CHAPTER 2: THE DEVIL’S DEN

POV ESMERAY

The roar of the engine was the only thing filling the void where my sanity used to be. I was pressed against Ruan’s back, my hands trembling as I gripped the leather of his jacket. I didn’t want to touch him. I wanted to throw myself off the bike and run until my lungs gave out, but the speed at which we were cutting through the fog of Blackridge made that a suicide mission.

Ruan Montague didn't drive like a normal man; he drove like he owned the asphalt, like the laws of physics didn't apply to a king of his stature. Every time he leaned into a curve, my body was forced to press tighter against his. He was like a wall of solid muscle, radiating a heat that felt oppressive in the chilly night air. I could feel the rhythmic vibration of the motorcycle through my thighs, a constant reminder of the raw power between his legs—and the raw power he now held over my life.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of the knife, the blood, and the lifeless look in Marcus’s eyes. But every time I blinked, I saw Ruan’s cold blue gaze.

—Hold on tight, nurse— Ruan’s voice rumbled through his back, vibrating against my chest. He didn't even turn his head. —Unless you want to see if your hospital can patch up a body that’s been smeared across the highway.

I didn't answer. I just tightened my grip, my knuckles turning white. I hated him. I hated the way he spoke to me, the way he had decided my fate in a dark alley as if I were nothing more than a stray dog he’d picked up.

After what felt like an eternity of navigating through the industrial district, the bike slowed down. We approached a massive complex surrounded by high chain-link fences topped with razor wire. A rusted sign hung crookedly over the gate: The Vault.

Two men, as large and tattooed as Ruan, stood guard at the entrance. The moment they saw the headlights of his Harley, they pulled the gates open without a word. Their expressions were grim, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble. As we rode past them, I felt their gazes land on me—heavy, curious, and predatory.

We stopped in front of a two-story building that looked like a cross between a warehouse and a fortress. The air here was thick with the smell of grease, cheap beer, and burnt rubber. This was the heart of the Steel Phantoms MC.

Ruan killed the engine, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. He dismounted in one fluid motion, leaving me feeling suddenly cold and exposed on the leather seat. He didn't offer a hand to help me down. He just stood there, towering over me, lighting a cigarette with a silver lighter that hissed in the quiet.

—Welcome to your new home, Esmeray— he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. —Don't bother looking for the exits. My brothers don't like uninvited guests, and they like runaways even less.

I climbed off the bike, my legs feeling like jelly. I tried to maintain some semblance of dignity, straightening my wrinkled scrubs.

—You can't keep me here— I said, my voice steadier than I felt. —People will look for me. My shift ended hours ago. My friends, the hospital... they’ll call the police.

Ruan took a long drag of his cigarette and stepped into my personal space. He was so close I could see the golden flecks in his icy eyes. He reached out and caught a strand of my hair between his fingers, tugging just enough to make me tilt my head up.

—Let them look— he whispered, his voice dark and dangerously smooth. —Blackridge police don't come into The Vault without an army. And as for your friends? They’ll think you ran away. Or maybe you just vanished, like so many others in this city. From now on, your only world is what I allow you to see.

He gripped my arm—not enough to bruise, but enough to let me know I had no choice—and led me inside.

The interior of the clubhouse was chaos. The air was blue with smoke, and music I didn't recognize blared from old speakers. Men in leather vests were drinking and laughing, while women in skimpy clothes sat on their laps. The moment Ruan stepped into the room, the atmosphere shifted. The laughter didn't stop, but the respect was instantaneous. Heads nodded, and a path cleared for him.

—Prez!— a man with a scarred face shouted from the bar. —Who’s the little bird?

Ruan didn't slow down. He didn't even look at the man.

—She’s a witness— Ruan replied shortly. —And she’s mine. If anyone so much as breathes on her, I’ll take their hands. Understood?

A heavy silence followed his words. "Mine." The word echoed in my skull, making my blood boil and my heart freeze at the same time. I wasn't a person to them; I was a piece of evidence, a trophy, a "thing" that belonged to Ruan Montague.

He led me up a flight of creaky wooden stairs to a long hallway. At the very end, he pushed open a heavy oak door. It was a bedroom, surprisingly clean but sparse. A large bed with black sheets, a dresser, and a window reinforced with steel bars.

—This is it— he said, releasing my arm. —My room.

—Your room?— I gasped, backing away until I hit the wall. —No. I’m not sleeping here. I’m not sleeping with you.

Ruan let out a low, dry chuckle that didn't hold any humor. He walked over to the dresser and tossed his keys onto the wood. Then, he began to unbutton his leather vest, revealing the sprawling ink on his chest and the lethal grace of his movements.

—You’re confused, Esmeray— he said, turning to face me. He looked like a predator that had finally cornered its prey. —You aren't a guest. You are a liability that I am keeping alive because I find you interesting. You sleep where I can see you. You stay where I can reach you.

He stepped toward me, and I felt the air leave the room. He trapped me against the wall, placing his hands on either side of my head. He was a storm, and I was right in the center of it.

—I’m a nurse, Ruan— I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. —I save lives. I don't belong in a place like this.

—You belong wherever I put you— he growled, leaning down until his lips brushed against my ear. —And tonight, you belong right here, in the dark, wondering if I’m the man who’s going to break you... or the only one who can keep you whole.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression unreadable. For a second, I thought he might kiss me, or kill me. Instead, he simply pointed toward the bathroom.

—Clean yourself up. There are clothes in the drawer. Don't make me tell you twice.

As he walked toward the door to lock it, I realized with a sickening jolt that the bars on the window weren't there to keep people out. They were there to keep me in.