Chapter 2

“Now,” he grunts, throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. He doesn’t care that I’m yelling at him to stop. The can of empty mace slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. I’m hanging upside down, my stomach pressed over a rock-hard shoulder, at least six and a half feet in the air. I twist around, trying to grab anything to hit him with, but I find nothing.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can put me down right now! Someone’s going to call the cops!”

It’s a lie. A big one. All my neighbors are either out or dead asleep. No one is going to save me.

I slam my fists against his strong, wide back, but he just laughs. My hits are useless, like tapping on a wall.

In no time, we’re outside. The cold air hits my skin. My robe’s hanging sideways, showing too much. He drops me beside a long black limo like I’m nothing more than a sack of trash. A man in a sharp suit stands in the open door, still as stone.

“Sorry, sir. She wouldn’t come easy.”

My brain finally catches up when I see who’s inside. My father.

He’s sitting in the back, eyes hidden by the brim of a dark hat. His fingers grip the top edge of the open door, squeezing tight, then letting go, over and over. For someone who’s spent his life scaring people and running the city’s shadows, he doesn’t look so tough now.

Something feels wrong. My lungs get heavy. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s not good. I glance around, expecting a bigger threat, but don’t see anything.

Still, I know this for sure: my father never shows up to help.

“Father,” I say coldly. “Say whatever you came to say and then leave.”

This whole thing feels like the start of something bad.

I swallow, looking up at him. His lip curls like he just smelled something awful. “Stop being a bitch like your mother and listen. Get in the car, and maybe you won’t die today,” he spits, his voice filled with poison.

I bite down on my fear and try to keep calm. “Your talks could use some work,” I say flat. “And since when do you care if I die? Are you seriously threatening me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares. “Get in the car, Katriona. I’m not going to argue.” His cold eyes flick to the man behind me. I feel a hand reach for my shoulder again and pull away fast. I’m getting real sick of being grabbed like a doll.

I turn back to my father, and the shame and shock rise inside me. “You’ve treated me like dirt my whole life. Now you want me to just jump in a car and trust you? No way. I’m not going anywhere with you. Never. If I’m really in danger, why not call the police?”

My hands shake at my sides, fists tight. I push back the flood of memories—the pain, the fear, the man who left me and my mom like we were nothing.

I don’t wait for a reply. I turn to leave, but Muscles blocks the way. He stares me down like I’m a bug he could step on.

I stand up straight. He may be big, but I’m not the type to be pushed around.

“Get her in the car. Stuff her in the trunk if you have to. I’m not leaving her here for them to use against me.”

Like his word is law, my father eases back into the limo and hits the button to lower the window. He lifts two fingers and gives a silent order. Just like in a damn movie. Muscles moves to grab me again.

Hell no.

I dart to the side, just avoiding his hands.

“Keep your greasy hands off me, you jerk! And you—” I turn, ignoring the pain as the rough sidewalk burns my bare feet. I face my father and spit out the words. “You don’t get to come out of nowhere and demand things from me!”

I take two shaky steps before he catches my arm in a grip that’ll leave bruises.

“Stubborn, foolish girl. Just like—”

That’s it. My blood boils. I yank my arm free and stomp toward the limo. I lower my face to the open window.

“Like my mother? Is that what you were going to say?” My voice cracks. “Is that what you told her when you left her? I was five. Five! She had to raise me on her own in this awful city while you ran around like some big-shot. You know how she fed me after you cut her off? You know the men I had to fight off just to make it through the night? Do you? Of course you don’t. You never gave a damn. You didn’t check in. You didn’t care. You had better things to do—other women, guns, drugs. Am I getting close?”

He looks stunned. Like I just slapped him.

“Must be nice,” I go on, “having so much power you can just walk away when you don’t like something. Right, Kane?”

I can feel the heat of his anger rolling through the open window. But then something in his eyes makes me stop.

Fear.

He’s scared.

And now I see why.

He’s sweating. His knuckles are white on the edge of the door. A man like him, who never flinches, is trembling. His eyes—same color as mine—dart toward the far end of the street.

I follow his gaze.

There’s a black car parked there. Windows dark as midnight. I can’t see who’s inside.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Muscles reach for his gun. His hand grabs my arm in a tight, crushing grip.

Oh no.

Oh shit.

Katriona

Is the gun for me?

The sun hits the shiny silver of the weapon and I know this is it. This is how I die. A bullet to the head. Out here in the open. A father’s order to take out his own daughter because I don’t fit into the little box he wants to shove me into.

A sharp, “Marcus,” stops the bullet, but I see it—the clear letdown in my would-be killer’s eyes. His boss told him to stop, but it doesn’t mean he wanted to.

Well, damn. That says enough, doesn’t it?

My throat is dry, but I try to talk past it.

“Sorry, maybe next time?” I joke to hide the shaking inside me. But the truth is I’m falling apart. My hands tremble like a leaf in a storm, my body tight with fear I can’t show.

Muscles pulls his hand back and bolts for the driver’s seat. He’s barely behind the wheel when the engine starts with a soft growl.

“Fine. Have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you, you idiot.” My father gives Muscles a nod—some kind of silent talk between jerks—and just like that, they’re gone.

I stand there, frozen, like a fool. The sidewalk holds me in place while another car rolls slowly by. Dark windows. Too dark to see inside.

Back inside, I fix the busted door the best I can. Only two hinges left holding it up. I lock it tight and make a mental note to buy one of those door cameras soon.

My last name might be Kane, but that’s the only thing I got from my father. Money? Nope. A happy home? Not even close. All he ever gave me was his back when he walked out. And a fight I’ve been swinging at ever since.

This isn’t one of those feel-good reunion stories.

Anyone would say he got the better deal. A few great years with my mother, a stunning woman who did everything he wanted. Then he dumped her like old clothes once the shine wore off and the “dad” job got hard.

She gave everything. He gave nothing.

It’s painful thinking how my mother meant so little to him. Like she was just a pretty toy he broke and left behind.

He probably hasn’t thought about her since. I know he never thought about me. And for reasons I’ll never get, my mother didn’t make him step up. Didn’t force him to help raise the kid he helped make.

They both messed up. And I’m the one paying the price.

When she died from heart problems—just a few weeks before I turned fourteen—I got tossed from home to home until I took matters into my own hands. At sixteen, I ran from my last foster place. Back then, I thought I was grown. Thought I could do it all.

I used to believe in fairytales. In happy endings. So when I got older, I tracked him down.

Biggest mistake of my life.

Even now, my heart still remembers how it broke the day he slammed that door in my face. No hug. No apology. Just cold eyes and silence.

Three years later and my hands are shaking all over again. He knows where I live.

That scares me more than I want to admit.

⸻

Fresh out of the shower, I peek out the beat-up door, making sure Mr. Grabby Hands isn’t hiding in the shadows, waiting to stuff me into that damn trunk.

Seeing no one, I lock up and tuck my face into the cold wind. I step off the curb and wave down a cab. I’m nearly an hour late for work. My head’s all over the place. One second I’m worried I’ll get fired, the next I’m thinking about Kane’s words.

I may hate the man, but I’m not dumb enough to ignore a warning like that.

Just what I need—more crap to worry about.

I want to scream. I want to yell at the sky until the wind carries my rage away. But I don’t. I hold it in, like always.

Tired doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel. It’s a bone-deep kind of tired. A kind that comes from being pulled and pushed and told who to be and what to do. I’m over it.

I forgave my mother, even if it took years. Her choices hurt, but I understand them now.

But him?

He gets nothing from me.

He doesn’t get to walk in and think I’m his again. He doesn’t get to play with my life like it’s a game. I’m not some piece on his board. I won’t be used and thrown away.

I throw my bag strap over my shoulder. Even that little movement makes me feel sick inside. Like I’m trying too hard to stand tall when all I want to do is collapse.

Truth is, I haven’t climbed much higher than she did. I don’t sell my body like she once did, but I work in a place where it doesn’t matter.

I serve drinks at one of the most secretive, high-class clubs in Chicago.

Where the monsters wear suits and smiles.

Where the rich and powerful pretend they’re clean, but we all know the truth.

And I’m right there in the middle of it.

Still stuck in the shadows.

Still trying to survive.