Chapter 8: No Name, No Mercy

Handcuffs dug into my wrists as guards dragged me into the security room, beneath the buzz of annoying overhead lights.

“Sit,” one of them barked, shoving me into a plastic chair.

They took my fingerprints, but nothing popped up. Alistair had already scrubbed me from the system.

“A stray,” the younger guard muttered. “Lock her up.”

The holding cell was freezing. I spent the night on a hard metal bench, shivering beside a passed-out woman and another who stared blankly at the wall. No food, no blankets—just the smell of piss and vomit.

By the next evening, they let me go with a warning and some random, stained clothes from the lost-and-found.

“Stay out of trouble,” the officer said, kicking me out into the night.

⏾⋆.˚

The rundown district was merciless.

Hours of walking in a thin hoodie and bare feet left me freezing and bruised. I was starving, stripped of everything—no cash, no phone, nothing.

The first night, I huddled behind a dumpster under cardboard boxes, jolting awake at every sound. Ciel kept watch, though exhaustion weighed on her too.

By morning, my lips were cracked and bleeding. I forced down a salvaged, half-eaten sandwich from the trash, the partial bond in my chest throbbing with the memory of how Xavier had treated me.

We are prey, Ciel whispered.

“No,” I hissed through chattering teeth. “We’re not.”

I just kept walking.

Days two and three blurred. I learned the street rules quickly: avoid groups of men, shun the bright lights, and drink rust-tasting fountain water. My scent, still sweet from a recent heat, attracted all the wrong attention.

One afternoon, some teenagers laughed and threw soda cans at me. Another time, an old lady spat at me when I asked for change.

At night, I’d hide in alleyways, hugging my knees and crying silently because the cold and the hunger were just too much. I used to be the daughter of the Holloway family—I’d never even washed my own clothes or missed a hot meal—and now that girl was basically gone.

By the fourth night, I was too weak to even run.

I was walking along a neon-lit street when some tattooed men stepped out of the shadows.

“Fresh meat,” a bald man sneered.

They surrounded me fast. Rough hands grabbed my arms, and one of them yanked my hoodie open. They started touching my waist and thighs, and then a hand shoved between my legs.

I fought back—scratching and swinging my elbows—but I was too weak. I started crying as one of them laughed and started unbuckling his belt.

Not like this, Ciel growled. Fight!

Then, a deep voice cut through everything. “Enough.”

The men froze. A tall, scarred rogue wolf was standing in the doorway of a club with two huge bouncers behind him.

“Boss doesn’t like trash causing problems on his sidewalk,” the rogue growled. “Take your fun somewhere else.”

They shoved me hard, and I collapsed onto the pavement, shaking and with my hoodie torn open.

The scarred man crouched down next to me. “You alive, kid?”

I couldn’t even speak; I just curled into a ball and shook.

“Name’s Jax,” he said quietly. “Can’t leave you out here, you’ll be dead by morning.” He nodded toward the club. “Come inside. It’s warm, and there’s food in the back.”

Ciel was screaming in my head that it was a trap—a rogue den—and that they’d smell us.

But I didn’t have a choice.

The club was called The Satin Claw.

The bass was thumping through the walls, and the air smelled like sweat, cheap booze, and strong wolf musk. Everyone looked at me as Jax led me inside.

The manager, a man in a suit named Marcus, looked me over with tired eyes.

“Christ. She looks half-dead.”

“She is,” Jax replied. “But she’s an omega. Give her a job.”

Marcus sighed. “Fine. Bar duty. Ten bucks an hour, cash at the end of the night. Break something, you pay. Cause trouble, you’re gone.”

I just nodded.

They gave me an apron.

When I looked in the grimy bathroom mirror, I didn’t even recognize myself—hollow eyes, messy hair, and bruises everywhere. The “proud Holloway daughter” was totally gone.

I walked out onto the main floor and tied the apron around my waist. The flashing lights and half-naked dancers made my stomach flip. This wasn’t just a bar; it was a predator’s den.

I kept my head down and started wiping tables, my hands still shaking.

“Well, well. Fresh meat.”

A dancer with bright pink hair leaned against the bar. “Name’s Sapphire. You here to clean or dance?”

“Just cleaning,” I muttered.

Sapphire smirked. “Good. Though we’re short a girl tonight. Cherry got her face smashed by a drunk alpha, so she’s out for a few weeks.”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash. A drunk rogue wolf had just yanked a dancer off the stage, and she hit the floor hard, her lip bleeding.

Everything went chaotic. Bouncers rushed in.

Then, almost everyone in the club looked at me.

Sapphire’s smirk got wider. “Looks like they need a replacement, new gir.

Their gaze pressed against my chest, urging me to run.

But I had nowhere else to go.

Marcus looked at me with those tired eyes. “You. New girl. You said you’d do anything, right?”

“What? No—I’m just cleaning tables—”

Sapphire ignored me, digging her nails into my arm as she hauled me toward the stage. “Boss needs fresh meat,” she stated. “The crowd is already drooling over your body.”

“No! I can’t!”

“Doesn’t matter,” she snapped, yanking me forward, her glittery heels clicking against the sticky floor. “Cherry’s out, and we’re short. Either shake what you’ve got or Marcus kicks your broke ass back to the street.”

I flinched, digging my heels in as the bass vibrated through my teeth and hungry eyes tracked my movement. No! Trap! Run! Ciel screamed in my head.

But there was nowhere to go.

Four days on the street had taught me that the freezing night was worse.

“Please,” I begged. “I’ll scrub the bathrooms. Anything but this—”