more than that, he wanted to break her spirit. To mold her into something he could claim as his own.

Sherry stomach churned with dread. "Why did you kill him?" she asked, her voice small.

Dallion's expression darkened, the brief flicker of amusement vanishing. "He was in the way," he said coldly, the words cutting through the air like a blade. "You see, in my world, people are either useful or expendable. And he had outlived his usefulness."

Sherry heart sank, but she knew better than to push further. She had seen the truth in his eyes: there was no reasoning with a man like Dallion Cross.

"Let’s go," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He motioned for her to follow, his hand gripping her arm as he led her toward the sleek black car different from what he'd used yesterday, parked at the end of the alley.

As they reached the car, Sherry stumbled, her foot catching on something sharp. She winced in pain, her breath hitching as she realized she had stepped on a shard of glass. The pain shot through her leg, but she bit her lip, refusing to show weakness in front of him.

Dallion noticed immediately. He opened the car door and helped her inside, his grip firm but not harsh. Once they were seated, he glanced at her leg.

"Show me," he demanded, his voice low.

Sherry hesitated, but the look in his eyes left no room for disobedience. Slowly, she raised her leg, revealing the wound.

Without a word, Dallion pulled out a handkerchief from his suit pocket. He wrapped it around her foot, tying it tightly to stop the bleeding. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but Sherry knew better than to mistake it for kindness.

"You might be free of the shackles," Dallion said, releasing the heavy chains on her, his voice soft but dangerous, "but don’t forget—you belong to me now."

He leaned back in his seat, a dark smile playing on his lips as the car began to move, carrying them deeper into the shadows of his empire. And Sherry, despite the freedom from her chains, knew she would never truly be free. Not as long as Dallion Cross had his hold on her.