Chapter One

(NOORIA)

I clutch my diploma like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. The auditorium lights fade, applause dies, and I scan the crowd one last time.

No Marcus, no roses, no proud smile from the man who said he loved me. My chest tightens.

Faiza waves from the front row, phone raised, snapping pictures. She looks perfect as she always does. I force a smile for her, for my parents, for everyone watching the “good Muslim girl” graduate with honors.

But inside, I'm not smiling. Why isn't Marcus here after he promised he would be? Did he get caught up at the office and couldn't make it to my graduation? Did some urgent conference meeting come up?

If so he'd have left me a text. He always does.

I sigh as I step down from the podium, my heart racing. My older sister runs towards me and hugs me tightly…so tight that I can't breathe.

~~~

By the time I reach our apartment my hijab feels too tight, my dress too heavy. It's past twelve and in case you were wondering, my boyfriend didn't show up to my graduation. He didn't even leave a call or a text.

The door to the apartment I spend some nights with my boyfriend sits ajar. I push it open, and the smell hits first…female perfume, sweat.

Then the sight.

Marcus and Sarah on our couch, bodies locked together, oblivious to what's going on between them.

Marcus has some girl bent over the couch while he fucks her raw from behind, their moans echoing in the silence of the sparse living room. My diploma slips from my fingers and thuds to the floor.

“Ya Allah…” The words slip out, small and broken.

Marcus jerks upright. “Nooria…wait, baby, this isn’t…”

I don’t wait.

I turn and run down the hallway, tears blurring my path. I'm about to step into the elevator when my phone buzzes.

Faiza.

*Sis, congrats again! I booked you the Grand Hotel suite to relax. Room 1408. Key at front desk. I left sparkling juice at the reception, non-alcoholic, I swear. Drink it. Marcus doesn't deserve you. Go drink and forget him.*

With fumbling hands I step out of the house and book a cab for the hotel.

The hotel lobby sparkles under chandeliers. I collect the key with shaking hands, and down the entire glass of juice I'm offered. The elevator ride feels endless, and when the doors open on the fourteenth floor I stumble toward 1408.

The key card beeps red, red again.

Panic rises.

I try the next door—1409. Green light. It swings open.

The room is dark, with heavy curtains, smells of leather, smoke, cologne, and gun oil. A black pistol rests on the table next to a half-empty whiskey glass.

My stomach drops.

The bathroom door opens before I can turn around and leave. Steam rolls out, and he steps through, towel knotted low on his hips, water tracing paths down a hard, scarred torso.

He's tall, broad, with dark hair damp and tousled. Gray eyes lock on me like a predator spotting prey. A thin scar cuts through one eyebrow making him look menacing.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice is low, gravelly, edged with menace.

I sway on my feet. “Wrong room… my sister… 1408…”

He crosses the carpet in three strides, and towers over me. His gaze drags down—my tear-streaked face, smudged kohl, wrinkled dress clinging to my thighs, bare feet. “You’re fucked up. Someone drugged you?”

“Juice… I think…that's what I…drank. ” My tongue feels thick, words slurring.

He grips my chin hard, fingers digging into my jaw, forces my face up. “Who sent you to my room?”

“No one. Please… Marcus cheated…with my friend. On my graduation day of all days.”

A dark, mocking laugh rumbles from his chest. “Poor little Muslim girl got her heart broken and decided to stumble into Valentino Delucca’s suite for comfort?”

The name hits like ice water.

Valentino Delucca. The most dangerous man on the East Coast, head of the Black Serpent's and my sister's fiancee.

The man people don’t name out loud unless they’re ready to die.

I should scream, run. But the drug turns terror into liquid heat. My nipples pebble under the thin fabric. My thighs press together involuntarily. Shame burns my cheeks.

He sees it.

His thumb drags roughly across my bottom lip, parting it. “You’re dripping already, aren’t you? Pathetic. You want to forget him? I’ll fuck him out of your head.”

His mouth slams onto mine without warning. Brutal, and no gentleness. Teeth clash, his tongue forces its way in, claiming every inch like he owns it. He tastes like whiskey, smoke, and violence. I push at his chest, but my attempts are weak, useless. The drug melts resistance into raw need, and I moan into his mouth, hips jerking toward him.

He shoves me backward onto the bed, the mattress bounces. He rips the towel away, and his cock springs free; thick, heavy, veins bulging, and already leaking at the tip. My breath catches.

“Strip,” he orders. Voice like a whip. “Now.”

My hands shake. I unwind my hijab first, and my hair tumbles dark and wild across the sheets. Then the dress slides off my shoulders. Bra unclasped. Panties dragged down trembling legs. Naked. Exposed. I try to cover my breasts with my arms, but he stops me.

He pins both wrists above my head with one massive hand, crushing them into the mattress. “Don’t you fucking hide. You walked in here like a slut looking for cock. No modesty, no prayers, just this, you begging to be ruined.”

His free hand is merciless.

He grabs my breast, squeezes hard enough to make me cry out. He pinches the nipple between thumb and forefinger, and twists until tears spring. He slaps the soft underside, sharp, and stinging. Again, harder, till my skin blooms red.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growls. “Getting treated like the whore you are tonight.”

Two fingers plunge into me without warning, rough, no prep. I gasp, back arching.

He curls them viciously, stroking that spot inside that makes my vision white. “Soaking wet. Fucking disgusting how much you want this.”

He yanks his fingers out, flips me onto my stomach like I weigh nothing, grabs my hips, and hauls them up so my ass is in the air, face pressed to the sheets. His palm cracks across my ass hard. The sound echoes, and heat explodes across my skin.

“Count them,” he snarls.

“One…” My voice cracks.

Another slap, harder. “Louder.”

“Two!”

He keeps going. Five. Ten. My ass burns, skin throbbing. Tears soak the pillow, and between my thighs I’m dripping down my legs.

“Beg for it,” he says, voice dark. “Beg me to wreck this tight little cunt.”

“Please…” I sob. “Please fuck me. Make it hurt. Make me forget everything.”

He lines himself up. And without warning, thrusts in, one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single, tearing stroke. I scream into the sheets, the stretch burning, splitting me open. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t let me adjust.

He sets a punishing rhythm, hips slamming forward, balls slapping against me with every vicious drive.

His hand fists my hair, yanks my head back until my neck arches painfully. “Scream louder. Let the whole fucking floor hear what a needy slut you are.”

He wraps his other hand around my throat from behind and squeezes just enough to make my vision spot. Stars burst behind my eyes. Every thrust drives deeper, hitting places that make me sob with twisted pleasure. He slaps my ass again, rhythmic, each spank matching his strokes. The sting blends with the fullness until I can’t tell pain from ecstasy.

“Take it,” he growls against my ear. “Every fucking inch. This pussy belongs to me tonight.”

He bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to break skin. I feel the copper taste of blood. He sucks the mark, then moves to my neck, leaving bruises that will last days. His pace turns feral—short, brutal snaps that make the headboard slam against the wall.

Pleasure coils tighter, unbearable. My walls flutter around him. “I’m…I’m gonna…”

“Do it,” he snarls. “Come on my cock like the dirty little thing you are.”

I shatter violently, screaming his name as my body convulses, clenching down on him like a vise. Waves crash through me, endless, humiliating. He doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, harder, deeper, chasing his own release.

When he comes it’s with a guttural roar. He buries himself to the root, flooding me with hot spurts that feel endless. Marking me inside.

He stays seated deep for a long moment, breathing harsh against my neck. Then he pulls out slowly, deliberately, watching his cum leak from my swollen, abused pussy.

I collapse onto the sheets, trembling, wrecked. Legs shaking, ass red, throat raw and body humming with aftershocks.

He rolls off me, and lights a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dark. He exhales smoke, voice cold and amused.

“We’re not done, little trespasser.”

He stubs the cigarette out.

“Not even close.”