Chapter 1

“Why the fuc—”

The words in the book made my eyes widen. My gaze darted across the page, faster, almost afraid of what I’d find next.

He taps the tip of the gun on my mouth, effectively cutting me off. The rest of my words dissipate as he slides the gun across my lips as if he is painting them with lipstick.

My fingers tightened on the book, breath catching in my throat.

“Suck,” he orders, his tone deepening with finality. Closing my eyes against more tears, I open my mouth and let him guide the gun between my teeth. I squeeze my lids tighter as I twirl my tongue over the cold metal, cringing from the nasty taste.

My skin heated. My pulse thudded in my ears.

“Such a good girl,” he says, pulling the dripping gun out, a trail of saliva following until it snaps.

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, the words clinging to me, staining me.

My entire body locks when I feel the cool metal slide against my clit. I flinch against the foreign touch of an incredibly dangerous weapon.

“One bottle of Martell Chanteloup to the VIP table.”

The deep voice snapped me out of my trance. My head jerked up to see Marcus, the bar manager, leaning over the counter with his usual bored expression. Relief and panic tangled in my chest all at once, thank God he hadn’t noticed what I was reading.

I slammed the Haunting Adeline book shut and shoved it under the counter, my fingers trembling like I’d just been caught committing a crime.

My palms were damp. I wiped them on my apron and lifted the bottle from the cooler. The glass was cold against my fingers. The gold label caught the light as I walked through the crowd.

The VIP table sat at the back: low light, men in suits leaning back like they owned the room. A woman waved a pale hand, and the host nodded for me to come closer. I set the bottle down, popped the cork, and poured slowly so I wouldn’t spill. One man lifted his glass. “Nice,” he said, and I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

While I poured the drink, my mind kept slipping back to the page I had just read. I loved these books, the dangerous dark romances. They made me feel things I didn’t know how to say out loud. I am twenty and still a virgin, yet I craved the things I saw in those pages. Books let me go places I was too afraid to go in real life.

I slid the bottle back to the table and stepped away.

Lina showed up just then, hair in a messy bun, rubbing her eyes like she’d been dragged from a bad dream. “You?” she asked, already grabbing a towel.

I nodded. “Yeah. My shift’s over.”

Marcus gave me a quick nod, and I tucked the book into my bag. Lina patted my shoulder like she knew I was about to collapse from exhaustion, and I handed her the apron.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Outside, the cold night hit my skin. My breath puffed in little clouds. I slung the bag over my shoulder and started the walk home, the bar’s noise shrinking behind me, the city lights blurring into the usual. I pulled my collar up and kept my head down.

The streets were always quiet on my way home, just the hum of a far-off engine and the click of my boots against the ground. I cut through the narrow alley like I always did, it was faster, and I just wanted to get home.

But tonight, I stopped dead.

There was a man on his knees. His face was twisted with pain, his mouth open like he wanted to beg but the sound wouldn’t come. Another man stood over him, knife flashing under the weak light. My stomach dropped.

The blade plunged once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

A wet sound followed each thrust, and I choked on my breath. My hand flew to my mouth, but it was too late.

A scream ripped out of me.

The man with the knife looked up. And so did the other four men behind him, broad shoulders, dark coats, faces I couldn’t make out.

My legs shook so hard I almost collapsed. I wanted to run, but before I could take a step, an arm snaked around my neck from behind. A rough hand clamped over my mouth. My scream died against his palm, my breath hot and shallow.

The killer didn’t rush. He wiped the blade on a folded cloth, like he was just cleaning silverware after dinner. Then, slowly, he walked toward me.

Every step made my chest tighten. His boots scraped the concrete, steady, and unhurried. His eyes never left mine.

When he finally stopped in front of me, he didn’t speak. He just flicked his gaze toward the man holding me. The grip around my neck loosened. The hand left my mouth.

Now it was just me and him.

Eye to eye.

His presence swallowed me whole, tall, sharp, his face unreadable, like it had been carved from stone. Jawline sharp.

My throat burned as he wrapped his hand around it, his grip firm but not crushing. Cold steel pressed against my neck—the knife. I gasped, my bag slipping from my shoulder. It hit the ground with a dull thud, spilling open, and my book tumbled out.

He glanced down. The cover showed a girl in a tattered white dress, standing alone, shadows stretching around her. Black roses curled up the sides, thorns sharp, almost alive. The title dripped in blood-red letters across the top.

He bent, picked it up, and flipped it open. His eyes skimmed the page. Then his mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, a smirk, like he knew exactly what I had been reading.

And worse, he saw the notes. My handwriting in the margins, messy lines of ink: God, I wish someone would ruin me like this. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. Imagine the knife on me instead.

Heat exploded in my face. I wanted the ground to swallow me.

His eyes lifted back to mine, and I couldn’t breathe.

His grip on my neck tightened, pulling me forward until our faces were only inches apart. I felt the edge of the blade still grazing my skin. His voice was low, steady, and dangerous.

“Run.”

The word scraped down my spine.

“Run, and don’t look back. Don’t say a word to anyone.” His thumb pressed against my throat, and I flinched. His eyes narrowed. “Did you see anything?”

My lips trembled. The word barely escaped. “N-no. I didn’t… I didn’t see anything.”

He studied me for a few seconds, like he could see through the lie. Then, finally, he let go.

My body jolted free. I stumbled back, eyes wide, feet refusing to move until instinct finally took over. I ran. I ran so fast my lungs burned, leaving my bag, my book, my whole shift behind me.

The night tore at my skin as I bolted down the street. My heart pounded so loud I swore it would give me away.

By the time I reached my building, my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t even press the password on the keypad. My fingers slipped once, twice, until I finally got it right. I slammed the door shut behind me and pressed my back to it, gasping, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.

My whole body wouldn’t stop shaking.

And in my head, all I could hear was his voice.

Run.