He raised both hands immediately, palms out, a gesture of peace that did nothing to slow my racing pulse. “I'm not here to hurt you,” he said, his voice still quiet, still controlled. “I promise. I just want to talk.”
Talk. As if talking were safe. As if words couldn't be weapons just as sharp as fists.
I shook my head, taking another step back, ready to bolt if he moved even an inch closer.
He seemed to understand. His hands stayed up, his posture open and non-threatening, though I knew that meant nothing. Alphas could move fast when they wanted to. Could close the distance before you had time to run.
“My name is Kade Killion,” he said. “I saw you singing last night. On Seventh Street.”
Recognition must have shown on my face because his expression shifted slightly, something that might have been satisfaction flickering in his hazel-brown eyes.
“You ran,” he continued. “I understand why. But I'm not here because of what you are. I'm here because of what you can do.”
Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his jacket pocket. I tensed, ready to run, but he only pulled out a small black card. He held it between two fingers, extending it toward me, but not coming closer.
“I'm the CEO of Killion Records,” he said. “Your voice—it's extraordinary. I'd like to offer you a contract.”
I stared at the card, not moving to take it. A contract. A record company. This had to be a trick. Had to be some kind of trap disguised as an opportunity.
“There's a gala in six weeks,” he continued when I didn't respond. “A spring event for high-profile donors and industry professionals. I need a performer, someone who can captivate an audience. Two hours, one performance. The fee is substantial.”
My mouth was dry. “Why me?”
“Because you're talented. Because you deserve better than this.” His gaze swept briefly across the encampment, taking in the rows of tents, the mud, and ice, the visible desperation. “And because I think you need this as much as I need a performer.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling exposed and transparent under his assessment. He was right. I needed this. Needed money, needed resources, needed a way out of this place where every day was a battle against the cold, the hunger, and the constant threat of violence.
But accepting help from an Alpha—that had its own kind of danger.
My hands were shaking as I stepped forward, keeping as much distance as possible, and took the card from his fingers. Our skin didn't touch this time, but I still felt that pull, that warmth which wanted to draw me closer.
The card was heavy, expensive stock with embossed lettering. Kade Killion, CEO. Killion Records. An address in the tower district where I'd never set foot, where people like me weren't welcome.
I looked up from the card to his face, then past him to the street beyond the encampment entrance. A black car idled there, the same one from last night, sleek and impossible in this neighborhood of rust and decay.
“The car is for you,” Kade said, following my gaze. “If you accept my offer. I have a contract prepared and accommodations arranged. Everything you need to prepare for the performance.”
Accommodations. That meant a roof. Walls. Heat. Safety.
My jaw clenched as I fought with myself, weighing the danger of staying against the danger of going with him. The streets were killing me slowly, by inches and degrees, cold, hunger, and an ankle that wasn't healing properly. But Alphas—they could destroy you in ways that left nothing behind.
I looked at the card again. At the car. Then at his face. He was still calm, patient, and waiting.
What choice did I really have?
I gave a single, sharp nod.
Something flickered across his expression, too fast for me to read. “Thank you,” he said, and gestured toward the car. “After you.”
“But my things?”
“Grab what you need, we will provide the rest.”
I sighed. Was I doing the right thing? Inside the tent, I knew the only thing I needed was the scan picture of my baby. It was a reminder never to trust again.
Taking one last look around, I closed up the tent and limped past him, keeping maximum distance, my body tense and ready to bolt at the first sign of a threat. Every step felt like a betrayal of the survival instincts that had kept me alive this long.
The driver got out and bowed his head to me, opening the rear car door as I approached, and I slid into the backseat, immediately pressing myself against the far side to create as much space as possible. The leather was soft under my worn clothes, the interior warm and smelling faintly of something clean and expensive that made me acutely aware of how I must smell.
