Page 71 of Shadow Waltz
“I got lucky. And then I got smart. I learned that the only way to guarantee your safety is to make yourself indispensable to people who have power. To become so valuable that losing you would cost more than protecting you.”
The words hit like ice water in my veins, because they revealed exactly what I'd been trying to avoid acknowledging. That my value to Luka wasn't just emotional or sexual—it was strategic. That my choice to stay wasn't just about finding somewhere to belong, but about ensuring my survival in a world that devoured people like me.
“Is that what I am?” I asked. “Indispensable?”
Carina leaned forward, her dark eyes serious. “You're something I've never seen before. Someone who makes the Prince question his own rules.” She gestured toward the collar at my throat. “He's never given anyone a real choice before. Not in the years I've known him.”
The revelation sent electricity through my nervous system, because it meant I wasn't just another possession in Luka's collection. I was something unprecedented, something that had changed the fundamental dynamics of how he operated. The responsibility of that felt both thrilling and terrifying.
“That's why today matters,” Carina continued. “Because if you choose to stay, it proves that what he’s building with you is real. But if you choose to leave...” She shrugged, but I could see the concern in her expression. “Men like Luka don't handle rejection well. Especially not from someone they've allowed themselves to care about.”
The implicit threat was clear—that my choice carried consequences beyond just my own fate. That other people, people I'd come to care about, would bear the cost of whatever decision I made. It should have felt like manipulation, but instead it felt like honesty about the way power worked in this world.
“He'd hurt you?” I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.
“He'd hurt everyone,” Carina said simply. “Not out of malice, but because pain makes people do stupid things. And stupid things in our business get people killed.”
My choice wasn't just about my own happiness or safety—it was about the stability of an entire organization, the lives of people who'd become something resembling family.
She stood then, professional mask sliding back into place. “Troy will take care of you today. But remember—you're not just representing yourself in that meeting. You're representing all of us.”
After she left, the silence stretched between me and Troy like a wire pulled too tight. I could feel the weight of expectations, of hopes and fears that had nothing to do with my own desires. But underneath all that external pressure, I could feel something else—the certainty that I'd already made my choice, that the meeting with Reddick was just a formality.
“You ready for this?” Troy asked, though we both knew ready was a relative term.
“Ready as I'll ever be,” I replied, standing and moving toward the bathroom. “Give me twenty minutes to get myself together.”
The shower water was hot enough to punish, and I let it beat against my skin while I processed everything Carina had revealed. The collar stayed on, of course—it was waterproof, designed for long-term wear. But looking at my reflection in the steam-fogged mirror, I realized I didn't want to take it off. It hadbecome part of who I was, a symbol of belonging that felt more real than any freedom Reddick might offer.
By the time I emerged, Troy had laid out clothes for me—expensive but understated, the kind of outfit that would make me look like someone who'd chosen his circumstances rather than someone who'd been forced into them. The attention to detail was touching, a reminder that people cared about how this meeting went.
“You look good,” Troy said when I appeared fully dressed. “Like someone who knows what he wants.”
The compliment sent warmth through my chest, because it meant he saw me as more than just an assignment. “I do know what I want,” I replied, surprised by how true the words felt.
The driveto the hotel was tense but professional, Troy maintaining constant communication with security teams positioned throughout the city. I watched Manhattan roll past through bulletproof glass, seeing the same streets I'd once called home but feeling like a tourist in my own past.
“He's already there,” Troy said as we pulled up to the hotel entrance. “Conference room on the third floor, private access, multiple exit routes.”
“You make it sound like a business meeting,” I said, letting a teasing smile slip into my voice. Maybe I needed the distraction.
“It is a business meeting,” Troy replied seriously. “The business of deciding who you belong to.”
The hotel lobby was all marble and crystal, the kind of neutral luxury that whispered old money but didn’t shout criminal. Troy steered me toward the elevators, his hand settling on my lower back—a gesture that hovered between protectiveand proprietary, just enough pressure to remind me I wasn’t alone.
“I'll be right outside,” he murmured as the elevator doors slid open. “Anything feels off, anything at all, you call for me.”
The conference room was smaller than I'd pictured, all floor-to-ceiling windows and sharp lines, the city stretching out below us in a hazy shimmer. Two chairs, a long table, daylight spilling in like judgment. Reddick was already there, dark-eyed and taut in a perfectly cut suit, scrolling through something on his tablet. He looked up as I entered, and for a second, something passed between us—recognition, sure, but also heat, sharp and unspoken.
It had been three years since we’d last seen each other, but I felt the old electricity coil tight in my chest. The first time we met, I’d been nineteen and half-dead, dragged myself out of a nightmare only to wake up in a different one. Reddick had found me in the bowels of the subway, bleeding out, feral, and terrified, and instead of treating me like evidence, he’d sat by my hospital bed for hours. Not watching—waiting. Hoping I’d let him in. He’d asked for the truth, and I’d lied to his face, but it didn’t stop him from trying to save me.
The second time, I’d been on the run in Chicago. He’d tracked me down at a greasy diner at 3am. Slid into the booth across from me, so close I could smell his aftershave, feel the heat of his thigh pressed against mine beneath the table. I remembered the way his eyes raked over me—assessing, hungry, pretending it was just concern. He offered me coffee, sanctuary, a way out. I took the coffee and left the rest.
Now, the air between us felt charged with everything unspoken. He stood as I entered, his gaze lingering on the curve of my throat, the line of my jaw, the collar at my neck. There was a pulse of want in his eyes he didn’t quite manage to hide.
“Ash,” he said, offering his hand. His voice was lower, a little rough. “You look… different.”
“Different how?” I asked, taking the seat across from him, crossing my legs deliberately. I knew what this was. I knew what he wanted. I could feel his eyes tracking every movement.