ELARA
The heavy iron door clicked shut behind me, sealing out the damp, gasoline-scented air of the Bronx and locking me into a world where the rules of the Vance empire no longer applied.
I followed a silent, masked attendant down a narrow corridor lined with peeling wallpaper and the faint, metallic scent of industrial cleaner. My heels clicked rhythmically against the concrete, a sharp sound that still couldn't drown out the pounding of my heart.
The processing room was small, lit by a single, buzzing fluorescent bulb. And of course, he was right there— my prized possession, seated on a steel bench, his hands cuffed loosely in front of him. At that point I wasn't sure if it was because he was a threat. Or maybe it was just a symbolic reminder of what his identity was now—a s*x slave
