CHAPTER FOUR: A CAGE WITH GOLDEN BARS

The car that came for me was black, silent, and smelled like gunpowder and leather. It felt dangerous

Two men in dark suits didn’t say a word as they opened the door. I slid into the backseat, holding the phone Diego gave me like it might explode.

As we drove away, I watched my neighborhood fade in the rear view mirror—cracked sidewalks, barking dogs, broken porch lights. I’d lived there my whole life. Now I was leaving it behind with nothing but a small backpack and my mother’s medicine schedule scribbled on a napkin. My heart ached thinking about her, alone, coughing, needing me.

We drove for what felt like hours, and I lost track of time. My mind spinning with worry and fear.

Then the gates appeared—tall, iron, and topped with spikes. They opened slowly, groaning like they were warning me.

The house wasn’t a house. It was a fortress.

Stone walls. Security cameras. Men with rifles, their faces hard and unfriendly. A wide driveway led to a sleek mansion with glass windows and sharp edges.

When I stepped out, I felt small. Like a bug they could step on without feeling a thing. One wrong move, and I could be crushed without anyone caring.

A maid opened the door, not smiling. “Follow me.”

I did.

Inside, the floors were marble. Cold. Too shiny. The air smelled like fresh roses and bleach. Everything was spotless, like no one actually lived here.

We passed through long hallways with silver frames and dark paintings on the walls. No family photos. No signs of warmth or laughter. Just shadows and secrets.

The maid opened a small wooden door at the far end. “Your room.”

I stepped in and swallowed hard.

It was barely bigger than a closet. One twin bed. One wooden chair. One window with bars. This wasn't a bedroom—it was a cell.

“This is where I stay?”

The maid gave a tight nod. “You’re not a guest.”

No. I was a prisoner with fresh sheets.

Before I could speak again, she left and locked the door behind me.

---

I sat on the bed and stared at the wall for a long time.

What had I gotten myself into?

What the hell had I done?

I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Not yet. Not while I still had to face him again.

A loud knock came. Wasn't soft nor gentle.

I opened the door slowly. A tall man with a scar running down his cheek handed me a small black bag.

“Uniform,” he said, shoving the bag into my hands.

“You wear this when you go to Torres’ club.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, even though I hated everything about this.

He walked off without any other word. I closed the door and unzipped the bag.

A black skirt. Tight. A white button-up shirt. Thin. No bra included. No panties. Just clothes meant to make me blend into a place where men stared and women smiled through pain.

I held the fabric and felt cold all over.

---

Later that night, another knock came, sharper this time.

I opened the door to see Diego leaning on his cane, looking like a storm in a suit.

“Follow me.”

I didn’t argue. My legs felt weak but I followed him.

He walked me down a different hallway—this one lined with framed newspaper articles. Headlines like “Blood on the Bay” and “Drug Kingpin Escapes Police Raid” stared back at me.

“Your job starts tomorrow,” he said without turning around. “I’ll drop you off myself.”

“You trust me to spy?”

“No,” he said flatly. “But I own enough of your life to take the risk.”

We reached a study room with dark bookshelves and a roaring fireplace. Diego pointed to a leather chair.

“Sit.”

I did, my hands clasped tightly in my laps.

He sat across from me, resting his cane on the arm of his chair.

“I’ve read everything on Santiago’s club,” he said. “But I need eyes. Ears. A pretty face that no one notices.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “So flattering.”

He gave a dry smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not special. You’re just not dangerous.”

His words hit harder than they should have.

I leaned forward. “I didn’t ask to be here. You pulled me in.”

He tilted his head. “No. Your brother dragged you in when he got involved with drugs he couldn’t pay for.”

I opened my mouth to defend Felix, but nothing came out.

“You want out?” he said. “Earn it. Do the job. Keep your mouth shut. Maybe then you’ll walk free again.”

His gaze dropped to my hands, which were shaking.

“You afraid?”

“I’m exhausted.” I said, my voice breaking.

“Good,” he said, standing slowly. “Fear keeps people sharp. Exhaustion keeps them obedient.”

I stood too, almost dizzy from anger. “You’re not a king, you know. Just a lonely man with too much power.”

He stared at me for a long, quiet second.

Then he smiled—and it wasn’t cruel this time. It was... amused.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said. “Careful. It’ll get you killed.”

He left, and the door closed behind him with a soft click.

---

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep.

The bed felt too clean. Too stiff. The silence was loud. I missed the soft wheeze of my mom’s breathing in the next room. The distant shouts from our neighbors. Even Carmen’s nasty voice telling me I’d never amount to anything.

Now I was in a stranger’s home, wearing borrowed clothes, risking my life for a man who didn’t care if I lived or died.

I turned my face into the pillow and whispered into the dark, “What am I doing?”

I didn’t know the answer.

All I knew was that the next morning, I would be face-to-face with the first mission of my life.

And Santiago Torres wasn’t the kind of man who liked new girls snooping through his secrets.