Beauty and the Don

The Black Car

MARA

They locked me in.

Of course they did.

The bedroom was nice. Too nice. King-sized bed with expensive sheets. Windows that looked out over the city. Attached bathroom with marble counters and a shower big enough for three people.

A cage was still a cage, no matter how pretty.

I paced.

The room was maybe fifteen by twenty feet. Not enough space. I needed air. Needed to think. Needed to not feel like the walls were closing in.

My hands shook.

I made them stop.

Breathe, Mara. Focus.

What did I know?

I'd saved a man's life. That man turned out to be some kind of criminal. His enemies wanted me dead because I helped him. And now I was locked in a bedroom in God-knows-where because apparently that was "protection."

Right.

I moved to the window. Tried to open it.

Locked.

Of course.

I looked down. Third floor. Maybe fourth. Too high to jump even if I could break the glass.

Which meant I was stuck.

"Think," I whispered to myself. "There has to be a way out."

But what? Scream for help? They'd just ignore me. Break down the door? With what? I was a nurse, not a superhero.

I sank onto the bed. Buried my face in my hands.

How did my life become this?

This morning I'd been a normal person. Broke. Exhausted. But normal. Now I was a hostage.

And the worst part?

The man who'd ordered my k********g was the same man I'd saved.

Those ice-blue eyes. That voice. The way he'd looked at me like I was the only real thing in a world full of ghosts.

Run, he'd said.

I should have listened.

The door opened.

I jumped to my feet. Backed away.

A woman entered. Young. Maybe my age. She carried a tray of food and a stack of clothes.

"Hi," she said. Her voice was soft. Nervous. "I'm Elena. Mr. Rourke asked me to bring you these."

Mr. Rourke.

So that was his name.

"I don't want anything from him," I said.

Elena set the tray on the dresser. "You should eat. It's been hours."

"I'm not hungry."

"You will be."

She moved to the bed. Laid out the clothes. Jeans. A sweater. Underwear. All in my size.

How did they—?

"There's a shower," Elena said, gesturing to the bathroom. "If you want to clean up. I can wait."

"Why are you helping him?" The words came out angrier than I meant.

Elena paused. Looked at me. Something sad flickered in her eyes.

"Because I don't have a choice," she said quietly.

Then she left.

The lock clicked behind her.

I stood there, staring at the clothes. The food. The locked door.

This was my life now.

I wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something. Wanted to break down and cry.

Instead, I walked to the bathroom. Turned on the shower. Let the water run scalding hot.

Then I stripped off my b****y scrubs and stepped under the spray.

The water turned pink. Then red. His blood washing off my skin.

I scrubbed until my skin was raw. Until every trace of him was gone.

But I could still feel his hand on my wrist. Could still hear his voice.

Run.

"I should've," I whispered to the empty room. "I should've run."

* * *

I don't know how long I stayed in that shower.

Long enough that the water ran cold. Long enough that my fingers pruned and my legs ached from standing.

When I finally got out, I dried off. Put on the clothes they'd given me.

They fit perfectly.

That scared me more than anything else.

How much did they know about me? How long had they been watching?

I moved to the window again. Pressed my forehead against the glass.

The city spread out below. Gray. Cold. Familiar.

Somewhere out there was my apartment. My life. My grandmother's grave in the cemetery on Fifth Street.

Would I ever see any of it again?

"Stop it," I said out loud. "Don't think like that. You're going to get out of here."

But how?

A key turned in the lock.

I spun around.

The door opened.

Not Elena this time.

Him.

Rourke.

He stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame like he needed it for support. His shirt was different. Clean. But I could see the edge of bandages beneath the fabric.

He was hurt.

Of course he was hurt. I'd seen the wounds. Three stab wounds. He should've been in a hospital bed, not standing here.

"You should be resting," I said before I could stop myself.

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Worried about me, nurse?"

"About your stupidity, maybe."

This time he did smile. It transformed his face. Made him look younger. Less dangerous.

More human.

"I wanted to check on you," he said.

"Why? To make sure your prisoner is comfortable?"

The smile faded. "You're not a prisoner."

"Then let me leave."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

He stepped into the room. Closed the door behind him. Moved slowly. Carefully. Like every step hurt.

"Because," he said, "the moment you walk out that door, you're dead."

"You keep saying that. But I don't believe you."

"You should." He crossed to the window. Stood beside me. Too close. I could feel the heat coming off him. "Vincenzo's crew has your face. Your name. Your address. They know where you work. Where you live. Who you care about."

"I don't care about anyone," I said quietly.

Something flickered in his eyes. "Everyone cares about someone."

"Not me. My parents are dead. My grandmother's dead. I don't have friends. I work. I sleep. That's it."

"Then you have nothing to lose."

"Exactly. So why keep me here?"

He turned to face me fully. Those ice-blue eyes pinned me in place.

"Because you saved me," he said. "And now I'm returning the favor."

"By k********g me?"

"By keeping you alive."

"That's not favor. That's control."

His jaw tightened. "Call it whatever you want. But you're staying."

"Until when?"

"Until it's safe."

"And when will that be?"

He didn't answer.

Because we both knew the truth.

It would never be safe.

"I want to go home," I said. My voice cracked.

"You can't."

"Please." I hated begging. But I was desperate. "I have a life. A job. People depending on me."

"Not anymore."

The words hit like a slap.

"You can't just—"

"I already did." He moved closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to see his face. "Your life, as you knew it, is over. Accept that."

"No."

"Mara—"

"No!" I shoved him.

He stumbled. Caught himself. Pain flashed across his face.

I'd hurt him.

Good.

"You don't get to do this," I said. My voice shook with rage. "You don't get to ruin my life because you're too much of a coward to face your own enemies."

His eyes went cold.

"Be very careful what you say next."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" I laughed. It sounded hysterical. "Go ahead. At least I'll be free."

He stared at me.

Then he moved.

Fast. Too fast for someone who should've been half-dead.

His hand wrapped around my wrist. Pulled me close. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his blue eyes. Could smell the soap on his skin.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said quietly. "I'm going to keep you alive. Even if you hate me for it."

"I already hate you."

"Good." His grip tightened. Not painful. But firm. Unbreakable. "Hate keeps you sharp. Keeps you fighting. And you're going to need to fight, Mara. Because this world I've dragged you into? It's going to try to break you."

"You've already broken me."

"No." His thumb traced circles on my pulse point. "You're still here. Still fighting. That means you're not broken."

"Let go of me."

"Not yet."

We stood there. Frozen. His hand on my wrist. My pulse racing. The air between us charged with something I didn't want to name.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why does it matter if I live or die?"

His eyes softened. Just for a moment.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it does."

Then he let go.

Stepped back.

The absence of his touch felt like cold water.

"There are guards outside your door," he said. "Don't try to leave. And don't try to hurt yourself. I have people watching."

"Of course you do."

He moved to the door. Paused. Looked back.

"Get some rest, Mara. Tomorrow, we talk about what happens next."

"There is no next. You're keeping me prisoner."

"No." He opened the door. "I'm keeping you safe. There's a difference."

"Not from where I'm standing."

He almost smiled. "You'll understand eventually."

"Don't count on it."

The door closed.

The lock clicked.

I stood there in the silence, staring at the place where he'd been.

My wrist still tingled where he'd touched me.

I hated that.

Hated him.

Hated that some twisted part of me had felt safe when he held me.

I moved to the bed. Collapsed onto it.

Tomorrow, he'd said. We'd talk tomorrow.

But I wasn't going to wait for tomorrow.

I was going to find a way out of here.

No matter what it took.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep.

Because one moment I was staring at the ceiling, planning my escape. The next, I was jolting awake to the sound of a car engine.

I scrambled to the window.

Below, in the driveway, a sleek black car idled. The same kind that had brought me here.

The front door opened.

Rourke emerged. He moved stiffly, one hand pressed to his side. But he walked with purpose.

Two men flanked him. Armed. Dangerous.

He climbed into the back seat.

The car pulled away.

I watched until the taillights disappeared.

Where was he going?

And why did it matter?

I turned back to the room. Looked around with fresh eyes.

He'd left.

Which meant his attention was elsewhere.

Which meant I had a chance.

I moved to the door. Pressed my ear against it.

Silence.

Then footsteps.

I stepped back.

The door opened.

Elena stood there. She looked worried.

"You need to come with me," she said.

"Why?"

"Mr. Rourke's orders."

"He's not here."

"Exactly. Which means I'm supposed to move you."

"Move me where?"

She didn't answer. Just gestured down the hallway.

Every instinct screamed at me to refuse. To fight.

But what choice did I have?

I followed her.

Down the hallway. Down a flight of stairs. Through a kitchen I barely registered.

To another door.

Elena opened it.

I stopped.

Because beyond that door was a garage.

And in that garage was a car.

Black. Sleek. Engine running.

A driver sat behind the wheel. Silent. Waiting.

"Get in," Elena said.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe."

"That's what he said. Right before he locked me up."

Elena's expression softened. "I know this is scary. But you have to trust—"

"Trust?" I laughed bitterly. "I don't trust anyone."

"Then trust this." She met my eyes. "If you stay here, you die. If you come with us, you have a chance."

"A chance at what?"

"Surviving."

The driver honked the horn.

Elena flinched. "Please. We don't have time."

I looked at the car. At Elena. At the door behind me that led back to the locked bedroom.

What choice did I have?

I got in the car.

Elena climbed in after me. Slammed the door.

The driver pulled out.

Through the rearview mirror, I watched the safe house disappear.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

No one answered.

The city blurred past. Streets I recognized. Then streets I didn't.

We drove for what felt like hours.

Finally, the car slowed.

I looked out the window.

We were pulling up to massive gates. Iron. Intricate. Crowned with wolves.

"What is this place?" I whispered.

The gates swung open.

The car rolled through.

Up a long driveway. Past gardens covered in snow. Past fountains frozen mid-spray.

To a mansion.

No. Not a mansion.

A fortress.

Dark stone. Tall windows. Towers that looked like they belonged in a fairy tale. The kind with monsters.

The car stopped.

The driver got out. Opened my door.

I didn't move.

"Come on," Elena said gently.

"No."

"Mara—"

"No. I'm not going in there."

"You don't have a choice."

"I always have a choice."

Elena's expression turned sad. "Not anymore."

The driver reached in. Pulled me out.

I tried to fight. It was useless.

He was stronger.

He dragged me toward the entrance. Massive double doors. Carved wood. Iron handles shaped like claws.

They opened.

Warmth flooded out. Light. The smell of wood smoke and something else. Something darker.

The driver pushed me inside.

I stumbled. Caught myself.

Looked up.

The entrance hall was enormous. Vaulted ceilings. Chandeliers dripping crystal. A staircase that curved up into shadow.

And at the top of that staircase, a figure waited.

Backlit. Silent. Watching.

"Welcome to Ashgrave, Mara," a voice said.

Not Rourke's voice.

Someone else's.

The figure descended. Step by step. Unhurried.

As they came into the light, I saw them clearly.

A woman. Older. Beautiful in a severe way. Her eyes were the same ice-blue as Rourke's.

"My son has told me about you," she said.

Son.

Oh God.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "But you've become rather... complicated."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

She nodded to someone behind me.

Strong hands grabbed my arms.

I tried to turn. To see who—

Something pricked my neck.

Pain. Sharp. Brief.

Then warmth.

Then nothing.

My legs gave out.

The world tilted.

And as darkness swallowed me whole, the last thing I saw was the iron gates.

Crowned in wolves.

Closing behind me.