I grind my teeth, flicking the unbound red curls over my shoulder in dismissal. I’m not Mateo—or rather,a Reyes with a dick, and therefore, I’ll never have their respect.
If only Mateo would give me some responsibility here—I’d get rid of all the disrespectful shits first and then prove to my brother I know more than he does when it comes to running a million dollar casino operation.
I think I’ve given enough of myself to this fucking empire to earn that opportunity.
I was here, learning the ropes from Father, selling myself to gain the best alliances, before Mateo was even out of school.Who’s better for the fucking job than the one willing to give up everything for it?
“I think Luke said he was headed to the manager’s hall.” Seth steps up, motioning toward the private hallway reserved for the in-house staff, leading to our private quarters. Mateo prefers to return to the ranch we grew up on when he can, but I like to stay here.Where I can keep an eye on my investment.
I nod, turning on my heel.
Mateo’s always here, always running every meeting and deal, even though I know he hates it. But when Father died, he slid into the spot as if he’d been made for it.
News flash—that spot is mine.He paid with a last name and the right genetic material to get it.I paid in flesh.
I feel Seth hot on my heels, and I wave him off over my shoulder. “I’m just going to ask him if I can run point on the next meeting with the tequila distillers. I have some ideas.” Seth doesn’t heed my request; instead, he presses in closer, and I have to quicken my steps to stay out from beneath him. “Listen, I surely don’t need security in the private quarters—” Before I can finish the sentence, his hand wraps across my mouth, smothering my nose in the process. I’m caught off balance as he yanks me close to his chest, his breath fanning wetly over my neck.
“I know what you did, Valentina. I know how you usedyourself,” he sneers, and I gag at the forced reminder, “to get what Daddy wanted.” I freeze, the blood in my veins icing over almost as completely as if I was plunged beneath a sheet of ice in a winter pond.
He tsks, running his nose up my neck, and I shiver, too trapped by fear to think straight. “My father was part of your father’s security—surely, you knew that. Or are we all just rats to you, unworthy of your attention unless our dicks get you farther in life?”
Air becomes broken shards of glass in my lungs, and my eyes ache from oxygen deprivation.
I’ve had panic attacks since I was fifteen, some far worse than others but always triggered by the same thing:men.Threatening me, touching me, looking down on me. It’s never the same thing, but it’s always the same crippling fear—recognizable but completely unavoidable.And it always makes my body shut down, my brain quickly following suit.
“Please get off me,” I mumble against his hand, my lips tingling. The world begins to sway beneath me, and I suck in a desperate breath. His hand pinches harder into my face as he growls, backing up a step and dragging me with him.
I could probably fight him off—but what if I can’t?Won’t that make it worse?
My body’s heavy against his, and he struggles to stay upright as he pushes open a door behind us. The dim hallway brightens for a moment as he pulls me into a brightly lit bathroom. My eyes ping around the space, looking for anyone who might be able to help me.
But like always,I’m alone.
My heart cracks, fear bleeding into my chest enough to make it hard for my lungs to work at all, and I wish I’d just pass out. No one wants to fuck a lifeless body, and if they do, well, at least I won’t be conscious to endure it.
He growls, dragging me farther in before pushing me beneath him, moving to hover above, his body weight pinning me down. I note his eyes darting around the room, his plan not yet formed.
I could scream. I could fight him.
But I can’t—I’m too frozen in terror to do anything but watch history repeat itself.
For a second, he pauses, and I become aware of my leg still wedged between the door and the wall. Heat radiates up my body, and I focus my attention on my nearly numb extremity. Heat—pain—it’s all better than the numbness of fear. If I can feel, maybe I can come out of this.
I shake my leg, the door jostling behind us, but Seth doesn’t notice as he continues to hold one hand over my mouth, the other shakily ripping at the button of his slacks. I shimmy my foot again, and this time, pain spears up my leg as my ankle bone knocks against the door jam. I gasp, the sound a sharp cry in the silent, hollow bathroom. It echoes around us, and Seth freezes, his eyes snapping to mine with fury.
He raises my head with a viscous grip against my jaw. “Do that again, and I’ll fucking kill you,” he snarls before slamming my head against the tile beneath us.
I cry out again on impact, the sound louder than before. Seth shuffles, his free hand no longer working his button but resting around my throat in a tight grip.
Before he can situate himself the door slams open, sending Seth toppling forward. I’m faintly aware that the pencil skirt I’m wearing bunches around my waist, exposing my nearly naked center to the stranger, but I’m too far gone to care.
A man looms over us a moment, his face impossible to make out with the fluorescent lights beaming behind his head. What I can see is ratty jeans, a holey t-shirt covered by a black leather jacket, and blond hair so shaggy, I wonder if he got it cut by a toddler.
I should be afraid of the stranger—he looks far more dangerous than the unsuspecting, clean cut appearance of Seth—but I know as well as anyone that appearances aren’twho we are. Something about the raw edges and completely unapologetic rage rolling off him makes my terror instantly thaw.
I’ve never had a savior, but when I was little, I pictured one riding in on a white horse to save me. As I got older, I knew no one would—princes and saviors don’t exist in a world as dark as this one.
But what if I was wrong? What if a demon, cut from rage and death and destruction, could be my savior?What if, in order to survive the darkness, you have to become it?
