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CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

I SAT STILL , my hands folded neatly in my lap, my expression carefully blank. Drago’s grip on my thigh was possessive, his fingers pressing just hard enough to remind me who I belonged to.

The room pulsed with the feeling of power, the scent of expensive cigars in the air, curling through my senses like a noose. Across from us, Gabriel Lopez lounged in his chair, the kind of man who exuded power in that quiet, chilling way only someone truly dangerous could. His tailored suit and lazy smirk didn’t fool me, there was nothing soft about him.

I kept my eyes down, my ears tuned to the rhythm of their conversation—numbers, shipments, product. The language of criminals. A world I had never wanted to be part of, yet here I was, an ornament at Drago’s side. A possession on display.

“Your last delivery was light,” Lopez said, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. His voice was calm, almost bored, but it had that sharpness, the kind you don’t notice until you’re already bleeding. “That’s not the kind of impression you want to leave.”

Drago’s grip on me tightened just enough to make me wince before he leaned forward, flashing that smug, empty grin. “A minor setback. Won’t happen again.”

Lopez studied him, then shifted his attention to me. His dark eyes lingered a second too long, sharp, and assessing. I kept my gaze averted, but I felt the weight of his stare like a brand on my skin.

I recognized him.

And I think he recognized me, though he couldn’t quite place how that could be. It was pathetic, really, how easily he stole lives, snuffed them out like candles, and never even remembered the faces of his victims. Never gave them a second thought.

“She always this quiet?” Lopez asked, amusement lacing his words.

Drago smirked. “She knows her place.”

A slow ripple of laughter moved through the men at the table, smug and cruel. My stomach churned, but I didn’t react. I’d learned long ago that showing anything—fear, disgust, even hope—was a mistake.

“She’s beautiful,” Lopez said after a beat, his tone considering. “Foreign?”

Drago’s arm curled around my waist, dragging me closer to his side. “She’s mine,” he said, voice hard.

Lopez nodded, the smirk never leaving his face. He didn’t push it. The conversation slid back to business—money, threats, timelines—all dressed up in polite words and velvet voices. A deadly dance of power.

I stared at my reflection in the polished wood of the table, the lines of my face distorted in the gloss. I forced my breathing to stay even. I didn’t belong here.

Then Lopez’s tone shifted, just slightly. “Word is, your last route was hit. Product lost. Men dead. That wasn’t just a ‘setback,’ Drago.”

Drago’s jaw tensed. “The Devil’s House MC had a hand in it. They seem to think we’re fucking scared of them.”

Lopez raised a brow, unimpressed. “Then you make an example out of them. Fast.”

“We’re already planning something,” Drago snarled, his grip on my leg getting even tighter. “They’ll learn not to touch what’s ours.”

My heart dropped.

The Devil’s House MC.

They were talking about hurting them— him .

I stared harder at the table, willing my face to stay blank. But my mind was spiraling. I could still hear his laugh in the back of my head, the quiet way he said my name when we came together in bed. I was so angry at him for lying. For breaking what little trust I’d scraped together.

But that didn’t mean I wanted him dead.

Even while anger burned in me like a slow fire, the thought of someone putting a bullet in him made my lungs tighten. I still loved him.

I closed my eyes for half a second, just long enough to see Mystic. The way his eyes softened when he looked at me. The gentleness in hands that had known nothing but violence. The quiet way he made me feel safe when I should have been too broken to believe it.

A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. I missed him. But how could I ever trust him again? How could I warn him?

Even now, chained to Drago’s side like a pet, I still wasn’t sure which betrayal cut deeper.

“You’ll keep me informed,” Lopez said to Drago, lifting his glass in a silent toast. But then, just before he took a sip, he turned his head—just slightly—and looked at me again. Not at my face.

At my throat.

His gaze lingered there, cold and clinical, before sliding back up to meet my eyes. He smiled, slow and empty. Like he’d just imagined how easily he could kill me.

I swallowed hard, blood thudding in my ears. That look, it wasn’t lust. It wasn’t curiosity. It was calculation.

Lopez didn’t see me as a woman. He saw me as leverage. Before I could look away, the hush of movement drew my eye.

A side door opened near the far end of the room. A young woman stepped out, flanked by two men in suits. She was delicate in a way that looked out of place here. She was also beautiful. Her eyes stayed down, one hand lightly touching the back of a boy who looked about ten. A girl, maybe eight, clung to the woman’s other side, her fingers curled tightly around her dress. She seemed too young to be their mother.

They crossed the room without a word, ushered toward another door by the suited men. Lopez noticed but no one else at the table even glanced their way, his men seeming to know better.

I didn’t know who they were. But I knew what it felt like to walk quietly, to be guided with a hand on your back that didn’t offer comfort but control. They moved like ghosts. And something told me... they weren’t allowed to leave.

Lopez watched them, his eyes focused on the woman as she crossed the room. A flicker of something passed through his expression—possessiveness—strangely a softness out of place at this table—with this man.

Then it was gone. He looked back at Drago and kept talking as if nothing had happened.

I sat frozen, watching the door close behind the woman and the children, unease blooming in my gut. Something wasn’t right.

I didn’t know who they were or why they moved like ghosts through this place, but I knew what it felt like to be owned.

And she wore that look like a second skin.

***

AS SOON AS we got back, I was locked in his room.

The door was solid wood, two locks, and no windows in the room like I was some kind of rare animal too valuable to risk. He didn’t tie me down or drag me to a basement. He didn’t need to. I was his possession. His prize, and prizes don’t get left unattended.

I sat on the edge of the bed, barely breathing, my fingers curled tight around the blanket. The fabric dug into my palms like thorns. Voices drifted through the thin walls—rough laughter, boots stomping across the floorboards, the occasional slam of a door. Noise that meant Drago was busy. Out. Handling business. That was the only reason I had room to think, to breathe without his shadow crawling over my skin.

A creak splintered the quiet of the room.

I froze.

The door.

It wasn’t time. Drago had only just left and he was never quiet when he came into the room.

My spine went rigid, a thousand invisible needles digging into my skin. I stared at the sliver of light under the door as a shape moved across it—slow, cautious. Not heavy enough to be one of the men. Not careless enough either.

Then—soft, breathless—came a voice.

“Zeynep?”

Everything inside me stopped.

That voice. My heart seized, then lurched forward so violently it made me dizzy.

Lucy.

The door cracked open, just enough for a shadow to slip through. My eyes strained in the low light, adjusting. When I finally saw her—really saw her—my body flooded with something wild and terrible. Relief. Fear. Love.

She was here.

God help her, she was actually here.

She closed the door behind her without a sound, pressing her back to it and holding a finger to her lips.

Don’t speak.

She moved across the room fast and silent, crouching in front of me, her breath shaky, her hands finding mine. They were cold. Trembling.

“I’m getting you out,” she whispered, voice trembling with urgency. “Right now.”

I gripped her wrist, hard. “No,” I breathed. “You can’t be here—he’ll see you. They’ll see you.”

Her eyes lit with a fire I didn’t share. “I don’t care. I knocked out the guard at the back. The door’s open. I don’t know how long it’ll stay that way. We only have a few minutes. We have to move now.”

I shook my head, panic clawing its way up my throat. “It’s not like last time. They’re watching more now. They know—”

“I don’t care,” she hissed. “We go, Zeynep. Move your ass. Please.”

I nodded slowly, limbs already tensing, readying for the sprint even if my heart screamed in protest. I stood.

And that’s when we heard it.

Clapping.

Slow. Mocking.

We both spun toward the sound.

The door wasn’t closed anymore.

And leaning against the frame, smug and snake silent, was the last man Lucy ever wanted to see.

Fang.

He looked like the monster he was, shoulders relaxed, one brow raised in cruel amusement. His mouth twisted into that signature smirk that never reached his eyes. Eyes that stayed locked on Lucy like a predator who’d waited too long to feed.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice thick with glee. “If this ain’t the sweetest surprise I’ve had in months.”

He stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him with a soft click that sounded like a lock snapping shut on our fate.

Lucy didn’t flinch, but I felt her go still beside me, her fingers slipping free of mine.

Fang’s gaze moved over her slow, like he was unwrapping her in his mind, enjoying every second. “Didn’t think I’d ever get another shot at you,” he murmured. “But here you are. Walked right into my arms. Just like one of those fuckin’ fairytales.”

Lucy drew in a breath that sounded more like a choke.

He stepped closer.

“You made my whole damn year, love,” he purred, head tilting. “Been dreamin’ of you, y’know. What I’d do if I got another chance.”

My stomach twisted violently. I stepped forward, but Lucy beat me to it, her arm out, pushing me gently behind her.

Protecting me.

Like I was the one in danger.

“Cute,” Fang chuckled, green eyes glinting. “Real cute. But this ain't a Disney movie, love. This is real fuckin’ life.”

He took another step, slow and deliberate, like a wolf savoring the distance closing between predator and prey. His voice dipped into something colder. “Now… be a good girl, Lucy. Come here.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

He smiled, all teeth. “Don’t make me come get you.”

And in that moment, I knew.

He wasn’t bluffing.

He’d been waiting for this. Planning it. Holding onto the memory of her the way Drago held onto me.

Only Fang didn’t want ownership.

He wanted destruction.

And Lucy… she’d just walked into the fire.