Chapter 3

JAKE’s POV

“Weren’t home when the murder happened? I mean it must have been, a pretty loud incident” the cop asked, eyeing me like I was guilty.

I nodded, forcing myself to stay cool. They were grilling everyone in the building about Carson’s death.

That night, the bastard left without giving me his name, tossing me a wad of hundreds and telling me to hole up in a hotel until the heat died down. Why’d he kill Carson? Old beef? Or was he just a psycho who got off on it?

Either way, I was fucked. Tied to him now.

“Your ass and your life is mine now, if you dare rat me out, I will come for you” his words echoed, clawing at my brain, stealing any shred of peace. My throat still ached from his cock, and shame burned in my gut. Alive, yeah, but at what fucking cost? Lying my ass off in a police station about a murder I saw with my own eyes.

Part of me wanted to spill everything, get it off my chest, but the cops wouldn’t protect me from that monster. I’d just dodged death, but I was still his bitch.

“Sir?”

I snapped out of it, cursing myself for zoning. “Huh? What’d you say?” I rubbed my neck, playing dumb. The cop gave me a hard look.

“Write your statement.”

“Okay officer.”

I scribbled some bullshit and was about to bolt when the cop stopped me. “One more thing.”

I froze, his eyes narrowing. “What’s with the marks on your neck?”

My hand shot to my throat. Fuck. My collar had popped open, showing the faint bruises. I thought I’d covered that shit. Even when I already told the officers I wasn’t at home when the incident occurred.

“From your statement, you were at a hotel after work, but those ain’t from sleeping, those are clearly from dragging or hitting, did you see those who did it?” he asked, leaning in.

I forced a laugh, scrambling. “I didn’t just sleep,” I mumbled, face heating. “Met my… boyfriend. And things got a little rough between us in bed, I hope you understand.”

The cop raised a brow, smirking. “Call him. A boyfriend’s testimony could lock in your alibi.”

My stomach dropped. I’m so fucked.

I grabbed my phone, hands shaking, punching in random digits. Before I could hit call, the door slammed open. The air turned heavy, and the cop jumped up, on edge.

“Who the hell are you?” the cop barked.

“I’m here for him,” that familiar voice purred, chilling my blood. I knew it was him before I turned. My gut twisted as I met his gaze.

Milo stood in the doorway, hands in his fancy-ass coat, looking like a damn CEO, not the psycho who’d fucked my throat raw. His presence choked the room, and I dropped my eyes, heart racing. How the fuck did he have the balls to stroll into a police station?

The cop glanced between us. “Who are you to Jake?”

Milo’s lips curved, all charm and lies. “Milo Kane, Jake’s boyfriend.”

I nearly choked. He heard me?

He stepped closer, facing the cop. “You grilling my boy without a lawyer? That’s fucked up.” His voice was smooth, but there was a cold edge that made my skin crawl.

The cop sighed, waving us off. “Your story checks out. Get out, Jake.”

In the hall, I caught two cops chatting over coffee. “They’re saying it was suicide,” one said.

“Yeah, but no gun in the room. Weird as hell.”

I glanced at Milo, knowing he’d rigged it. Not for me, though. No way. Milo Kane—real name or another lie?

He didn’t say shit as we hit the parking lot. His sleek BMW screamed money. “Get in,” he ordered, his glare shutting me up.

I slid in, silently praying I’d make it out alive.

We rolled into an underground lot under some fancy-ass building. My pulse raced as he parked in a reserved spot.

“Out,” he snapped, voice flat. I followed him to a slick elevator, my nerves shot.

Inside, he hit the button for the penthouse. Of course. I snuck a glance, but his face was stone-cold, unreadable.

“You gonna kill me?” I blurted, voice shaky.

He smirked, dark and filthy. “Depends how good you are in bed, slut.”

The doors opened, and I followed him into a penthouse straight out of a rich fucker’s wet dream. Floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights sparkling below, sleek black furniture, a pristine kitchen, and a low fire in a modern fireplace. It was hot as fuck but cold as his eyes.

He peeled off his coat, muscles flexing under his tight shirt, and turned to me, his gaze predatory. “You’re staying here, whore. This is your new cage.”

I blinked, stunned. “The fuck did you say?”

Milo loosened his tie, eyes darkening to black pools of lust. “Don’t make me repeat myself, slut. You think you’re going back to that shithole apartment?”

He was right, and I hated it. That place was a dump, but I’d rather sleep on the street than be this psycho’s fucktoy. “I can’t just—”

“Wrong.” He stepped forward, towering over me, his voice a low growl. “You don’t get a choice, whore.”

I backed up, his presence suffocating, until my back hit the wall. No escape. “If I disappear, people will notice—”

“Who?” He caged me in, hands slamming against the wall. His lips brushed my ear, hot and taunting. “Your coworkers? That chick at the diner? You got no one, Jake. Who’s coming for you?”

My fists clenched, but no words came. He was fucking right. I’d moved to this city alone, no family, no friends. The only person who gave a shit was Sarah, and I’d kept her at arm’s length. I was alone, and he knew it.

“Get it now, slut?” He grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “You owe me your life. Time to pay up.”

“What do you want?” I whispered, voice shaking, dread pooling in my gut.