Chapter 1: CAUGHT ARTEMIS POV

I eyed the golden watch on the table, pretending to be interested in something else while inching closer to the table. I knew it was wrong to steal but I couldn’t help it. I was hungry and I didn’t want to die.

I couldn't afford to hesitate.

I moved closer, each step calculated. Something in my head whispered caution, but hunger roared just a little louder. I could nearly hear the eulogy now: Artemis Vincent, dead at 22 because she was too virtuous to swipe a watch left behind by some rich guy.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Of course, with therapy, that would be nice; if only that were an option when the bills needed paying. One last glance, and I swiped the watch, pushing it deep into my pocket.

"Good job, Artemis," I muttered under my breath, "You've earned yourself a burger—Starbucks, here I come—”

"THIEF!"

The shout pierced the air, and my blood ran cold. I turned to see a burly man in a black suit and dark glasses barreling toward me. Fists the size of small boulders were curled at his side, and I bolted, with no thought but to get the hell away from him as fast as my legs would carry me.

Run, Artemis. Don't stop.

I sprinted for the open window and leaped through it with practiced ease. Weeks of trouble dodging had made me resourceful if nothing else. My sneakers slapped against the pavement as I darted into an alleyway.

Voices behind me multiplied. More footsteps.

I didn't dare look back, not until I heard the heavy breaths closing in. I risked a glance over my shoulder-five men now, closer than I'd like.

"Shit," I hissed, forcing my legs to run harder.

When I turned back, it was too late. I slammed into something rather, someone.

The impact sent me stumbling, and I let out a breathless oof.

"Going somewhere?"

My gaze snapped upward. Blonde hair. Dark shades. A sharp scowl. His outstretched hand was calm, but the warning in his voice was anything but.

"Hand it over," the man said.

"Hand what over?" I shot back, stepping back only to realize the others had boxed me in.

His lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. "You don't want my boss involved.

I raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re not the boss? You’re just a henchman?”

His jaw ticked, and I smirked despite the thundering in my chest.

"Lady," he growled, "hand it over. Now."

"Like I said, I don't—

Before I could even get the words out, he snatched me, pulling me close. It was a hold of iron, a low growling in my ear. "Give me the watch, or I'll make sure you rot in a cell."

A shiver ran down my spine at his words, though I wasn't sure if it was fear or…something else. His proximity made it hard to think.

"No," I manage to snap, fighting against him.

His hand skimmed over mine, dangerously low. I bucked against him, furious.

"What the hell are you doing?" I spat, kicking at his shin.

Searching for the watch." His tone was maddeningly unruffled. "Unless you would like me to look through every place, I would suggest co-operating.

"You're a damn pervert!"

"And you are a thief."

I glared daggers at him before reaching, still unwilling, into the waistband of my jeans where I'd tucked the watch. As soon as his grip slackened, I elbowed him in the gut and was off.

I didn't get very far.

His arms turned into a vice around my waist, and he thrust me against the hood of some sleek black car. I bucked against the cold metal and struggled.

The boss wants to meet you," he said, cool as ever.

Before I could retort, another voice cut through the chaos.

"Let her go, Daymon."

I froze.

This voice wasn't calm; it was commanding, lethal. The kind of voice that would make one stop and listen.

Daymon released me, and I stumbled upright, turning toward the source.

The man who came forward was tall and broad-shouldered, lean but well-muscled; his dark hair was perfectly placed. Emerald-green eyes latched onto mine, pinning me in place. He moved with an air of authority, each step deliberate.

"You stole my watch," he said, calmly and coldly.

I crossed my arms, making myself look at him. "You don't seem to miss it.

A ghost of a smirk played across his lips. "I don't.

He pulled out a cigar from his pocket and lit it with ease from one used to the luxuries in life. His men stood silent, while their boss puffed at the tension thick enough to choke.

"But you don't steal from me."

The chill in his tone ran a ripple through my veins. He wasn't some rich guy, he was dangerous-in the very worst way people like me never came out quite right.

"I am sorry," I said; my voice came out a little quieter than I had set it for. "I was hungry. I did not have a choice."

For a moment, he said nothing. His glance was unreadable, staring at me as though considering some puzzle he could see but not quite work out.

Then, as casually as if he was discussing the weather, he said, "Be my mistress."

I blinked. "What?

 "You heard me." 

A laugh burst out before I could catch it. "Right. That's hilarious. Good one." 

His expression didn't change.

 "I am not joking." 

His words sliced through the air like a blade. All humor was wiped from my face as anger and incredulity registered. 

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded.

 He sucked hard once more on the cigar before discarding it. "Aidan Creek."