CHAPTER 2

"Get up," Logan rasped, his voice a jagged edge.

Zack didn't move. He tracked the man’s staggering pulse in the hollow of his throat. Usually, Logan was a calculating monster—predictable in his cruelty. But the booze made him messy. Unstable.

Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, amber vial. The daily dose. The neurotoxin designed to keep Zack’s muscles weak and his mind in a fog. He held it out, a jagged grin splitting his face. "Drink up, boy. Don't want you getting ideas."

Zack took the vial. His fingers shook, but not from fear. Adrenaline, sharp and electric, began to hiss through his veins. Instead of bringing the glass to his lips, he slammed it against the stone wall.

Glass shattered. The chemical liquid hissed as it bit into the masonry.

Logan froze. His eyes blew wide, the pupils swallowing the iris. "What the fuck did you just do?"

"I'm done," Zack said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp he barely recognized.

Logan lunged. He was fast for a drunk, his hand snapping around Zack’s throat and pinning him against the wall with a sickening thud. The back of Zack's head bounced off the granite. Stars exploded behind his eyelids.

"You think you have a choice?" Logan’s spit hit Zack’s cheek. "You're a mistake. A byproduct of a mother who couldn't keep her legs shut for the right man. You're my property until I decide you're too expensive to keep."

He backhanded Zack, a wet crack echoing in the small room. Zack’s vision blurred. Copper filled his mouth.

"You aren't my father," Zack choked out, the words scraping past the pressure on his windpipe.

Logan laughed, a high, manic sound. "Damn right I’m not. Your father was a two-bit runner for a rival crew. A nobody. I took your mother in out of pity, and all she gave me was a brat with mismatched eyes and a bloodline that tastes like a death warrant."

He leaned in, his grip tightening until Zack’s lungs screamed for air. "I should have killed you when she died. But I liked the power. I liked knowing I owned the one thing she loved."

Logan’s free hand fumbled with his belt buckle. The metallic click sent a jolt of primal terror through Zack’s spine. This wasn't just a beating anymore. The air in the room turned predatory.

"Since you're feeling so brave tonight," Logan growled, his breath hot and putrid, "maybe I’ll finally take what I'm owed."

Zack kicked out, his boots catching Logan’s shins, but the man was a wall of muscle and whiskey-fueled rage. Logan dropped his weight onto Zack, pinning his legs. He ripped at Zack’s shirt, the fabric screaming as it gave way.

His rough hands caught Zack’s waist, bruising the skin. Zack clawed at Logan’s face, his nails digging into the man’s cheeks, drawing lines of dark red.

"Fight me," Logan hissed, his face contorting. "I like it better when you fight."

Zack’s hand brushed against the cold glass of the scotch bottle Logan had dropped on the floor. His fingers curled around the neck.

With a guttural roar, Zack swung.

The heavy glass base connected with the side of Logan’s skull. A dull thunk was followed by the sound of the bottle exploding. Logan’s body went limp instantly, his massive weight crushing Zack into the dirt before he rolled off, sliding into a heap of limbs and broken glass.

Zack scrambled back, his chest heaving, his hands slick with a mixture of scotch and Logan’s blood. He stared at the motionless body.

He didn't wait to see if the man was breathing.

Zack bolted. He hit the stairs, his legs screaming, and burst into the hallway. The mansion was quiet—too quiet. He didn't know the layout; he only knew the direction of the cold air.

He threw himself through a set of French doors and out into the night. Rain lashed against his face, washing the blood from his skin. He ran until his lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass, plunging into the dark alleyways of Havenfall.

He reached the docks, the neon lights of the city reflecting in the oily puddles. A black sedan sat idling under a flickering streetlamp.

The back door opened.

"You took your time," a voice purred.

Zack froze. A man stepped out, tall and draped in a coat that looked like it cost a thousand lives. Ethan Cole. The head of Cocolink. The man who had been haunting the edges of Zack’s nightmares for years.

"Logan is dead," Zack panted, crouching like an animal ready to bolt.

"I know," Ethan said. He stepped into the light, his eyes scanning Zack’s battered frame with a slow, hungry intensity. "I sent the tip to Julian to leave the door unlocked. I wanted to see if you had the spine to do it."

Ethan moved forward, his movements fluid and dangerous. He stopped inches from Zack, the scent of expensive sandalwood and rain clinging to him. He reached out, his gloved hand catching Zack’s chin, forcing him to look up.

"You're a mess, Zack," Ethan whispered. "But you're a beautiful mess."

"What do you want?"

Ethan’s thumb brushed over Zack’s split lip, the pressure causing a fresh bloom of pain. "I want the boy who survived the Havenfall basement. I want the blood in your veins. And mostly," he leaned down, his lips ghosting against Zack’s ear, "I want to see how loud you scream when I’m the one holding the leash."

Before Zack could pull away, Ethan grabbed the back of his neck, his fingers digging into the hair. He crushed his mouth against Zack’s in a kiss that wasn't a request—it was a conquest. It tasted of rain and dominance.

Zack fought at first, his hands pushing against Ethan’s chest, but the man was an immovable force. The sheer, raw heat of it—the first touch that wasn't meant to break him—caused something inside Zack to snap. He melted into the contact, a sob catching in his throat.

Ethan pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark with a violent sort of possessiveness. "Get in the car."

"Where are we going?"

Ethan smiled, a sharp, lethal thing. "To my world. And in my world, Zack, you belong to me."

He shoved Zack toward the open door. Zack tumbled onto the leather seat, the warmth of the car a shock to his frozen system. Ethan slid in beside him, the door shutting with a heavy, final thud.

The car lurched forward, leaving the ruins of Zack’s old life in the rearview mirror. He looked at Ethan, who was already pouring a drink, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Wait," Zack said, his voice trembling. "What happens now?"

Ethan didn't look at him. He just reached over, his hand gripping Zack’s thigh with a crushing, terrifying weight.

"Now," Ethan said, "the real nightmare begins."