Tamed By Her Touch

The night tasted like pennies and grease. Not the clean, sharp sting I’d scrubbed off my skin a thousand times at the clinic. That smell of steel trays, white tiles, and blood that somehow never smelled as bad when everything around it was clean. No, this was different. This was f*****g disgusting. Heavy and thick, like the air had crawled through fifty feet of wet rust, diesel smoke, and stale sweat before someone shoved it down my throat. The blindfold smelled like it had been dragged through a gutter outside a slaughterhouse. Twice. The rope around my wrists was cutting into my skin so badly I wanted to scream. Every time I breathed, the damn thing seemed to get tighter, biting harder into me like it was personally offended that I was still alive. I kept trying to move my hands even though I knew it wouldn't help. What else was I supposed to do? Just sit there and wait? The whole warehouse felt like a mouth waiting to chew me up. And right underneath all that fear, Henrique's stupid voice kept playing in my head. “It’ll be fast, kiddo. Just sign the damn papers.” I wanted to laugh. Actually, I almost did. Because of course this was how it ended. Of all the ways I could've died, apparently being sold off by my own uncle was the one I got. Ten years. Ten whole f*****g years of wiping that i***t's nose. Dragging him out of dive bars before some bookie broke his jaw. Fixing whatever stupid thing he'd broken because I couldn't stomach the thought of burying the last piece of family I had left. I'd spent years cleaning up after him, covering for him, saving him from himself, and this was what I got in return. I knew he was a coward. I knew he was selfish. I knew he was basically a permanent stain on anyone stupid enough to care about him. But this? Selling me out? Hawking me off like some stray dog at a pound? All for my father's land. That stupid piece of dirt I'd held onto because it was the only thing left of the man who actually raised me. Something hot started twisting inside my stomach. It wasn't even just anger anymore. It was the kind of rage that made my whole body feel too small for itself, snapping through me like someone had dropped a live wire into a puddle. I'd never let myself think it before. Not once. I knew what Henrique was, but he was still family. Or at least I kept telling myself that because admitting otherwise hurt too much. But now... Fucking Judas. A hand suddenly shoved my shoulder, hard enough that my knees slammed into the concrete. The pain shot straight up my legs and knocked the breath out of me. I heard a couple of them laughing, that ugly, low laugh that made my skin crawl. It sounded like heavy boots grinding something small and brittle into the floor. Then a voice came out of the darkness. “Little Alves,” it purred, greasy as oil floating on water. “You really should’ve done what your uncle told you.” I didn't know the voice, and honestly, I didn't want to. Some bastards didn't need to introduce themselves. You just knew they were bad news. You could feel it before they even touched you. And this guy brought a cold with him that made my teeth ache. “Get the clipboards,” he said. “She signs, she gets it quick. She doesn’t, we take our time.” My entire body went stiff. A finger touched my jaw. Just one greasy fingertip, slowly dragging along my skin like he was already deciding where the blade would go. I stopped breathing. For one horrible second, everything just froze. Then— BOOM. The front doors exploded. Not opened. Not kicked down. Exploded. Splinters and dust went flying everywhere as a wave of hot air slammed into the room. Three guys went straight down on their faces, and suddenly I couldn't see anything except white plaster dust and flashes of movement. My chest locked up so hard it hurt, and my lungs wouldn't work properly while the floor shook underneath my knees. The bulb above me started blinking. On. Off. On. It looked like it was dying. Then the guns started. Everything happened so fast I couldn't even understand what I was hearing. Lead smacked into iron pipes. Wood tore apart. Metal screamed. Men shouted and cursed, but the gunfire swallowed most of their words. “Get down!” “Where are they?!” “Raven’s Order!” A wet shriek suddenly cut off. Another one followed. Then another. Each one shorter and uglier than the last. Another blast tore through the brick behind me, throwing a flash of light across the room. Something huge dropped from the rafters, and the concrete jumped under my knees. Bodies started hitting the floor. Heavy, wet thuds. I didn't want to look. I really didn't. But my eyes kept trying to make sense of everything through the smoke. It was like watching something horrible in slow motion while my brain screamed at me to run even though I couldn't f*****g move. Someone suddenly slumped against my shoulder. Warm wetness spread across my sleeve. My stomach turned so violently I thought I was going to throw up. A sob got stuck in my throat, and I bit it back so hard my teeth hurt. I wasn't going to cry. I couldn't. The whole world became gray smoke, bright flashes, screaming, and the bitter taste of burning sulfur. And then... Nothing. Just silence. Not normal silence either. This was heavy and rotten, the kind that made me feel like something worse was about to happen. The cloth was suddenly ripped off my face. The light hit my eyes like a knife, and tears immediately filled them. Everything blurred into gray and red smears. I blinked over and over until the room finally came back into focus. And I wished it hadn't. The place looked like a f*****g butcher shop. Dead guys were everywhere. Some were sprawled across the floor, some had their legs bent in ways legs weren't supposed to bend. Blood had spread into huge dark puddles, coating the concrete like oil from a busted engine. Bullet holes covered the walls, and a ruined steel beam was dripping sparks. Smoke drifted slowly through everything, almost like the building was still breathing. Then I saw him. He was standing right in the middle of all that. Huge. Like, ridiculously huge. A wall of shadow and armor. Black gear stretched tight over a chest that looked like it could break somebody without even trying. His gloves were slick with dark red, and his hair was messy, plastered against his forehead with sweat. His jaw was clenched so hard I could see the muscle moving. Then his eyes found me. Flat, dead brown eyes that moved across the room before landing straight on me. I couldn't look away. He smelled like cold mud and burnt powder, sharp and clean enough to cut through the smell of blood. He looked like someone who belonged in a meat-grinder. And somehow, he looked even worse standing in the silence after it was over. My heart was pounding so hard against my ribs I was sure he could hear it. “Please,” I whispered, and I hated how pathetic my voice sounded. The word slipped out before I could stop it. “Don’t. I didn’t see anything. I swear to God. Just… please.” Something changed in his face. Not kindness. Definitely not that. It was more like he was studying me. Tracking me. He took one step closer, his boot landing in a puddle with a wet, heavy splash. Then he crouched down in front of me, the dark fabric bunching over his thick thighs. I barely had time to wonder what the hell he was doing before his gloved thumb pressed against the side of my neck. Right on a spot. Like he'd done it a thousand times before. The room suddenly went gray. Everything around me softened. My body stopped feeling like mine. Then the floor disappeared. I hit it like a sack of wet laundry. The big man breathed out through his nose, long and slow, like he was pissed off about the whole thing. He dragged a hand across his face, smearing somebody else's blood into his hairline. Boots squelched through the mess as two men came toward him through the dust and smoke. They looked around like they'd seen this exact kind of disaster before and were already regretting showing up. The skinny one kicked a pistol out of his way and let out a low whistle. “Well… look at this s**t,” he muttered. “That ain't a hostage. That’s a whole damn Disney princess dropped in a blender.” The second guy came up behind him. He was built like an old brick outhouse and had the most dead expression I'd ever seen on a human being. He looked at the floor, then at me, then back at all the bodies, his eyebrows slowly lifting. “Yeah, right,” he grunted. “She’s the damsel. You can hear the church bells from here. ‘Save me,’” he squeaked in a stupid fake voice, throwing a hand over his eyes. “‘My boyfriend just blew up the caterers.’” The boss growled, “Shut the hell up.“ Neither of them did. The skinny one crouched beside me and tilted his head, looking me over. “Too clean for this ditch. You sure she ain't a setup?” “She’s not a setup,” the boss muttered, his voice flat as a tombstone. The big guy pointed his thumb toward the busted doorway, where smoke was still pouring out. “Boss, we walked straight into a meat-trap. And now we got a redhead nurse face down in the soup.” He spat on the floor. “Mind telling me what she is?” The lead guy didn't answer. Not for a second. He just kept looking at me. The dust stuck to my eyelashes. Dark marks were already blooming across my throat, and a red smudge had ruined my scrubs. Something hard settled into his jaw. He looked like he'd just found something valuable. “Santos. Costa,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. The two men stopped messing around. The boss let out a slow, heavy breath. “I think… we just found the last Guivarc’h,” he said. And somehow, even though I was already out cold, that name sounded like a problem none of them wanted.