Chapter 3

My first night back at the Davis estate, sleep was a stranger.

The withdrawal hit hardest in the dead of night.

Curled up in bed, I shook with chills, my pajamas drenched in cold sweat. Memories assaulted me: my dad getting shot, my mom's last scream, the red liquid Adrian handed me...

I remembered my first kill at 18: a traitor. Francis had shoved a gun in my hands and said, "Show your loyalty."

I pulled the trigger, and the bullet found its mark.

I spent that night throwing up, while Francis sat silently by my bed, patting my back with a tenderness that then felt like a distant memory.

At 3:00 a.m., I stumbled to the kitchen for water. As I passed the study, I overheard Francis talking.

"I refuse to believe she doesn't love me, that all these years mean nothing to her," he said.

I froze outside the door.

The butler's voice came through, saying, "Don't rush it, Don. After the wedding, you'll have all the time in the world to shape her."

"I can't wait that long," Francis replied, his voice icy. "She's getting out of hand, talking back to me, today of all days."

The medicine's magic had faded, and the butler knew it. "She'll be back, begging for more when the pain's too much," he said.

However, Francis was pensive. "And if she doesn't beg?"

With a weary sigh, the butler said, "Then, Don, you'll have to handle her. Just like her parents."

Francis' voice sharpened. "Are you asking for trouble?"

"I misspoke, Don. It's just... Ms. Stewart might turn on us. However, you can always lock her up in the basement. Maybe even start a family. She'll come around eventually."

My fingers clawed into the wooden doorframe, splinters biting into my skin.

I should have seen that coming. Francis would do anything to keep me under his thumb.

The next morning, Nora's knock was soft but urgent. "Natalie, get ready. Francis wants you at the club tonight."

"No way," I said.

"He insists. You're going." Nora stepped in, voice hushed as she said, "Mr. Collins will be there too. He said...it's your chance."

I eyed her. "Chance for what?"

"Your ticket out." She slipped me a note with an address and a time. "Stick to the plan."

I gripped the note, nodding once.

...

The Davis family's club was a playground for the high-stakes crowd, a haven for the allied families' vices.

Francis held court at the poker table, a redhead on one arm, Nora on the other. Nora's dress left little to the imagination. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes darted around, restless.

I hung back at the bar, nursing a glass of water. Bernard sidled up next to me.

"Holding up okay?" he asked.

"Still kicking."

Bernard fell silent for a moment before asking, "Did Nora give you the stuff?"

"Uh-huh." I gave a noncommittal grunt, not elaborating further.

Bernard let out a wry chuckle. "If Francis ever learns the truth, he'll hunt me down no matter where I go."

I turned to face him. "You don't have to help me, you know."

There was a touch of sympathy in Bernard's eyes. "I really admire you, but I think you're in deep trouble... And I'm not talking about the physical aspect because Francis really cares about you."

"I don't want his care."

I glanced over at Francis, who was seated at the head of the table. He was watching Bernard and me with a brooding look. I could not tell how long he had been observing us.

Out of the blue, Francis said, "Bernard, let's make a thrilling bet."

Bernard arched an eyebrow. "On what?"

"The drug supply chain in Westborough," Francis said.

"Ha! You know that's not what I'm after." Bernard turned to look at me, and all eyes followed. "If I win, Natalie's mine for the night."