Chapter six
Lyla, Present day
BeingbackinSanctum after months brought memories rushing to the surface for her. The last time she'd been there, he had marked her. It had filled her with hope again, and as time had passed, the hope had dwindled. Again.
She knew she needed to learn to keep her expectations in check, that she needed to accept her fate and her state of being without letting treacherous hope take over until she began to dream of more. But no matter how much she reminded herself of the same, it always happened unbidden. Hope was borne, hope died, and so did a little piece of her.
Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, she focused on the pain in her feet in the high heels. The club was particularly rowdy tonight. It wasn’t a usual sex club, the kind that just catered to sex. No, it was a club that was the underbelly of operations. Dark deals, drugs, drinks, and dickheads were found in abundance there.
As she weaved her way through the crowd in the VIP lounge area of the single-level open space, the exact space where he’d made her moan, the balls of her feet ached in the platform heels all working girls had to wear. Her heart ached too because a year ago, she had been more full of hope than she was now, somehow expecting the moment to lead to something—an escape at the best, a deeper intimacy at the least.
It had led to nothing. Not a thing changed. He never touched her again but he continued his vigilance. And she was fucking sick of it.
He was clearly someone important within the underworld. She’d seen him make public appearances too many times since then, around too many powerful-looking people to question it. Mr. Blackthorne, as they called him, was someone important. He also walked the night as the Shadow Man, though she doubted anyone even suspected it. The Shadow Man was a hot, unhinged killer, thriving in the chaos he created. Mr. Blackthorne was cold, self-contained, and meticulous. If anyone suspected they were the same men, it was genius.
And she knew his secret. She could use it against him, threaten him with exposure, but she couldn’t. She was weak and powerless, and the Shadow Man was the only being giving her a modicum of protection for whatever reason. She couldn’t jeopardize that.
As she made her way through the club, she kept her face averted from that particular section. Even after years of tottering on the heels, she hadn’t mastered them as perfectly as others. Something about walking in them made her feel more on display when all she wanted was to hide. She hated being on display when she longed for invisibility.
Completing an order of drugs and drinks to one of the tables where one of the servers was eating a well-dressed woman out, she turned to go back to the bar quickly when her eyes paused on Mr. H sitting in a dark corner of the section, talking to a man with light hair. She couldn’t see his face, but from Mr. H’s body language, the light-haired man seemed someone important.
Driven by some instinct she couldn’t name, she headed to the alcove beside their table, eavesdropping.
“—and that’s what I mean,” Mr. H told the man, his voice low since the music was quieter in the VIP area. The light-haired man listened, the back of his head visible to her as he swirled the drink in his glass, a ring with some kind of snake symbol hefty on his right index finger.
“If it’s him, we might finally have something,” Mr. H continued. “If it’s not, the girl is useless now anyway.”
“The girl has more uses than you know of,” the light-haired man replied in a cool tone. “But I hear you. He’s been... disruptive for too long.”
“Sir,” Mr. H leaned forward. “We can kill two birds with one stone. Let’s make an example out of it.”
The light-haired man gave a nod, and Mr. H grinned.
Lyla felt her blood run cold. Either they were talking about her or someone else who had recently become a problem for them. And she had a very strong feeling it was the former.
Before she could quietly move away, the light-haired man suddenly turned, his eyes coming to her in the corner. “Who do we have here?”
Lyla swallowed as Mr. H stood up and came to her, grabbing her by the arm and bringing her forward. “She’s the one I was talking about.”
The light-haired man with light brown eyes and a hook-like nose smirked, straightening in his seat. “Come, sit here, sweetheart.”
No, she wanted to run. She wanted to go back to serving drinks. But Mr. H had her in a tight grip, and she was trapped. Taking a deep breath, she took a step forward.
The light-haired man tugged her suddenly, making her fall into his lap. She tried to get up, struggling as he made her sit on him, chuckling while looking at Mr. H. “Get the drink.”
Lyla turned sideways, watching in horror as Mr. H mixed some kind of blue powder in the stranger’s remaining drink, handing the glass over to the man.
She began to struggle harder as the man restrained her with one hand, pushing the glass against her lips with the other. “Drink up like a good girl now.”
The same words that had filled her with a rush filled her with nothing but dread. She sputtered, wriggling to get away when a sharp pain in her scalp had her stilling. Mr. H held her hair from the roots, almost pulling them out so tightly she whimpered in pain.
“No, please no!” she begged, hoping against hope that they would let her go.
“It’s not for you, girl,” the man she was sitting on chuckled again. “You’re just the bait. It’s to call him out. Drink.”
That somehow made it even worse.
In her moment of quiet, the glass tipped over in her mouth, bitter alcohol and something sour filling her until she had no choice but to swallow it down, the liquid burning her insides and settling uncomfortably in her stomach, some of it sputtering out of her mouth.