1. Vogue

Nothing.

Then everything.

I scream as the fear has taken over now as Bigsy pulls the trigger again. That's three. I have two chances left, if I'm that lucky.

Aaron slams into us, knocking all three of us to the floor. Bigsy's grip on me loosens enough for Callum to dive forward and pull me away as Aaron smashes Bigsy's face with his fist.

Twice.

Three times.

As Callum holds me close to him, I watch as my absentee father goes to town on this asshole in the weird purple shirt, who just gambled with my life.

My sobs wrack my body as I watch the scene unfolding in front of me. Quentin steps forward and hauls Bigsy up, not giving a shit about Aaron beating him into the ground. He literally throws Bigsy across the room, and he slams into the wall not far from where we were standing seconds ago, and yet it seems like an eternity at the same time. Quentin levels the shotgun, but Aaron is on his feet in one fluid motion and grabbing the gun from Quentin. He doesn't even pause. Just raises it and fires.

I turn into Callum's chest, the fear and tears hurting my chest as Bigsy's head shatters into a hundred pieces.

Callum's arms tighten around me, his breath ragged against my ear. The room is thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood, a metallic tang that roots me to the moment. My ears are ringing, and in the aftermath, there's a fragile silence that wraps around us like a shroud.

"Vogue, look at me," Callum commands softly, steadily.

I lift my head, meeting his gaze, which is filled with fury and concern.

Aaron strides over to his desk and drops the shotgun, his eyes dark with an anger that goes beyond the violence he's just doled out. Quentin crosses over to the body and picks up the gun that is lying a bit away from him. They're all beasts in their own ways, bound by blood and brutality.

"You're safe now," Callum whispers against my forehead before pressing a kiss there. It's meant to be reassuring, but nothing can erase the cold caress of death that had been just a trigger pull away.

"Fucking hell," Quentin mutters and stares at me.

"What?" I ask, my voice shaking.

He holds up the gun, the chamber hanging open. "Next one would've been it."

His words hit me like ice water, and I choke back another sob as my blood spikes horribly, making me lightheaded.

"Hey," Callum whispers. "You're okay."

I want to believe him, want to sink into the promise of security his arms offer. But we live in a world where safety is an illusion, shattered by greed and power plays. Where loyalty is measured in blood spilt, and bullets dodged.

Pushing Callum away, I get to my feet. My legs are jelly, and my insides have turned to liquid, but I'm on my feet and facing down Aaron, my father.

His eyes, just like mine, stare back at me and for a moment, time stands still.

"Do you understand now?" Aaron's voice slices through the tension, his eyes never leaving mine. "This life, it's all or nothing."

I nod, not because I agree, but because I can't find my voice. Callum is close behind me, a solid presence that gives me some semblance of strength. Quentin watches from the sidelines, his expression blank until I gaze into his eyes and then he lets me see his fear. I run to him and fling my arms around him, holding on as if I'll never let go. He holds me back just as hard and then he lets me go, turning me back to face Aaron.

Aaron steps closer, the blood on his hands marking him as a man who makes his own rules. "You're part of this now, Vogue," he says. "There's no turning back."

He's right. I know it with a sinking feeling in my gut.

The stench of death still lingers in the room, and I have to fight back the urge to vomit. This isn't where I imagined my time at Crestmont would lead me. But here I am, in the heart of darkness with these men who are bound by something deeper than law; bound by blood and violence.

Then his face cracks into a weary smile, the kind that's seen too much and come out the other side.

"Good girl," he says, and there's a grudging respect in his voice. A nod to the survival instinct we share, carved from the same unforgiving stone.

Thayer and Harry rush into the room then, looking as battered as Quen and Callum. "What happened to you four?" I ask. "I mean after the Vipers?"

"Adam," Callum growls, glaring at Aaron, who gives him a smirk before he turns his gaze back to me, eyes full of pride.

I'm not sure if I want his approval, but it steadies me just the same. I swallow hard and try to master the trembling in my limbs.

"You good?" Harry asks, his voice low and cautious as he watches me with hawk-like intensity after taking in the dead man slumped on the floor.

"Yeah," I lie. "I'm fucking fantastic." My attempt at bravado falls flat, but what else is there to do other than pretend?

It's not the first time I've disassociated, and it won't be the last, either.

They don't push it. They understand the need for fronts, for masks that hide our deepest fears from those who would exploit them.

"Adam still alive?" Aaron snorts as he goes behind his desk and pulls out a bottle of scotch from his drawer, uncapping it and taking a deep gulp. He passes it to Cal who does the same.

"Yeah," Harry says. "That guy is a monster."

"You passed."

"Passed?" Quen snarls.

"The test. You didn't let Adam stop you from getting to Vogue. That means you will run into death to save her. You passed."

"Fuck you," Callum growls and takes another swig from the bottle before he passes it to Quen.

"You're in my daughter's life. I needed to know you had it in you."

"Well, there's not much we can say about that, then, is there?" Thayer asks, taking the bottle from Quen.

"We need to clean this up," I blurt out.

"We'll take care of it," Quen says grimly, turning back to Bigsy as he snaps the pistol chamber back into place as if he's done it a million times. He aims it at the body and fires off a shot which penetrates the dead body as we all stare at it.

The kill shot.

The one that would've burst my brains from the inside out if Aaron hadn't connected when he did.

My dad saved me.

Pressing my lips together, I turn to him and launch myself in his direction, wrapping my arms around him as tightly as I can. For a moment, he's caught off guard, but then his arms envelop me, strong and unyielding.

"Thank you," I say, muffled against his shirt. "You saved me."

"Don't thank me yet," Aaron replies, his voice gravelly. "This is just the beginning."

I pull back to look at him, uncertainty gnawing at my insides. The beginning of what? But the question dies on my tongue because his eyes tell me everything—I'm now irrevocably part of his world, and there is no going back. Not now. Not ever.