Chapter One The Beginning of Trouble
Maya adjusted the strap of her handbag as she exited the subway station in Queens. New York’s summer heat clung to her skin, but her heart was light. She had been away for nearly four years, chasing her law degree in London, and though she loved the city, there was nothing like home.
She wasn’t supposed to be back yet. Her family thought she would return next week, but she wanted to surprise them. She pictured her mother’s proud tears, her younger brother’s endless questions, the laughter that would fill the living room.
That was when she heard it.
The muffled sound of grunts and a sharp cry of pain. It came from the alley beside the corner store. At first, she ignored it—New York was filled with noises you learned to tune out. But something in her gut told her to look.
She peeked into the alley and froze.
A man leaned against the brick wall, his broad shoulders heaving as blood pooled at his feet. His shirt was torn, his knuckles bruised, and a pistol lay discarded near a dumpster. Even in the shadows, she could see the sharp cut of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes.
“Hey!” Maya whispered, stepping closer before she realized what she was doing. “Oh my God, you’re—”
“Quiet,” he rasped, holding a finger to his lips. “Don’t call anyone.”
“Are you insane? You’re bleeding out!”
He smirked, a bitter curve of his mouth. “Been worse.”
Maya dropped to her knees beside him, ignoring the grime of the alley. Her scarf was silk, her favorite, but she tore it in half without a second thought. Pressing the fabric against his wound, she felt his muscles tense under her hands.
“What happened?” she asked.
He gave her a look that shut down the question immediately. “You don’t want to know.”
“Well, I don’t care. I’m not letting you die here.”
He chuckled, a low sound that turned into a cough. “You’re either the bravest woman I’ve ever met—or the dumbest.”
“Probably both.”
For a few seconds, their eyes locked. The world outside the alley seemed to vanish. She didn’t know him, didn’t even know his name, but she felt something—an undeniable pull, like fate had dragged her into this moment.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Marcus. My name’s Marcus.”
“Maya,” she said softly.
The sound of sirens grew closer, breaking the fragile bubble. Marcus tensed, his hand gripping her wrist. “If those are cops, you didn’t see me. You hear? You never saw me.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because men like me don’t get saved. We get buried.”
Despite his words, she stayed with him until his breathing steadied. When his people arrived—men in black SUVs, armed and cold-eyed—Maya should have walked away. But she didn’t. She memorized his face, the way his eyes softened for just a heartbeat when he looked at her, and she knew this wasn’t the last time their worlds would collide.
What Maya didn’t realize was that by saving Marcus Carter, she had just made herself a target.
