+++✦+++ "I’ll find you, no matter where you go." He tilted his head, his calm delivery making the threat all the more unsettling. "Do you understand me?" His words weren’t loud, but they didn’t need to be. His gaze bore into mine, daring me to defy him. "Yes." I swallowed hard, nodding slightly, my voice betraying me with its lack of strength. "Good girl." He watched me with a pleased, almost smug expression. It seemed like a terrible idea, but something about his overconfidence pushed me to challenge him. "But, what makes you think I’ll just stay here, waiting for you to show up whenever you feel like it?" I ventured, pushing my luck as we stared at each other. "Consider it my way of repaying you after everything you’ve done." I blinked, taken aback and confused. "Repaying me?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, as my fingers caressed the spot where his hand had been. His laughter was soft, almost indulgent, as if my naivety amused him. +++✦+++ In a city plagued by crime and violence, a young woman fights to stay hidden from her sadistic stepfather and his ruthless gang. In her journey to uncover the truth about her forgotten past, she crosses paths with a dangerous and mysterious stranger in the most unexpected manner. Together, they embrace their twisted fate by striking a deal and altering their lives through a tale of romance and mystery. +++✦+++ ✦ 𝐷𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛. ✦ +++✦+++
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They never saw it coming—twelve men, twelve bodies and I hadn't even laid a finger on them. The house always felt like it was holding its breath, suffocating and still, like it was waiting for something to go wrong. A car accident took my mother's life when I was twelve and in its aftermath, I ended up in the care of Garry, my stepfather. Not just any stepfather. Garry was the relentless leader of the Goons Gang. My memories of that time were fractured, like scattered puzzle pieces I couldn't quite put together. I'd survived the crash, but not unscathed. I'd woken up from a coma with no memory of the accident, or much of my childhood. Garry had filled in the gaps; telling me about a father I couldn't remember, a man who had been sentenced to life for murder. I hadn't known enough to question it and even if I had, who could I turn to? For the last five years, my life has been a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Garry flat-out refused to pay for any medical treatment or therapy that could help me recover my lost memories. He'd dismissively say, "It's better if you remember on your own," as if the fragmented pieces of my childhood and the car accident could somehow fall into place naturally. I was eighteen now, technically an adult, but that didn't mean anything in Garry's house. My days were spent cooking, cleaning and tending to the gang's wounded, thanks to the forced medical training I'd endured. Garry had once blackmailed a local surgeon into homeschooling me. When I was good enough to stitch a wound, reset a broken bone, or stop a man from bleeding out, Garry had the surgeon killed. It was another reminder that I was nothing but a tool to him—a pawn in his violent, bloody game. In the living room, I sat on the couch with my knees pulled to my chest, staring blankly at the television. The muffled sound of laughter came from the kitchen, where Garry's men—his "brothers"—were drinking and celebrating God-knows-what. Kendrick's voice was the loudest. It always was. He was Garry's right-hand man, younger than the others and just as dangerous, if not more. I'd learned to avoid Ken when I could, but sometimes, avoidance wasn't enough. He had this way of looking at me that made my skin crawl. The sound of heavy boots coming closer caught my attention. "There you are." Kendrick slurred as he appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a cocky smirk. His sandy hair fell into his face and his gray eyes sparkled with that predatory gleam I knew too well. I didn't respond, keeping my eyes fixed on the TV. "Hiding out here by yourself again?" He asked, taking a few steps toward me. "Come on, Roxie. Join the fun." "I'm fine here." I muttered, my voice low. I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, praying he'd lose interest. But Ken wasn't the type to give up easily. He loved this-loved knowing he had the power to make me uncomfortable. He sauntered closer, his grin widening. "You know Garry wouldn't like it if he knew you weren't being...social." The unspoken threat in his words sent a chill down my spine. "What do you want, Ken?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady. He chuckled, the sound low and grating. "I just wanted to gaze into those light green eyes of yours." "Is that so much to ask?" He reached out, his hand aiming for my face, but I flinched back instinctively. "Don't." I whispered, barely audible. His smirk faded, replaced by something darker. "You think you're better than us, don't you? Just because Garry needs you?" I kept my gaze on the TV, my fists clenched. Ken leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "One day, you're going to regret not being nicer to me. You'll see, my little pet." I swallowed hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. The door to the living room creaked open and Garry strode in. His sharp gaze flicked between us, the faint twitch of his mustache hinting at irritation. "Ken," Garry's voice cut through the room, laced with authority. "Did you tell her about the wedding I proposed for this weekend, now that she's finally of age?" My stomach churned. Wedding? Ken's grin widened, smug and full of malice. "Not yet. I was just breaking the news to the guys about my plans for our wedding night though." The blood drained from my face, leaving me frozen in place. Garry sighed, rubbing his temple as if Ken's excitement was more bothersome than concerning. "I've always known you were obsessed with her, Kendrick." He muttered. Ken chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Seriously, a prize like her? And untouched. You only get one chance at that." His words sent a wave of revulsion through me, making me feel like a trapped animal. I snapped my head toward them, my voice trembling with anger. "I'm not marrying him!" The air in the room grew still. Both men turned to look at me, Garry's gaze sharp, while Ken's twisted into something colder. "Oh, Roxie." Ken shook his head slowly. "You've got a lot to learn. Like keeping quiet when two men are talking." He leaned back, his condescension slicing through me like a blade. Garry stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on my head as if I were a disobedient child. "You'll do as you're told, Roxanne." He said with calm finality, his tone leaving no room for argument. The fury bubbling inside me threatened to spill over, but I bit my tongue. This wasn't the moment to fight. After a silent minute, Garry turned away. "Joey's in the dining area." He commanded coldly. "Patch him up." Grateful for the escape, I rose from the couch without a word and hurried to the dining room. Joey sat slumped in a chair, pressing a bloodied towel to his side. "Got into a little scuffle." He muttered, his voice strained. I grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet, focusing on the task at hand. My hands moved with precision, cleaning the wound and stitching him up like I'd done countless times before. Joey shifted slightly, his jacket falling open to reveal a glint of silver tucked into the waistband of his pants-a razor blade, small but sharp. I kept my expression neutral, masking the quick flash of realization. As I reached for the gauze on the table, I made my move. With practiced ease, I slipped the razor from his waistband and tucked it into the back pocket of my jeans. Joey, too preoccupied with the pain, didn't notice. I tied off the final stitch and straightened. "You're good to go." I said briskly. Joey grunted in acknowledgment, standing with a wince before shuffling off. I exhaled quietly, my fingers brushing against the razor in my pocket. It wasn't much, but it was enough. After cleaning up in the kitchen, I started dinner. Cooking was routine by now, something I could do without much thought. I worked in silence, preparing the meal and placing the dishes on a tray instead of setting the dining table. The gang rarely ate there. Instead, I carried everything to the living room, leaving it on the coffee table like I always did. Hours later, I lingered in the hallway, peeking around the corner. As expected, they were spread out on the couches, shouting at the game on the TV. The plates of food on the coffee table were mostly empty, alongside half-drunk bottles of whiskey. I watched them laugh, oblivious to everything except the screen and their own crude jokes. It was almost too easy. But where was Kendrick? My stomach tightened as I scanned the room again. He wasn't there. I slipped back into the hallway, keeping my steps light as I hurried toward the staircase. My heart pounded with every creak of the wood beneath my feet, but the noise from the living room drowned out the sound. Upstairs, I darted into my room and shut the door quietly behind me. My stash was hidden beneath the loose floorboard under my bed—a bag of cash I'd scraped together bit by bit, skimming from Garry's stolen goods when no one was looking. I pried the floorboard up and yanked the bag out, throwing it over my shoulder. My escape was so close I could taste it. But when I turned around, Garry was standing in the doorway. My breath caught in my throat. His sharp eyes narrowed as they flicked to the bag over my shoulder. "What are you doing, Roxanne?" He asked, his voice low. I didn't answer. My mind raced, trying to find a way out, but he stepped into the room, blocking the door. "I said, what are you doing?" His voice rose as he took another step closer. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm. "I'm leaving." "Leaving, really?" Garry laughed, harshly. His face twisted into a sneer. "After everything I've done for you?" "After everything I've given you?" He narrowed his brow as I met his gaze. "You're just going to run off like the ungrateful little bitch you are?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Given me?" My voice cracked as anger surged to the surface. "You've given me nothing but misery! You took my life and turned it into a prison!" "Watch your mouth, girl." His hand curled into a fist at his side. "You'd be dead if it weren't for me. You think the world out there is going to be kind to someone like you?" "Someone like me?" I shot back, reaching slowly for the razor tucked in my back pocket which I had slipped off Joey. "You mean someone you've used as a tool for your filthy crime?!" Garry stepped closer, towering over me and his hand shot out, striking me hard across the face. The slap sent me staggering back, my cheek burning, but I didn't cry. I didn't give him the satisfaction. "You're nothing without me." He hissed. "Nothing but a stupid, worthless—" A shout from downstairs cut him off. "They're dead!" Kendrick's voice echoed up the stairs, frantic and loud. "Every single one of them!" Garry froze, his head snapping toward the door, confusion flickering across his face. His brow furrowed as Kendrick's voice rang out again. "She killed them all!" His gaze whipped back to me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. That was my moment. I didn't need to hear more to know what had happened. The food they devoured so greedily had been laced with warfarin, an anticoagulant I'd discreetly taken from the gang's stash of stolen medical supplies weeks ago. They never questioned the random shipments of drugs they stole during their heists and I'd quietly pocketed what I needed. As for the drinks, a bottle of beta-blockers I'd pilfered from the first-aid kit during a gang member's emergency months back had done the job. I'd ground the pills into powder and slipped it into their whiskey. The perfect combination; one slowed their heart rates, the other thinned their blood until even the smallest internal bleed became fatal. I lunged at Garry, the razor glinting in the dim light as I slashed it across his face. Garry roared in pain, stumbling back as blood poured from the deep gash running from his temple to his jaw. I didn't stop. I kicked him hard between the legs and he crumpled to the floor with a guttural groan. "You little..." He spat, but I didn't wait to see what would happen next. I bolted out of the room, my bag slamming against my back as I ran down the hallway. Kendrick's shouts followed me, his voice growing louder. "She's gone! Garry!" I ducked into the guest room at the end of the hall, throwing open the window. The cold night air hit me like a slap, but I didn't hesitate. I climbed onto the windowsill and leapt, landing hard on the grass below. Pain shot through my ankle, but I pushed it aside. I ran. The streetlights blurred past me as I sprinted into the darkness, my chest heaving and my lungs burning. Kendrick had lived, but the gang was dead and Garry was bleeding. For years, they forced me to use my medical training to save their lives. Tonight, it had been their undoing.ROXANNE POVI sat in the passenger seat of Damien’s car, watching the blur of buildings and trees slip past as he drove.We’d just left my therapy orientation, a surreal experience, to say the least, and were now heading toward Angelina’s school to pick her up before stopping by Mr. Jones’s clinic. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the opportunity lingered in my mind since he handed me that card.I curled my fingers in my lap, then glanced over at Damien as he drove, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear. "Thomas came up empty." I said after a pause.He flicked his gaze toward me, silent for a moment."He said he couldn’t find anything about which prison my father’s in. Or even...who he really was." I said, fingers fiddling with the seatbelt strap across my lap.Damien’s jaw tensed subtly. "We’ll figure it out," He said, eyes back on the road. "Don't stress yourself too much about what's buried. Once you start therapy, the memories will come in p
DAMIEN RAPHAËL POV The wind at this height cut sharp through the tower slit like a blade. I adjusted the scope one more time, locking the bipod into place on the concrete ledge. Dahlia stood a few feet behind me, leaning against a rusted steel beam with a cigarette tucked between her fingers and a smug look plastered across her face.Below us, a busy market stretched wide with flea stalls, flower vendors, food trucks, it was loud and bustling. The usual spot. And somewhere among them, the man I came to kill would be taking his regular stroll, oblivious.He wasn’t high-profile. Just a middleman with sticky fingers and a big mouth. Pushed dope across the wrong borders, and skimmed off the top from one of my client’s shipments. Said something he shouldn’t have in a room full of ears. That was enough to earn a bullet.The silence between me and Dahlia was thin and short-lived."So..." She exhaled a cloud of smoke. "The marriage contract is real, then?"I didn’t answer.She chuckled un
ROXANNE POVIt was finally the day.The infamous Daddy-Daughter Bake Off Angelina had been buzzing about for weeks. And now here we were, inside the school’s bright and colorful multipurpose room, transformed for the event with decorated tables, pink streamers, and way too much glitter for a Tuesday morning.Ms. Carter stood front and center with a huge clipboard tucked to her chest, calling out instructions like she was the host of a televised competition. "Alright parents and darlings, welcome! We are so happy to have you here today for our annual bake-off!" Cheers erupted. Kids clapped. Parents smiled. Cameras flashed.I stood off to the side of the room beside Dahlia, Fred, and Mrs. Jones, watching with a smile tugging at my lips. Mrs. Jones looked proud, clutching her purse. Dahlia chewed on a piece of gum as she leaned against a nearby wall, looking impressively disinterested despite the bright decorations. Fred stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding politely at parents
ROXANNE POVI leaned against the kitchen door frame, arms folded lightly beneath my chest, watching the chaos unfold in the most heartwarming way.Damien stood at the counter in a simple black tee, sleeves rolled just slightly to his elbows as he wrestled with a bowl of cake batter. His brows furrowed in intense concentration while Mrs. Jones stood to the side, arms crossed like a judgmental judge on one of those baking shows, correcting him every time he started mixing too hard or added too much flour."No, no, not like that, Mr. Raphaël," She said for the third time in the last five minutes. "Be gentle with the batter." Angelina giggled, flour smeared on her cheeks and her oversized apron dragging just a little near her feet. "You’re failing, Daddy!" Damien glanced over his shoulder, smirking a bit. "Watch your mouth, princess. You’re supposed to be my teammate." Angelina’s response was a toothy grin as she skipped over, clinging to his side and reaching for the cookie cutters. M
ROXANNE POVAngelina's little fingers gripped mine tightly as we walked closer to the scene. I could feel her slowing with each step, her gaze fixed on the elderly woman and the shouting man in front of her. We weren't even fully in earshot yet and already I could feel the tension."What's going on here?" I asked once we were close enough, my voice calm but direct.The man turned his head and looked at me over like I had just interrupted his coffee break. He jerked a thumb at the older woman. "She's trying to leave without paying for groceries. Holding up the damn line." The woman clutched two reusable grocery bags to her chest, her shoulders trembling beneath a thin floral cardigan. "I can't find my daughter," She whispered, barely audible. Then again, stronger. "Please help me find her." Her eyes darted left and right, wild and frightened. "She was just here." I stared at her for a moment, taking in her confusion, the slight shake in her hands, the way her eyes kept looking thr
ROXANNE POV I sat at the long dining table between Damien and Angelina, still a little drowsy and sore, but holding onto the comfort of the warm coffee in my hands. The morning sun filtered through the tall windows and breakfast was spread across the table which Mrs. Jones had put together: scrambled eggs with herbs, buttery toast, fluffy pancakes stacked with syrup, fresh-cut fruit in a glass bowl, and warm sausage links that still sizzled slightly when you touched them. Angelina was already on her second pancake, swinging her legs under the chair, with her cheeks puffed as she chewed like a chipmunk. Across from me, Damien was buttering toast with his usual focus, like breakfast was a negotiation and the knife needed to be perfectly balanced. Mrs. Jones hovered not too far away with a notepad in hand, waiting like a patient general taking notes before a mission. "So," Angelina said between bites, tapping her fork against her empty plate, "I've been thinking..." That tone i
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