Chapter 6

EMILY

First I felt pain that dragged me back before consciousness did.

There was an ungodly throbbing through my jaw first, then my head, then everywhere else, dull and relentless, like my body was reminding me that I was still alive and it wasn’t pleased about it. The back of my head felt shattered. 

I heard voices. Lots of them, but they sounded so distant and were unreal. The pain absorbed me. I felt like throwing up at that point.

The voices became clearer and began to sound so close to me. I became aware of the hard floor beneath me, and when I licked my lips, I tasted blood.

"Do you think she's Dead?" Someone was saying. "I told you not to hit her so hard, now we're going to lose this money because of you."

"Relax! I only wanted to calm the bitch down, I didn't know she would die easily. We could easily pick up someone else from the street."

I fought to regain consciousness as I felt myself being lifted carefully. I tried to fight back. I felt panic. I was helpless, and I knew what awaited me at this point. I desperately tried to get a grip on my world. I struggled to open my eyes.

"Are you going to throw her down the cliff?"

The question echoed. I froze instantly, but my gut twisted and my pulse began hammering. I am not dead yet! I screamed inwardly as I pushed at something.

"She's of no use to us anymore, we can't keep a dead body and go to jail. We just have to discard her and clean anything that will link her death to us."

I could not relax. If they throw me I was surely going to die! But the. I was too weak to move.

My heart lurched.

I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. My body felt heavy, like it had sunk into the ground itself. My limbs refused to listen, refused to move. Panic rose anyway, hot and choking, pressing against my ribs.

I focused on breathing. In. Out. Shallow enough not to give myself away. My wolf stirred faintly inside me, weak, restless, scared. She whimpered in the back of my mind, telling me to run, to fight, to do something.

A foot scraped close to my head.

“Make sure she stays dead.”

I braced myself.

Then thud.

Another thud.

Heavy. Solid. Like bodies hitting concrete.

The air changed. The voices cut off sharply, replaced by the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting the ground. My eyelids fluttered despite myself.

I finally forced my eyes open.

The world swam, lights blurring, shapes doubling. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again slowly, grounding myself in what I could see. Concrete beneath my cheek. Streetlight spilling yellow across the pavement. And women.

All of them were on the ground.

The two women who had hit me lay sprawled nearby, unmoving. One had landed awkwardly on her side, her arm bent at an unnatural angle. The other was face down, her gun skidded several feet away.

My breath hitched.

I pushed weakly onto my elbows, my body shaking as confusion crashed into fear. My head pounded, my jaw screamed in protest, but adrenaline forced me upright inch by inch. I pushed myself up on my elbow. It was no easy task.

That was when I saw him.

He stood a few feet away, tall and still. The streetlight caught the sharp lines of his face, the dark shadow of his hat brim. 

Alessandro.

My chest tightened painfully.

He moved toward me without urgency, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. When he stopped in front of me, he crouched down, close enough that I could smell leather and something faintly metallic on him.

He reached out.

His fingers closed around my chin, firm, unyielding, tilting my face up before I could pull away.

“Do you enjoy getting into trouble,” he asked calmly, “or does it simply follow you everywhere you go?”

My breath stuttered.

“I..” My voice came out hoarse. “I didn’t look for any trouble.”

My head spun again, and I swallowed hard, blinking up at him. His eyes were dark, but worse of all he didn't even look concerned at all.

“They attacked me,” I said finally, forcing the words out.

His thumb pressed slightly harder under my jaw.

“They’re rogues,” he said. “Traffickers.”

The word settled into me slowly.

Trafficked.

My stomach twisted violently, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Images I didn’t want flooded my mind. 

“They were deciding how to discard you,” he continued flatly. “You were lucky they didn't go on with that plan.”

Lucky.

If that was luck, I didn’t want to imagine what misfortune looked like.

He released my chin and straightened, already turning away.

Just like that.

Panic surged fresh and sharp.

“Wait!” I pushed myself to my feet, swaying dangerously. My legs barely held me, my vision blurring again as I stumbled after him. “You can’t just leave me here.”

He didn’t slow.

“Can you hear me,” I said, my voice cracking as I followed him down the sidewalk. “You can't be seriously leaving me here.”

He didn’t answer.

Each step sent pain shooting up my spine, but I forced myself to keep moving. The street felt suddenly too wide, too exposed. The women on the ground felt too close behind me.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” I said louder, desperation bleeding into my words. “I don’t have a place to sleep. I don’t..”

He stopped abruptly.

I nearly walked straight into his back.

Slowly, he turned to face me. I jumped involuntarily as he came striding back to me, his open shirt swinging around his narrow hips. His stomach above the tarnish silver belt buckle was flat and looked as hard as a rock. A sheen of perspiration covered his skin. Realizing where I was looking, I blushed and met his smoking gaze.

He can to an abrupt halt. "Don't tempt me. I am not in the mood to help a mad woman."

Something snapped inside me.

My hand lifted before I could think better of it, my palm arcing toward his face in a blur of anger and humiliation, he caught my wrist mid-air.

His grip was so tight.

I gasped, struggling instinctively, but it was useless. His fingers tightened.

“I can see you are out of your damn mind but don't you ever try that again,” he warned quietly.

“Yes! I must be out of my mind but don't ever call me a mad woman,” I shot back, yanking against his hold. My chest heaved, tears burning behind my eyes. “I’m not mad. I’m desperate. There’s a difference.”

His gaze flicked briefly to my torn dress, to the blood drying at my mouth, to the way my knees trembled beneath me.

He released me abruptly.

I stumbled back, catching myself just in time. My wrist throbbed where he’d held it, but I didn’t care.

“Were you serious,” he asked, “about what you said earlier?”

My heart slammed violently against my ribs.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re certain.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

Silence stretched between us.

“What do you want in return,” he asked.

The words rushed out of me before doubt could choke them back.

“My aunt needs surgery,” I said. “Urgently. And I need money. Enough to start something for myself. A business. I can’t keep surviving day to day, plus you need to promise me that you will take good care of my child.”

I waited.

He stared at me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away again.

Shock froze me in place.

“That’s it?” I blurted, then hurried after him, my voice rising. “You’re not even going to say anything?”

He reached his car, opened the door, and leaned inside.

I stopped a few feet away, my chest tight, my hope shriveling painfully with every second of silence.

He straightened, holding a folded document.

Without ceremony, he walked back toward me and thrust it into my hands.

I nearly dropped it.

“That’s the agreement,” he said coldly. “Sign it, and for the next year...” His gaze locked onto mine, dark and possessive. “..you belong to me.”

The night seemed to close in around us.

My fingers trembled around the paper.

One year of being his!