Nara's POV
I opened my eyes slowly. My lashes fluttered against a wash of light that stabbed straight into my skull.
I was supposed to have a hangover, but I wasn't having one. How long have I been out?
My arms were stretched apart above my head, with my wrists burning from the cruel rope digging into my skin.
I was suspended, with my feet barely brushing the cold floor. My body aches everywhere, from my neck, my back, and my ribs.
However, I was alive. Barely.
I blinked hard, and my vision was thankfully focused enough to count them.
Eight.
There were seven men and one woman in the room or space, with me.
None of them are familiar. All of them are dangerous, and stared at me like an irreversible price to glory.
The first voice came from the woman. She sounded sharp, and venomous, with dripping hatred like she had been practicing it for years.
"Stupid girl."
My lips twitched. I was the wrong target. A very wrong target. No one talks to me this way.
I lifted my head, ignoring the dizzy spin that came with it. "I'd clap back," I croaked, "but I'm a little… tied up."
A couple of the men choked back a laugh. The woman didn't.
She stepped forward, her boots clicking, and eyes burning through me like acid. She was stunning, cruelly so, with red hair braided like a warrior, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut.
Her name dropped from one of the men behind her. "Zetheal, we should wait."
Of course, the demon herself. I now recognise her. Her father was my father's enemy years ago. Now it was the children's turn.
Zetheal smirked, slow and vile. "Look at her. Of course she has his looks." She tilted my chin up with a gloved finger. "And she's cunning like him too."
I smiled, my teeth bright. "That's genetics, sweetheart."
She slapped me immediately. I wasn't expecting the sudden slap.
The crack echoed. Blood filled my mouth instantly, warm, and metallic. I tasted it, swallowed it, and smiled wider.
I am my father's daughter. Although I wasn't accustomed to discomfort, I mentally made preparations for the day I would face it.
"Feel better?" I asked sweetly. "Your insecurities were showing."
Her nostrils flared. She turned to the men behind her. "Find Red. Send him her head."
My blood froze.
Red?
As in Redwell, my father?
Before she could give more orders, the last man seated like none of this was his business, stood up.
He rose from the far corner slowly, like a beast waking. Even the air seemed to shift around him.
Conversation stopped immediately, and some of the men's breaths hitched. Some of the men straightened as though his presence alone commanded their spines.
He walked forward, and clasped his hands behind his back. His hair long, black and sleek, was falling to the middle of his back, with just strands of it framing his face.
He was tall. Not just tall, he was towering. Ripples of strength rolled under his shirt with each lazy step.
His face…
Sweet heavens.
A scar cut was just above his left eye. It was not ugly, nor messy. It was a compelling kind of scar that made a handsome man dangerous, and a dangerous man unforgettable.
My breath caught as he approached.
Zetheal stiffened. She bowed her head slightly.
"Brother."
Brother? Of course.
The leader of the rival gang.
This was the man whose hands had shaped half the violence my father spent twenty years trying to bury.
He circled me.
He circled me like a man examining a puzzle piece. He wasn't acting predatory. He should be a predator, not a normal man.
His scent hit me first, cedarwood, smoke, and rain. His scent was so intoxicating that I hated my body for responding to it.
His chest brushed my bound arm as he moved, and I felt it. I felt the heat of him, and the sheer mass of him.
My head, hanging slightly from exhaustion, ended up exactly under his arm as he stood at my side.
He stood close. Too close.
He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. His eyes were a dark storm, silent, calculating, and fearless.
Then he smiled.
His lips curved up into a slow, devastating smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I expected more," he murmured, staring straight into my soul with my eyes as the portal.
I forced my chin up despite the rope burning my wrists. "Well," I rasped, "sorry to disappoint. I didn't exactly dress for a kidnapping."
One of the men snorted. Zetheal shot him a death glare.
He kept circling. When he reached my front, he paused, his hands still folded behind him like a general examining an enemy prisoner.
His gaze dragged over me. Not lecherous, not even admiring, but assessing.
"You're calm," he said quietly.
"I'm tied to a ceiling," I replied. "What do you want me to do? Twerk?"
He blinked once, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Zetheal stepped forward again, irritation blazing in her expression. "Brother, she's Red's daughter. We need to—"
He lifted a single finger.
Silence filled the space immediately.
She swallowed her words instantly.
He stepped closer, invading all my remaining space. His chest brushed mine lightly, not touching, or pressing. Just enough to remind me how small I was compared to him.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek, his scent flooding my head again.
"Tell me, Nara Redwell…"
His voice dipped, deep enough to vibrate through me. "…who told you you could look at me like that?"
"I wasn't looking," I whispered.
He smiled again. "Liar."
His fingers brushed my jaw. Barely, though. Just enough to tilt my head up.
My pulse jumped. I hated his smile.
This wasn't just any man. This was her father's enemy. The man whose orders could end wars, burn cities, and erase bloodlines.
And here he was, breathing me in, studying me like a storm studies land before it destroys it.
His voice dropped to a hush.
"Your father will come for you," he said.
"He will," I shot back, chin high. "And he'll kill you when he does."
That scar of his twitch.
A hint of something darker slid into his expression. His eyes held interest, irritation, or hunger, I couldn't tell.
"He can try," he said calmly.
Zetheal stepped beside him, her eyes blazing. "Brother, we should—"
This time, he didn't raise a finger. He raised his voice. "No!"
The word shook the room. I flinched.
He turned back to me.
"She stays alive."
A shiver ran down my spine from the certainty that this man wasn't planning to kill me. He was planning something worse.
Something personal.
Something… deliberate.
I'd rather kill myself than let this man touch me. What was he planning? He should simply tell my father what he wants. My father would pay. He shouldn't touch me.
He leaned in one last time, his lips brushing my ear without touching.
"Welcome to my world, Nara."