“Now of all times, I don’t care if I go through the windshield of a fucking sports car,” she answers swiftly. “If you happen to run off the road, I’ll be fine with it.”
I sigh.
Aiden rides alongside us on my motorcycle, perfectly balanced, flanked by black SUVs front and back. It’s a procession. A transfer of ownership. Our lives are straight survival here now.
The gates slide open, and we curve around back, following the long driveway past the pool, past manicured hedges and stone paths I didn’t even know existed. Then I see a small, white guesthouse. It’s set back behind the mansion, tucked beside the in-ground pool. The large windows are glowing from the inside. A rather beautiful prison.
I park and cut the engine, allowing the dreadful silence to swallow us both. I glance over at Adriana to find her already staring at me with wide eyes. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “Just do what they say.”
She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me when I say it’s okay. We both know it’s not. We grab our bags, and armed men surround us instantly.
Aiden dismounts my bike, rolling his shoulder slightly, then gestures toward the guesthouse. “Inside.”
Adriana doesn’t hesitate. She stays glued to me, fingers clutching my sleeve as we walk. Her gaze is darting around like a prey animal. Before I follow her in, I pause to scan the property. Trees line the perimeter on all sides—dense, tall, and impenetrable. The backyard is pristine, and the pool water is shimmering under soft lights. Stone patio. Lounge chairs perfectly aligned. And cameras.
Everywhere.
Corners of the house. The pool deck. The tree line. No blind spots anywhere to be seen. I swallow, then step inside.It’s a small one-bedroom, one-bathroom space with a compact kitchen to my left with stainless-steel appliances. To my right, there’s a cozy living room with a gray L-shaped couch, a mounted flatscreen, and a gas fireplace.
Adriana goes straight for the bedroom without a word, closing the door behind her like she’s sealing herself inside a bunker. I drop my bag onto the floor, staring at the little house. This is it. This is our new reality. And I don’t know how the fuck we’re going to survive it.
I don’t realize how bad it is until my hands won’t stop shaking. It’s like my body is finally catching up to everything my mind has been shoving down. I need to dose.
But I don’t bother reaching for my kit just yet. I just dig into my pocket and pull out a small baggie of oxy, my fingers clumsy as I shake a couple pills into my palm.
Dry-swallow. One. Then another.
They scrape my throat on the way down. I grab my bag and open the bedroom door. Adriana is on the bed, folded in on herself, crying again. The bedroom is small with one white dresser and a narrow closet tucked off to the side.
I steady a breath before I move toward her. But she stands as soon as she sees me and steps into my space, arms wrapping around my torso. Her face presses into my shirt, her sobs muffled, soaking through the fabric.
I don’t know what the fuck to say.
My brain feels like it short-circuited back at the dinner table when Nolan’s brain sprayed across our fucking faces. Maybe I’m still in shock. Maybe part of me hasn’t caught up to the fact that my previous owner got shot in the head three feet from me.
Before I can even fake comfort, I look up when I sense another presence has joined us. Alexei leans against the doorframe. A few men stand behind him, guns relaxed but visible.
Adriana shoves away from me in fear.
“Nice, isn’t it?” he says with a sharp smirk.
I just stare.
“Well,” he continues lightly, “make yourselves at home. Someone will bring your dinner soon, since we didn’t really get to eat much.” His eyes flick between us. “Aiden will text you. If you need anything, let him or Erik know.”
He straightens slightly.
“You’re not to leave the property unless permitted. Understood?”
I nod once.
He smiles like a snake. “Good. Tomorrow morning at nine. Be ready. We have some work to do.”
“Like what?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Continue your training, of course.” He tilts his head. “Sleep well, little rockstar.”
And then he’s gone.
