Page 9 of Mystic's Sunrise

“She talks to me,” I whispered.

“Because she wants something,” he hissed. “Theyallwant something. And I won’t have her turning you against me.”

“I’m not against you—”

“But you’re thinking. You’requestioning.”

He stood, breathing hard, pacing. A storm gathering in his chest.

“I took you out of hell,” he muttered. “And now you want to run back into the fire because some bitch told you you could?”

I stood too quickly. “That’s not fair.”

He stopped. Looked at me like I was a stranger.

And then he smiled.

Cold. Controlled.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said softly. “She won’t be a problem anymore.”

A chill ran through me.

“What does that mean?” I asked, voice trembling.

He stepped close, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Kissed my temple like nothing had happened.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll handle it. You don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

He left without another word.

And I stood there, shaking, knowing exactly what that smile meant.

Lucy was already marked.

CHAPTER FOUR

THIS IS NOTa home.

The stale air of the Dragon Fire clubhouse clung to my skin, thick with mold, sweat, and cigarette smoke. It seeped into everything, my clothes, my hair, my bones. No matter how many showers I took, I couldn’t wash this place off me. Drago only allowed me to clean our room, forbidding me from touching anything else.

Not that I wanted to clean up after these pigs.

I sat on the worn out chair, fingers twisting the hem of my shirt. My gaze flicked to the door—guarded, as always—then back to Lucy. She sat across from me, pale, a faint bruise stilldarkening her jaw despite the weeks that had passed.Fang did that to her. Bastard.Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw it—that fire still burning beneath the exhaustion. That fire was why I hadn’t completely given up. Not yet.

Lucy leaned in, her voice low, careful. Drago and Fang were in the corner, talking club business, but Drago always had his eyes on me.Always.

“Tonight. It has to be tonight, Zeynep,” she whispered, urgency tightening her words. “The guys are heading out for a run. Drago and Fang will be distracted. It’s our chance. If we don’t take it now… we won’t get another one.”

My stomach twisted. Part of me wanted to believe it was possible. Another part—the one that knew what happened when you crossed Drago—whispered that running meant worse than staying. But staying meant suffocation. Death in slow motion.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, glancing at the door again. “They will… they will hunt us. You know this,evet?” The Turkish word slipped out before I could catch it. Sometimes, when I was scared or tired, the old words came back.

Lucy nodded. “I know. But I’d rather die running than rot in this place another damn day. You with me or not?” Her gaze hardened, daring me to say no.

I swallowed, my pulse a steady thrum in my ears. “I am with you,” I breathed. Because what was the alternative? Drago’s control tightening until there was nothing left of me but a shell. No… not anymore.

Lucy outlined the plan quickly, back exit, stolen keys, an old pickup parked near the fence. My heart pounded as I nodded, committing every detail to memory.