Danica
Bells rang joyously in the distance—the sound, too pleasant for a dark basement or abandoned building. Cigarettes, cigars, and an insane amount of perfume provided temporary relief.
There were people nearby. Too far to use their conversations to determine the location, yet close enough for possible witnesses. That realization in itself sparked another short-lived reason for calm despite my lack of sight. Twice I stumble over my own feet as I'm dragged along—the ground beneath them, ice-cold and smooth. With the fading of the voice, fear set in. My heartbeat replaces the sounds.
Neither man tightly gripping my arms bothered to explain who they were, let alone what they wanted. I was on my way to bed when I heard movement outside my door. My mother may not have raised me, per se, but I'm still no fool. I'm not one to wait around for a reason to run either. I was on my way out the window and down the rusted fire escape when they got in. Before I could put distance between us on the ground, a hand shot from a dark corner of the alley and a sweet-scented cloth stole my ability to escape. All too soon, my consciousness went as well. Awakening to darkness courtesy of a blindfold and callous hands, my mind worked tirelessly for a plan.
This has to be a part of my not-so-distant past; a direct result of some shit I stepped in and thought I could scrape off and keep running. Karma at its finest with my bill in hand. Convinced of that, I allowed my arms to become weightless and walked along. When the time's right, I'll play my hand, becoming a damsel or seductress to gain my freedom.
The thought of adding another sucker to my list is almost too empowering to withhold a smile. Biting down on my lip is all I can do to stop it. Yet, the moment the floor goes from freezing and hard to warm and carpeted, my excitement slips.
Rough fingertips caress the line of my jaw. Slowly, they tugged at the blindfold. Cold blue eyes like unforgiving ocean waves, stare into mine. Such eyes, I'd have remember. Such eyes that're seemingly staring into my soul would have embedded themselves in my mind forever. Drawing me in like the proverbial moth to a flame, my mind goes blank. More daunting than this stoney gaze and my inability to look away is the lack of familiarity with their owner.
"Danica Tyce," he states matter of factly. His voice, deep and velvety, matches those eyes and the darkness of his striking features perfectly. In those two words, there was a hint of an accent. One I can't place but hate for how it adds to his attractiveness. Everything from his stance and men still holding me to his perfectly styled raven hair was indicative. This man is to be feared and respected.
"Sorry, I don't know her."
He reacts with a smirk, although the amusement fails to move beyond his lips. A second later, he nods and the doors of the skyscraping office open, giving way to heavy footsteps.
"Dani! Thank you, Jesus! They found you!"
Instantly, I freeze. The last time I heard that voice, my ear was pressed against a cheap fiberwood door listening to him argue with my mom about money. Afterward, he became a ghost; a dead man as far as I was concerned. Now, he's a few feet away, breathlessly elated. The second he's in my line of sight, everything clicks into place.
They found you.
This is because of him.
"What did you do?" I whisper, my tone increasing gradually. "What did you do, you sorry son of a bitch?!" To no avail, I fight against the iron grip on my arms, hoping one would loosen just enough for me to get to him. In trying, I'd only gained a stern look from the Alpha, resulting in the blindfold being pulled up and shoved into my mouth.
The older, male version of myself smiled from ear to ear. A decade-plus weathered his face. No longer youthful and handsome, the corners of his gray eyes sagged with wrinkles also visible around his mouth. Light brown skin hung beneath his chin. Thick dark, curly hair, which once mirrored my own, was now heavily streaked with strands of white. The only thing that hadn't changed, though, was how little he gave a fuck.
"Get off me," he shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the man standing over him. "I told you I'd come through. You have my girl. So, we're good now." His hopeful eyes looked everywhere but in my direction.
"Of course not," Blue-eyes retorted, glancing between them. "I don't see how you'd reach that conclusion." With the return of that accent was a piercing stare lasting seconds but still intimidating.
"What? Look at her, Easton! You don't see the potential? If she's a virgin, one night will cover everything. If not, you can mold her to be a living toy for you, your guys, or the bigshots who roll through. She's yours to do whatever. Just let me walk."
At a complete loss for words, I couldn't wipe the astonishment from my face long enough to react. After years of being an absent, piss-poor father, he managed to prove that he was, in fact, lower than dirt. Readily, he offered me up like a prize pig for slaughter and even had the nerve to smile. It shouldn't have surprised me. Ezra was never the loving dad. There were no talks of my worth, scaring off boyfriends for ill intentions or showing up for birthdays. Still, I never expected something so fucked up.
From behind the blindfold, I cursed him as best I could, stopping after another look from Easton.
"Your daughter for complete absolution?" This time when he spoke, the accent was gone, and his tone revealed nothing.
Ezra grinned, "Her life for mine."
Biting back angry tears was all I could do not to lash out again. Instead, I lowered my eyes to my feet, determined not to let those men see me break. Realization struck me like a freight train. Without knowledge of my father's dealings, it would be impossible to one-up him. Without knowing the sharply dressed man, there was no way to use slick talk and suggestive body language to buy my freedom. In doing so, I could worsen my situation.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Easton examining me before I decided to disconnect emotionally. Whatever he was thinking didn't matter. Whatever he chose to do, he'd do. There was no point in meeting his gaze to plead for my life. I needed what was left of my dignity to stand tall in a room full of men, wearing shorts cut from thin, black leggings and a tight white t-shirt.
Easton gave me another glance, casually walking over to the large wooden desk in front of the uncovered windows. With a quick flick of his wrist, he dryly commanded, "Take him."
The words barely register before begging, and sobs rocked the room. I lifted my head in time to see him kicking and screaming like a toddler while grappling at the arms around his midsection. I watched until he was no longer in sight, and all I could hear was a slight echo. The satisfaction was fleeting. Now leaning back in a rolling chair, Easton held my attention. Meeting his gaze directly, those eyes penetrated my armor like lasers. They trailed ever-so-slowly from my face to the point where the objects on his desk obstructed his view, then back up to my face.
"Leave." With another dismissive wave, the two men at my sides moved. The moment the door closed behind them, he beckoned me, pushing his chair back slightly while pointing to his desk.
I complied, walking around the large surface with my arms concealing the evidence of my missing bra. No matter how attractive he was with his dark brows and neatly groomed stubble, he was still a dangerous stranger I'd just been offered to. With that in mind, I stopped short of where he wanted.
As he stood, his tall, fit frame caused a ripple of anxiety and fear. He'd just proved how unpredictable and unmerciful he could be.
Approaching me, he plucked my hands from my chest but kept our eyes locked. The comfortable gap between us evaporated and was replaced with tingles at the point of contact. With his free hand, he pushed the stray curls from my loose bun behind my ear, allowing his knuckles to linger on my cheek. The touch was so sensual and utterly out-of-place for someone who'd casually handed down a death sentence. His gentleness gave me an ounce of hope that maybe—just maybe—he would have enough compassion to set me free. Then his hand slid into my hair, gripping it so hard my eyes watered.
"I expected to get my money back. Instead, I got you. Enlighten me, Sweetheart, what was the plan?" Yanking the makeshift gag down, he paused.
"Your guess is as good as mine."
He frowned, tilting my head back, practically leveling our lips. There were so close I could taste the remnants of whatever minty thing he consumed before this meeting. "Ezra made a good point. With a face, body, and even skin like yours," he unabashedly stared at my full breasts, "I could double my money. However, his blood runs through your veins, and I see him in you. You'd double-cross me."
"I'm nothing like him." Each word rolled off my tongue with heavy doses of venom. I accepted many titles, including con woman and user, but one comparison I'd never allow was any associated with that man.
"Your hunger for money similarly knows no bounds considering you've made a career out of luring men to rob them. There's only one difference." When his gaze settled on my bare legs, his scrutiny caused me to squirm. "My instincts are to kill you, but," he trailed off, biting his lower lip.
My body reacted while every part of my brain rapidly searched for something to say—anything to throw him off his course of repayment. Again, without knowing their deal or what I could offer him, I was down on options. All I could do was search for an angle to play on with my gift of persuasion.
Staring up at him from beneath my lashes in search of even a drop of weakness, I watched his face fall through several emotions. Deep blue eyes softened like misty rain then grew darker like a funnel cloud. His hand in my hair loosened then tightened again repeatedly. Feeling his fingertips rub against my scalp, he pulled much tighter than before. Without warning, I was yanked away from his desk then pushed to my knees.
The storm won the war.
Confirmation came with the feel of cold metal pressed against my temple.
With more urgency, I tried to think of something to save myself. Something to prevent the early death I never anticipated. Instead of my twenty-four years of life flashing before my eyes with the fact that there would never be a chance to live normally, anger surged to the surface of my skin.
Fuck begging and pleading.
I wouldn't spend my last seconds cowering.
Struggling against his hold, I whipped my head around until I looked him directly in the eyes. With everything inside of me, I tried to will a lifetime of my haunting stare. To see me when he slept at night, awakened in the morning, and blinked throughout the day.
Easton barely moved to take off the gun's safety. Yet, the tip of the silencer made the sound echo in my ears.
Holding my breath, watching him, I slowly counted.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.