Chapter 27

Benedict

I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore. The lines of my mission have blurred beyond recognition, overtaken by something far more personal. My objective, once so clear, has fallen to the wayside, replaced by a singular focus: taking care of Eva.

When I saw her lying on her kitchen floor, bloodied and bruised, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. The image of her shattered body is seared into my brain, haunting me in quiet moments. Every time I close my eyes, I see her there—helpless, fragile, with those once-bright eyes dimmed by pain and fear. It wasn’t just the sight of her broken body; it was the knowledge that I hadn’t been there to stop it. That I hadn’t protected her.

I’ve been trained to maintain control, to keep my emotions at arm’s length, but the moment I cradled her in my arms, all that discipline unraveled. My mission, the real reason I’m in this mess, became a distant echo. All I could think about was getting her to safety, getting her to breathe. When she whispered my name, weak and barely audible, it tore something open inside me.

Now, as I stand here beside her, I wonder how far I’ve fallen. I’ve lied to her—more than once. And I’m going to have to lie again, keep more secrets. There’s so much I haven’t told her, so much I can’t tell her. I’ve spun my own web of deceit, but for some reason, it feels different when it’s Eva. I want to be honest with her, to tell her everything about Christopher, about the Delgados, about why I’m really here. But I can’t. Not yet.

She stands beside me, her face still bearing the faint bruises from Christopher’s attack, covered by makeup, and my fists clench involuntarily. I want to rip him apart for what he did to her, for daring to lay a hand on her. It’s a primal rage, the kind I’ve only felt a few times in my life, and it takes everything in me to keep it from bubbling to the surface.

Eva doesn’t know it, but she’s changed everything for me. She’s the reason I’ve lost sight of the mission. The reason I’m here, in this dimly lit club, playing a role I’m not even sure I want to play anymore. But I don’t regret it. I’d do it all over again just to see her safe.

“How are you, Father?” Enzo’s voice cuts through the thick tension in the room, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before shifting to Eva, lingering too long. It’s a leering, predatory gaze that makes my skin crawl and my blood boil. The way he looks at her—like she’s nothing more than an object, something to be devoured—sends a murderous urge through me. Every man in this room seems to have the same expression when they look at her, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to lash out.

I tighten my grip on Eva’s waist, pulling her closer to me, offering her whatever shield I can in this den of wolves. “Enzo,” I greet him through clenched teeth, giving a curt nod. “How are you?”

He laughs, but it’s a hollow, grating sound, as if the act of laughter is foreign to him. His eyes haven’t left Eva, and I can feel the tension radiating off her as she stiffens beside me. “I can’t wait to see the show you and this pretty little honey are going to put on for us tonight,” he sneers, the twisted smile spreading across his face making my stomach turn. “We might even video it. A little keepsake for the boys.”

Eva’s eyes widen in horror, and I can feel her trembling against me. She tries to mask it, but I know she’s terrified. I tug her even closer, a silent promise that I’ll protect her. I won’t let these bastards touch her. “You know I can’t allow a video of me,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. The weight of my words lingers, a reminder that even in this hellhole, there are limits.

Enzo’s grin widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Precisely,” he says, his laughter now louder, crueler. It grates on my nerves, each cackle like nails on a chalkboard. He’s playing with us, testing how far he can push, and I know I can’t give him an inch.

Eva’s grip tightens around my arm, her breathing shallow and quick. She’s scared, but she’s strong. I know she won’t break, not in front of these men. But I also know the toll this is taking on her, the fear eating away at her. It’s taking everything in me to stay calm, to not let the rage consuming me spill over. I want to tear Enzo apart for even suggesting what he did.

But I can’t. Not yet.

The low hum of the music thrums through the air, the bass a gentle, steady pulse that seems to sync with the tension in the room. The lights are dim, casting long shadows across the faces of those gathered, making it difficult to read their expressions in the flickering glow. It feels ominous, like the calm before a storm, and my nerves are on edge. Lazarus, with his imposing figure, stands at the head of the room, commanding attention as he taps his champagne glass with a large, gold ring, the sharp clink cutting through the muted conversations.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Lazarus begins, his deep voice resonating through the space. He pauses, letting the silence settle before continuing. “As many of you know, times are critical now. We need to be vigilant in our duties.” His eyes sweep across the room, and I can feel the weight of his words sinking into the people around us. There’s an unease beneath the surface, like everyone knows something I don’t.

I steal a quick glance at Eva, who stands stiffly by my side, her body tense as her eyes flicker with barely concealed anxiety. What the hell is Lazarus talking about? The cryptic language, the talk of duties—it’s all a carefully orchestrated game, but I don’t know the rules, and neither does Eva. My pulse quickens as I struggle to decipher his message.

“I know many of you are excited for what’s to come,” Lazarus continues, his voice thick with self-satisfaction, “and trust me, it’s good. All the bids are in, and we’ll be profiting soon.”

Profiting? Bids? My stomach twists as a ripple of cheers erupts through the room, the men raising their glasses in celebration. I force myself to join in, clapping half-heartedly, my palms slick with cold sweat. A grin is plastered across my face, but inside I’m spiraling.

Bids? On the women?

I look around the room, seeing nothing but hungry eyes and men lost in their own greed. The walls seem to close in around me, and my mind races, piecing together the unspoken truth behind Lazarus’ words. These men aren’t just here for business deals. This is something far darker. The word bids sticks in my brain like a thorn. Human trafficking? Exploitation?

Eva’s hand tightens on my arm again, a silent plea for reassurance, but I can see the growing fear in her eyes. She knows too. She’s realizing what’s happening here, what these people are capable of. I’m supposed to protect her, to keep her safe, and yet here we are, caught in the middle of something I can barely comprehend. My heart pounds in my chest, my rage bubbling beneath the surface.

Lazarus grins, enjoying the cheers, reveling in the anticipation of whatever hell is about to unfold. I glance around the room again, sizing up the other men, wondering how far this all goes. The stakes are higher than I could have imagined, and I’m in over my head.

“Dance for us, ladies,” Lazarus commands, his voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. The women—the Greedy Girls—move to the center of the room, their bodies already swaying in time to the sultry rhythm of the music. There’s a sort of twisted excitement in the air, and all eyes are on them, the men around the room lounging in plush leather chairs, sipping on expensive liquor as if this is just another night of entertainment.

There are about five of them, all wearing the signature skimpy outfits that leave little to the imagination. I watch as the girls slowly begin to move, their hips undulating in time with the slow, seductive beat. The men around the room lean forward, their gazes hungry and lecherous. It makes my skin crawl.

I find a spot on a white-leather couch, casually sinking into it, pretending to enjoy the show like everyone else. But my mind isn’t on the Greedy Girls. It’s on Eva. I feel her next to me, hesitating as she takes small steps forward, unsure of what’s expected of her. My blood boils at the thought of anyone else laying their eyes on her the way these men are watching the other women.

As the music pulses through the speakers, Eva starts to sway, her hips moving awkwardly at first, unsure of herself. But I’m not about to let her become part of the spectacle. I grip her hip firmly, pulling her back to me, forcing her body into my lap. The heat of her skin against my palm sends a possessive surge through me. She’s not theirs to watch. She’s mine.

“You dance for me,” I murmur, my lips grazing her ear. My voice is low, meant only for her. There’s a tremble in her as she tries to keep up appearances, moving slightly to the rhythm, but I feel the tension in her body. She doesn’t want to be here. Neither do I.

“You can’t hog all the girls,” Enzo’s voice cuts through from across the room, his laughter loud and grating, like sandpaper against raw skin. I can feel his eyes on Eva, the way they linger, and it takes everything in me not to storm across the room and rip his throat out.

I force a smile, keeping my face casual even as the fury simmers just below the surface. “This one’s mine ,” I growl, my voice sharp, possessive. The words hang in the air, a clear warning to everyone in the room. Don’t even think about it.

Enzo’s grin falters for a split second before he recovers, shrugging like it’s all a joke. “Lucky you,” he says with a smirk, his gaze lingering on Eva for a moment longer than necessary.

My grip on her tightens, and I feel her lean into me, her body still moving slightly, pretending for the sake of appearances. But she’s not dancing for them. She’s dancing for me. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone else think otherwise.

The music continues, the other girls still performing for the crowd, their movements practiced, sensual. But my focus stays on Eva, the only thing that matters in this room full of vultures. I lean in closer, pressing a kiss to her neck, hoping to ground her, to remind her that I’m here with her, that she’s not alone.

“It’s okay,” I whisper into her ear, though I’m not sure if I’m trying to reassure her or myself. The tension in the room is thick, and I know this isn’t over. Lazarus and the others are watching, waiting for something. And I have to figure out what the hell it is before it’s too late.