Smirks.
“No rooms?” he repeats. “We made one.”
He leads me down the stairs. The walls are colder here.
Darker.
Past the kitchen. Past the pantry. All the way to the back hall. He stops in front of an old utility closet. Opens the door.
Inside—a thin mattress on the floor. A small dresser.
No windows.
The air smells like bleach and dust.
“The clothes you need are in there,” he says. “Everything else is going into storage.”
My throat burns. I want to ask why. But I already know.
“You can use the guest bathroom now,” he adds. “Don’t come upstairs unless I call for you.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
He leaves me standing there, bunny clutched to my chest, trying not to cry in a room that was never meant to hold a person.
Chapter 4
Ayla
16 Years Old
Three years of fucking training.
I’m not losing now, that’s for sure.
Not today.
“Again,” Gabriel’s voice booms through the warehouse.
This makeshift boxing ring he’s set up.
My torture chamber.
Emir, his right hand, looks at him wearily before facing me.
“It’s okay Emir,” I say knuckles taped, I gesture him in. “Come at me, I can take it.”
Gabriel chuckles dark. “You heard her. Full force Emir, don’t pussy foot because she’s a bitch.”
Bitch.
Fucking Gabriel.
He uses that word because he knows I hate it. It throws me off my game.
Not today.
Emir lunges for me.
