POV: Rian
The gunshot still rang in my ears, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the hum of the warehouse lights.
I stared down at Gable's body. A minute ago, he had been the monster under my bed, the man who owned my debt and my fear. Now, he was just a heap of cheap fabric and cooling flesh on the concrete floor.
Varrick holstered his weapon. The movement was casual, like a man putting away a pen after signing a check.
The reality of it hit me like a physical blow. Gable is dead.
My breath hitched. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the shock.
"Maya," I choked out.
I pushed off the rusted table, my boots slipping slightly on the slick floor as I scrambled toward the back office—the damp, mold-infested room where Gable kept his 'collateral.'
"Where is she?" I shouted, my voice cracking. I reached for the door handle, twisting it violently. It was locked. I slammed my shoulder against the wood. "Maya! Maya, answer me!"
"She's not there."
The voice came from behind me. Calm. Detached. Bored.
I froze, turning slowly to face the man who had just executed three people without blinking. Varrick was checking his watch, the diamond face catching the dim light.
"What did you do?" I breathed, backing against the door. My hands were shaking. "If you hurt her... if you touched her..."
"I didn't touch her," Varrick said smoothly. He walked toward me, his heavy shoes crunching on the broken glass from the skylight. "But my medical team did."
My knees felt weak. "Medical team?"
"Your sister was in Stage 4 renal failure, Rian. Keeping her in a damp warehouse back room with a space heater was a death sentence," Varrick said. He stopped a few feet away, looming over me. He smelled of gunpowder and that overwhelming, addictive burnt cedar. "I had my team extract her ten minutes before I breached the building."
I stared at him, unable to process the words. "Extract her? Where is she?"
"St. Jude's Hospital. The Private Wing."
The name took the air out of my lungs. St. Jude's wasn't just a hospital; it was a palace of medicine. It was where the politicians, the celebrities, and the high-ranking syndicate families went. It was a place where people like me—Omegas from the sectors—weren't even allowed to clean the floors.
"You... you sent her to St. Jude's?" I whispered.
"I did," Varrick nodded. "She is currently being prepped for dialysis. The best nephrologist in the country—Dr. Aris—is scrubbing in to evaluate her for a transplant list as we speak."
I slid down the door until I hit the floor. The relief was so intense it made me nauseous. She's safe. For the first time in three years, she wasn't breathing in mold spores. She was in a clean bed. She had a doctor.
"Why?" I looked up at him, confusion warring with gratitude. "Why would you do that?"
Varrick stared down at me. His expression wasn't kind. It was calculating.
"I covered the cost of the transport," he listed, ticking off fingers on his gloved hand. "The admission fee. The surgery retainer. The private suite. It is a very expensive bill, Rian. Roughly two hundred thousand dollars for the first week alone."
The relief in my chest turned into something cold and heavy.
He hadn't done it out of charity. He had bought her.
Varrick reached down, gripping my chin in his hand. His leather glove was cool against my skin. He tilted my head up, forcing me to look into his dark, predatory eyes.
"And you know how I feel about unpaid debts."
I swallowed hard. "I don't have that kind of money. You know I don't."
"I know," Varrick murmured. "But you have something else."
He let go of my chin and trailed his knuckles down the side of my neck, stopping over the pulse point where my scent gland lay hidden beneath my skin. Even through the suppressants, my body reacted to him. My pulse jumped against his touch.
"You belong to me," he said softly. "That is the new deal. As long as you are... cooperative... your sister stays in the VIP suite. She gets the transplant. She lives a long, healthy life."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"But if you run? If you fight me? If you try to hide that sweet scent of yours again?"
His thumb pressed down on my throat, just hard enough to threaten, not hard enough to choke.
"The funding stops. The doctors walk away. And she is back on the street before her anesthesia wears off."
Tears pricked my eyes. It wasn't a rescue. It was a transfer of ownership. Gable had used a cage; Varrick was using a golden leash.
"You're a monster," I whispered.
Varrick smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "I am a businessman, Rian. And I protect my investments."
He stepped back, extending a hand to help me up. It was a gentleman's gesture, mocking the absolute control he held over my life.
I looked at his hand. I looked at the dead body of Gable. And I thought of Maya, sleeping in fresh sheets, safe for the first time in her life.
I hated him. I hated him with every fiber of my being.
But I took his hand.
Varrick pulled me to my feet effortlessly, pulling me close enough that our chests brushed.
"Good boy," he purred.
He turned and walked toward the exit, his long coat swishing behind him.
"Now. Get in the car."
I followed him out into the night. A sleek, black armored SUV was waiting, the engine idling purr. A driver in a suit held the back door open.
I paused at the door, looking back at the city skyline. I could run. I was fast. I could disappear into the shadows right now.
But the invisible chain around my neck pulled tight.
I lowered my head, swallowed my pride, and climbed into the back seat of the monster's car. The door slammed shut, sealing me in the silence. Varrick slid in beside me, the lock clicking into place.
"Where are we going?" I asked, staring straight ahead.
Varrick leaned back against the leather seat, closing his eyes.
"To the Estate," he said. "To your cage."