CLAIMED IN THE DARK

The first thing Eli noticed was the taste of blood in his mouth.

His head throbbed like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. He tried to move, but thick zip ties bit into his wrists behind his back, and his ankles were bound so tightly his feet had gone numb. A rough cloth blindfold pressed against his eyes, soaking up the cold sweat on his face. The floor beneath him vibrated metal, rumbling. A van.

*Fuck.*

Memory slammed into him in fragments. The meeting with Marco. The warehouse. His brother’s cold smile right before everything went black.

“Relax, little brother. This is for the family.”

Eli’s stomach twisted. Marco had sold him out. His own blood. The realization burned hotter than the pain in his ribs where someone had clearly kicked him while he was unconscious.

He tested the restraints again, twisting his wrists until the plastic cut into his skin. No give. The van hit a pothole and his shoulder slammed against the ridged floor, drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth.

“Keep still back there,” a gruff voice called from the front. Not Marco’s. One of his men. Probably Tony or that bald bastard, Ruiz.

Eli swallowed the coppery blood and forced his breathing to steady. Panic wouldn’t help. He was a hacker, not a fighter, but he’d always been good at surviving. He catalogued what he could: the low hum of the engine, the smell of cheap leather and cigarette smoke, the chill seeping through his thin black hoodie. They’d taken his jacket. His shoes too, by the feel of it. Bastards.

“Where are you taking me?” he demanded, voice hoarse.

Silence.

“I know it’s Marco. Tell him this won’t work. Whatever debt he thinks he can pay with me ”

A low chuckle cut him off. “Shut your mouth, Reyes. You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

Eli bit down on his tongue. Fine. He’d wait. Gather information. Find an opening. He’d hacked systems worth millions; he could survive this long enough to figure a way out.

The van ride felt endless. Every turn made his bound body slide across the floor. At one point they stopped, and he heard muffled voices outside gates opening, maybe. Then the engine revved again and they climbed. Higher and higher. The air pressure changed subtly in his ears.

A penthouse. Had to be. Only the kind of people who lived above the city would drag someone like this.

Finally, the van stopped. Doors opened. Rough hands grabbed his arms and hauled him out. His bare feet hit freezing concrete, then cold tile as they dragged him inside. The temperature dropped noticeably. Air-conditioned luxury. The kind of chill that came with money and power.

“Move,” one of the men growled, shoving him forward.

Eli stumbled, nearly falling. Someone caught him by the back of his hoodie and half-dragged, half-carried him across what felt like an enormous open space. His bare feet registered plush rugs in places, then smooth marble that made his skin crawl. Every sound echoed footsteps, the distant hum of a city far below, the faint clink of something metallic.

They stopped. A heavy door closed behind them with a soft, expensive click.

“Leave him,” a new voice commanded.

Low. Calm. Dangerous.

The hands on Eli vanished instantly. He heard footsteps retreating, then the door opening and closing again. He was alone with whoever that voice belonged to.

His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he was sure it was visible through his shirt. Sweat trickled down his spine despite the cool air. The blindfold felt tighter now, suffocating. Complete blackness pressed against his eyes, feeding the old terror he’d buried since he was nine years old.

He hated the dark.

“You’re shaking,” the voice observed. Closer now. Much closer. Eli hadn’t heard him move.

“Fuck you,” Eli spat, jerking his head toward the sound. “Take this blindfold off and face me like a man.”

A soft, almost amused exhale. Not quite a laugh. “Brave words for someone who just got gift-wrapped by his own brother.”

Eli’s jaw clenched. “Marco’s a dead man when I get out of here.”

Silence stretched. Then the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps circling him. Eli turned his head, trying to track the movement, but the darkness made him dizzy. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like prey being studied.

“You’re smaller than I expected,” the voice murmured. It was deep, smooth, edged with something that made Eli’s skin prickle. “But prettier. Marco didn’t mention that part.”

Eli’s breath hitched. He hated how aware he suddenly was of his own body sweaty, bruised, bound, and completely at this stranger’s mercy.

“Untie me,” Eli demanded, injecting as much venom as he could manage. “If you think using me against Marco is going to work, you’re wasting your time. He doesn’t give a shit about me.”

The footsteps stopped directly in front of him. Eli could feel the heat radiating from the man’s body. He was tall. Broad. The subtle scent of expensive cologne sandalwood and something darker wrapped around him.

“On the contrary,” the man said quietly. “Your brother made it very clear what you’re worth. And I always collect what I’m owed.”

A hand brushed Eli’s jaw. Just the barest touch of knuckles, but it sent electricity crackling across his skin. He jerked away instinctively.

“Don’t touch me.”

The hand returned, firmer this time, gripping his chin and holding him still. The touch was warm. Strong. Unyielding.

“You don’t give the orders here, Elliot.” The voice dropped lower. “Not anymore.”

Eli’s pulse roared in his ears. He wanted to spit in the man’s face, to curse him, to fight but the grip on his chin kept him frozen. The blindfold suddenly felt like the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Then, without warning, the man released him.

Eli sucked in a shaky breath, bracing himself.

Fingers brushed the back of his head. The knot on the blindfold loosened.

Eli’s heart slammed against his chest like it wanted to escape.

The cloth fell away.

For a second, the sudden light burned his eyes. He blinked rapidly, vision blurry, chest heaving. Then the world sharpened.

Standing in front of him was the most dangerously beautiful man Eli had ever seen.

Tall easily six-three with broad shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored black dress shirt. Raven-black hair styled with ruthless precision. A sharp, aristocratic jawline shadowed with the faintest stubble. But it was the eyes that pinned Eli in place.

Storm-gray. Cold. Calculating.

And utterly focused on him.

Cove Voss.

Eli had seen photos during his research grainy surveillance shots, blurred news clippings but nothing prepared him for the real thing. The man radiated power like a physical force. This wasn’t just some mid-level criminal. This was the heir to the Voss Syndicate. The man who had half the city’s underworld terrified of saying his name too loudly.

Cove’s gaze slowly dragged down Eli’s body taking in the bruises, the torn clothes, the way his arms were still bound behind his back then drifted back up to his face. Something dark flickered in those gray eyes. Something possessive.

“Well, Elliot Reyes,” Cove said, voice velvet over steel. The corner of his mouth curved in the ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome home.”

Eli stared, breath caught in his throat, every instinct screaming danger even as something traitorous stirred low in his gut at the intensity of that stare.

This wasn’t just leverage.

This was something far worse.