My head throbbed, like a drum pounding violently against the inside of my skull.
Uh?
A low groan vibrated in the back of my throat as my consciousness slowly clawed its way back from the dark void. My eyelids felt like heavy, and I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes, but my arms wouldn't move.
Wait.
I pulled again. Nothing. A sharp pinch of thick, coarse rope bit into my wrists. Panic, cold and sharp, instantly flooded my veins, shocking me fully awake.
Where am I?
My eyes snapped open, blinking frantically against the gloom. The room was pitch black, thick with the smell of damp concrete, old rust, and copper.
Directly above me, a single, solitary industrial bulb hung suspended from a wire, casting a harsh, blinding circle of yellow light straight down on me like a stage spotlight.
I took a ragged breath and looked up. My hands were raised high above my head, bound tightly together and tethered to a thick steel beam running across the roof.
But I wasn't hanging. My worn-out sneakers were planted firmly on the cracked concrete floor. I was standing. Trapped. Displayed like some kind of prize.
The sound of metal scraping sharply against concrete echoed through the massive, empty space.
Skrrrrrrt.
I flinched, my breath hitching as a figure casually dragged a folding chair into the edge of the light. He spun the chair around, straddling it backward, and rested his arms over the metal backrest.
It was him. The guy from the alley.
He had ditched his heavy outer jacket. Now, he was wearing a tight, black ribbed tank top that clung to his torso, showing off an intimidating expanse of lean, corded muscle.
Dark tattoos snaked down his bare arms, disappearing beneath the dark fabric. The harsh overhead light caught the silver metal of his lip rings, drawing my attention directly to his smirk.
But it was his eyes that made my breath stutter to a complete halt.
In the dark alley, I hadn't been able to see them properly. But here, bathed in the yellow glow of the bulb, they were the most beautiful, striking shade of stormy gray I had ever seen.
They were piercing, holding a lethal intensity that made my skin prickle with goosebumps.
He tilted his head slightly, letting his dark mullet fall messily over his brow.
"Hello, blue eyes."
His smooth baritone voice sent an immediate, violent surge of adrenaline through my system. The memory of the gunshot, the blood splattering across my face, the man crumbling to the pavement—it all hit me like a shot to the head.
"You fucking murderer!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the invisible walls of the warehouse.
I thrashed wildly against the ropes, the coarse fibers tearing at the delicate skin of my wrists. "Let me go! Let me the fuck go!"
He let out a dark chuckle that echoed through the quiet room.
"Why should I?" he asked calmly. "You're a part of this now. You witnessed it."
Damn it. Damn it to hell!
I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of regret washing over me. If only I had minded my own business. If only I had ignored that scream. I could be in my apartment right now. I could be sitting in silence while Haruta slurped his instant ramen, entirely safe, entirely boring, entirely alive. My stupid, reckless hero complex had finally gotten me killed.
Before I could spiral further into my impending doom, the chair scraped backward.
He suddenly stood up. He stepped fully into the circle of light, closing the distance between us with until he was standing inches away from my chest.
I had to crane my neck back to look up at him.
Oh....Up close, he smelled incredible. It was a dizzying, intoxicating mix.
The sharp tang of gunpowder and a deeply masculine, expensive cologne wrapped around the faint, sweet, strangely comforting scent of crushed raspberries.
It was completely disorienting, melting the logical, medical part of my brain into useless mush.
He smirked, clearly noticing the way my breathing had turned shallow and fast.
"I have done my research on you, Tristan Harrington," he murmured, his gray eyes locking onto mine, peeling back my layers. "Fourth year. Top of your class. Medical student?" The smirk widened, showing a flash of white teeth. "That's perfect. You'll work for me now."
"No!" I spat, pulling back against the ropes as far as I could, trying to escape his gravitational pull. "I won't! You bastard! You killed someone in cold blood! I'm not doing a damn thing for you! Let me go!"
I expected him to hit me. I expected him to pull the gun.
Instead, he chuckled again, stepping even closer. "You are not going anywhere unless I say so, blue eyes."
His hand shot out. Large, calloused fingers gripped my jaw, squeezing my cheeks just hard enough to force my mouth into a slight pout. He tilted my head side to side, his eyes dragging slowly down my throat, across my chest, and back up to my face, looking me up and down like a piece of prime real estate.
"Are you a virgin?"
The question hit me so far out of left field that my brain entirely flatlined. I stared at him, my eyes wide as saucers. The heat rushed violently to my cheeks.
A virgin?
I was a closeted gay med student whose only social life was a volleyball and a roommate who barely spoke. I didn't even have time to think about losing my virginity, let alone actually do it!
Unable to form words, and terrified of the grip he had on my face, I gave a tiny, humiliating nod.
His eyes darkened. The smirk transformed into something far more wicked. "Hmm. Okay."
He let go of my jaw, his thumb brushing casually over my cheekbone as he pulled his hand back. "Let me make this simple for you, Tristan. I know about your father, Richard. I know about your mother, Eleanor. And….." His voice dropped to an icy whisper. "I know about your two little sisters."
The blood drained entirely from my face. My heart stopped.
"How..." My voice was a broken rasp. "How do you know that???"
"Hahaha." He laughed, an amused sound that clashed horrifyingly with the threat he had just delivered. "I'm a very resourceful man. So, you should understand my position. If you say a single word to the cops, if you try to run, if you disobey me.….just one snap of my finger, and they all die. Horribly."
The fight left my body in an instant.
My shoulders sagged, the ropes burning my wrists. I couldn't risk them. I couldn't risk my sisters. My parents were terrible, but the girls.….I would burn the world down for them.
I swallowed the massive lump of terror in my throat. "Fine. Fine! I won't... I won't say anything. Fine."
I looked up at him, fighting back my tears. "Are you.…are you going to kill me?"
He stared at me for a long moment, the amusement fading into an intense gaze. Then, he chuckled softly.
"Of course not," he said, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His knuckles brushed my skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my spine. "If I was going to kill you, I would have done it a long time ago in that alley."
"Then why…..." I whispered, my voice trembling. "Why am I here?"
He leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to the shell of my ear.
"I think you're cute."
...
Whatttttt?!
My heart exploded, an absolute, total gay panic engaging in my brain. Sirens blared in my head. Danger! Danger! Abort!
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I yelled, my voice cracking in a desperate attempt to sound aggressively masculine. "I'm straight!"
He paused. Slowly, he turned his head, his nose trailing lightly along my jawline until his face was buried in the crook of my neck. He inhaled deeply, a long, exaggerated sniff that sent a violent, traitorous shudder ripping through my entire body.
"Hm?" he hummed against my collarbone, his hot breath dancing over my skin. "Really?"
Fuck.
My body was betraying me, reacting to his touch with a desperate, shameful heat that I had spent years trying to suppress.
He pulled back, his gray eyes shining with absolute triumph. He knew. He could smell the lie on me. The lip rings caught the light as he gave me a slow smile.
"What...." I gasped, trying to regain a shred of my sanity. "What's your name?"
He stepped back, the suffocating tension breaking just enough for me to pull oxygen into my lungs. He smiled, an arrogant expression.
"I'm Aleksei," he announced smoothly. "Aleksei Moretti."
To my utter bewilderment, the massive, terrifying man took a step back, placed one hand over his chest, and offered me a sweeping, dramatic, overly theatrical bow.
"Uh?" I blinked, completely thrown off by the whiplash of his personality. "Aleksei? But.….Moretti is Italian."
He popped back up, dusting off his hands. "Ah, yes. I'm the bastard son of the Italian mafia and the Russian Bratva. It's a very tragic, terribly bloody backstory. I'm practically a Shakespearean hero. I'll tell you all about it over dinner."
Before I could even attempt to process the absolute, unhinged nightmare of that sentence, the heavy metal doors at the far end of the warehouse suddenly banged open with a deafening crash.
Two massive men in sharp black suits dragged a thrashing, screaming man into the room. The guy was missing his left arm from the elbow down, a terrifying geyser of blood spurting wildly onto the concrete floor with every heartbeat.
They hauled him across the room and unceremoniously dumped him right at my feet.
Aleksei casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny, silver surgical scalpel. In one swift motion, he stepped up and sliced through the thick ropes binding my wrists to the ceiling.
I collapsed forward, my numb arms dropping to my sides like lead weights. Before I could hit the floor, Aleksei caught me by the collar of my shirt, violently slapped the scalpel into my trembling, blood-stained palm, and gave me a cheerful wink.
"Anyway, orientation is over. Welcome to the family, blue eyes. Fix him in the next ten minutes, or I shoot you both."