Face In The Dark
1173 Words
Just as the bullet tore through the air, ready to strike, a blur of movement crossed Tyler’s vision.
Mike, Morgan’s second-in-command, lunged forward, shielding Tyler with his own body. The gunshot rang out, and Mike jerked as the bullet struck his shoulder. The two of them collapsed to the floor.
“Mike!” Tyler gasped, scrambling to kneel beside him.
Gunfire erupted again. Morgan didn’t hesitate. Her pistol rained bullets as she moved like a shadow through the room, her men falling into formation beside her. Bullets flew. Bodies fell. Within minutes, silence reigned.
When the last shot echoed into quiet, Morgan scanned the room—breath steady, gaze sharp.
The other mafia lord was gone.
Coward.
He had slipped away in the chaos, just as she knew he would the moment he saw an opportunity.
Her eyes found Tyler—kneeling beside Mike, his delicate hands pressed awkwardly against Mike’s bleeding shoulder.
“Help him,” she ordered one of her men.
Tyler flinched at the sound of her voice. He stepped back immediately, hands trembling, head bowed. Morgan didn’t spare him another glance as her men lifted Mike and carried him out.
“Follow me,” she said, voice cold and quiet.
Tyler obeyed at once, trailing after her with quick steps, eyes glued to the ground.
Is she mad at me? Did I cause this? Oh God... it’s only my first day. Please don’t let her punish me...
Morgan slipped into the car first, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable. Tyler slid in after her, trying to make himself invisible. He sat as close to the door as possible, knees pressed together, hands clenched in his lap. Every inch of him radiated tension.
The ride back was silent. She didn’t say a word.
When they arrived, Morgan stepped out first. She didn’t look back.
“Go inside,” she said coldly. “And wait for me.”
She looked too calm—like the calm before a storm.
“I need to speak with my men.”
And with that, she was gone, her coat billowing behind her.
Tyler lingered for a second longer before forcing his feet to move, heart hammering like a drum in his chest.
---
Morgan strode into the courtyard where her men stood assembled—everyone except Mike, who was receiving treatment. Her cold gaze swept over the group. The air seemed to drop several degrees.
“What’s Rule Number Thirteen?” she asked, her voice sharp as ice.
One of the men answered immediately, head bowed. “Never slack off. Always stay alert.”
Her tone was deceptively calm. “And what did you all do?”
Silence fell. The men exchanged anxious glances, but no one spoke.
Without hesitation, Morgan pulled her gun and fired.
A sharp cry rang out as one of the men crumpled to the ground, clutching his bleeding leg. Blood pooled beneath him, his face twisted in pain.
“Because of your incompetence, a life was almost lost. Mike is injured. And worse—the mafia lord escaped. We left without what we came for.” Her voice rose in fury, echoing like a whip. “What were you all doing?!” she barked.
Immediately, all of them dropped to their knees, heads bowed in panic.
“We’re sorry, My Lord! Please forgive us—it won’t happen again!”
“Forgiveness isn’t in my book,” Morgan snapped. Her gaze was ice. “Go to the punishment hall. All of you.”
A collective shudder passed through the group at those words. No one dared to plead. They knew better.
The punishment hall was a place of nightmares. Only those who committed the worst offenses were sent there—workers, prisoners, anyone who failed her. Some came back broken. Others never came back at all.
As Morgan turned and walked away, she didn’t look back. Behind her, her men rose shakily and began their slow march toward hell.
---
Tyler knelt on the cold floor, his knees aching, hands resting obediently on his thighs. The silence of the room pressed in around him like a second skin. He didn’t dare shift or look up. Maybe—just maybe—if he stayed perfectly still, if he didn’t cry or move, the punishment would be lighter.
Maybe she’ll go easy on me...
He remembered the sharp sting of his father’s whip. The colder sting of his mother’s words. The blackmail. The shame.
What would his new master use?
The sound of the door creaking open made his entire body go rigid.
Morgan stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She closed the door behind her and approached with slow, measured steps. She crouched in front of him, close enough that her scent—cool and crisp, like steel and lilies—wrapped around him.
With a single finger, she lifted his chin.
His lashes fluttered. He tried to avert his eyes. Her gaze was too sharp. Too calm. Too unreadable.
“You’ve been a bad boy, Tyler,” she said softly.
Her voice was silk—smooth and low—but her eyes were cold and empty.
“Bad boys need to be punished.”
Tyler swallowed hard, his whole body trembling.
Morgan held his gaze for a moment longer, then rose to her feet. She turned to the door, her hand on the knob, back to him.
“But not now,” she murmured.
He blinked.
“Your punishment comes later.”
She didn’t look at him again.
“Someone will bring you food and a change of clothes. Rest. It’s already late.”
And with that, she slipped out, leaving the room in heavy silence.
Tyler collapsed the moment she left, curling onto his side with a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.
Why not now? Why later? The uncertainty twisted in his gut.
A soft knock startled him. He barely found his voice.
“Come in,” he whispered.
The door opened, and a maid stepped in. She was young—barely older than him, with kind eyes and a quiet presence. In her hands, she carried a tray of food and neatly folded clothes.
He blinked. A female? He hadn’t seen one since he arrived. He thought only men worked here.
“T-Thank you,” he stammered as she set the tray down and quietly left.
He devoured the food—barely tasting it. Hunger overruled everything. Then he dragged himself to the bathroom, letting warm water wash away the blood, the fear, the shame clinging to his skin.
When he returned, he slipped beneath the sheets, exhaustion pulling him under like a wave. Sleep took him fast.
But not for long.
He stirred awake at the feeling of a hand on him. Fingers—slowly trailing along his chest.
His eyes flew open—and met another pair, far too close. A face hovered over his in the dark.
And then that face… smirked.
Tyler screamed.
- Writer
