Chapter One

Leah

Something isn't right.

The words keep ringing in my head as I walk down the long walkway that leads to the back entrance of Harry's enormous estate. I hunch my shoulders, wrapping my arms tightly around my midriff as the night air bites painfully into my skin. I try to think of a reason my uncle would want to see me so suddenly, but I keep drawing blanks. In the thirteen years that I've lived with him, he barely even acknowledges my existence, but tonight he sent his personal bodyguard, Kane, to practically drag me out of bed. It's unlikely he has prepared a surprise birthday trip.

Kane's heavy footsteps echo ominously behind me, amplifying the erratic beating of my heart. Kane is a huge man with monstrous muscles that ripple fearfully with every movement. I call him 'The Hound' in my head. Not really for his massive build but for his blind loyalty to Kane. He seems like the sort of man that’ll kill a person at his master’s command.

A chill runs down my spine at the thought. Wait a minute. Did Harry order Kane to kill me and throw my body into a canal or something??

It wouldn't be far-fetched... I know just how cruel my uncle is. Since I came to live in Harry's estate, I've seen and heard things that are best kept hidden in the deepest recesses of my heart. To the outside world, Harry Forbes is a saint with his philanthropic acts and charity events. The media seems to adore him and he's well on his way to becoming the new mayor of Newark in just a few months.

I wish the world knew what a beast he really is behind closed doors.

We round a corner and up ahead, I see a black sedan with heavily tinted windows. I freeze so suddenly that Kane almost rams into me from behind. He lets out a muffled curse, steadying himself just in time.

“I'm sorry.” I swallow nervously, ignoring the urge to fiddle with the leather necklace nestling beneath my shirt like I always do when I'm nervous. “Where are you taking me?”

“I have no idea, ma’am,” Kane replies in a flat tone that suggests he knows exactly where he's taking me.

“I think you do,” I say, sounding braver than I feel. “Can we do this some other time? It's Christmas Eve.” And my friggin’ birthday! I at least deserve a good night's sleep after a long day of questioning my own existence.

Kane levels his gaze with mine, his face as impassive as ever. “I think you should take that up with the boss, ma'am.”

I square my chin, silently communicating my unwillingness to back down. Kane drops his gaze, his enormous shoulders heaving with an inaudible sigh. “Please, don't make this unnecessarily difficult, Miss Leah,” he mumbles and for the first time, I hear a hint of frustration in his usually emotionless voice.

Good, at least I'm not making this easy for him.

“Unnecessarily difficult?” I scoff, sounding braver than I feel. I fold my arms over my chest, trying to hide my growing unease. “What exactly does that mean?”

He suddenly grabs my arm, his expression hardening as he tries to pull me forward. I let out a shocked gasp, shrugging his hand away. “What do you think you're doing?!” I snap, glaring into his face.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, not sounding sorry at all. “The boss doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

Of course, God forbid the almighty Harry Forbes doesn't have his way all the time.

I resume walking, forcing one leg in front of the other. My palms are sweaty, my heart beating hard and fast. I try to tell myself that despite Harry's cruelty, he wouldn't hurt the only family he has left. Right?

Finally, we reach the car and Kane reaches around me to pull the door open. Harry is seated in the back, his thin mouth set in a grim line. He looks every inch of the politician he is in a dark blue tailored suit with his shiny dark hair groomed to perfection. He's a decent-looking man, and at fifty-two, he could pass for someone who's ten years younger. Sometimes, I see flashes of my late father in his face, and I wonder if his eyes also looked so… soulless. I was only six when my parents died, so I might be wrong. I hope I am.

“Go on,” Kane says, practically pushing me into the car. He slams the door shut and goes around to the driver's side.

Harry doesn’t say a word as I settle into the seat beside him, the leather cold against my skin. For a moment, the only sound is my shallow breathing and the faint rumble of the engine. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he turns to me, his expression unreadable.

“Leah,” he says, his voice smooth and cold—more like a formality than a greeting.

I swallow, my heart hammering in my chest. His gaze feels like ice, and even though a million questions are swirling in my mind, I can’t bring myself to speak. Instead, I sink deeper into the seat, my silence hanging heavy between us. We soon leave Harry’s estate behind, and the familiar streets give way to long, desolate stretches of road. I glance out the window, trying to make sense of where we’re headed, but all I see is an endless darkness. I can't tell where we are but judging from how long we've been on the move, I suspect we're heading far out of town.

I glance at Harry from the corner of my eye. He sits rigid, staring straight ahead, his face devoid of any emotion. My skin prickles with unease. He’s always been distant but something about him is different tonight, it's almost like he's edgy beneath all that outward calmness.

We continue to drive for what feels like hours until finally, we approach a tall, iron gate in the middle of nowhere. The building beyond it is hidden in shadows, barely visible in the eerie darkness. My breath catches in my throat, my heart beating faster. Kane slows the car to a stop, and Harry presses a button, rolling down the window. He leans out slightly, his face expressionless as he speaks a single word into a small intercom beside the gate.

“Requiem.”

There’s a soft buzz, and the gates creak open, revealing a long driveway lined with perfectly manicured trees. As we pull in, my eyes widen. Several luxurious cars are parked in front of the grand entrance. It’s a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings we just passed through. What is this place?

But our car doesn’t stop there. Kane steers it around the building, away from the line of expensive cars. My pulse quickens. Something’s not right. I can feel it in my bones.

“Where are we?” I finally muster the courage to ask, my voice barely audible.

Harry’s response is swift and brutal. “Shut the fuck up and do as you're told.”

The sharpness of his words slices through the air, and I flinch. As bad of an uncle as he is, he has never spoken to me like that before. I want to say something– anything but my throat feels too tight to speak. The car comes to a stop behind the building, where the lighting is dim and the air feels suffocating. Kane gets out first, opening the door for Harry, who steps out without another glance in my direction. I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and follow suit, my legs feeling like lead.

Harry doesn’t wait for me. He marches ahead, his pace brisk, as if there’s no time to waste. Kane falls into step behind us, his towering presence making me feel even smaller, more trapped. I steal glances around me, my stomach knotting as I take in the surroundings. The back of the building is much more modest than the front, but no less ominous.

We enter through a side door, and I’m immediately hit with the stench of stale air and something else—something sweet and sickening that I can’t quite place. The hallway is narrow, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights, casting long shadows across the floor. As we move deeper inside, my unease turns to outright terror. I see them. Girls—barely dressed, their outfits little more than scraps of fabric—being led down the hallway by men who look like they could snap a person in two without a second thought. The girls’ faces are blank, their eyes vacant, but their trembling hands give away their fear. I want to scream, to run, but my feet are glued to the ground. What the hell is this place?

We keep walking, passing door after door, the air growing thicker with tension. Every instinct in me screams to turn around, but Harry’s pace never falters. Kane’s footsteps behind me are a constant reminder that escape isn’t an option. Finally, we reach the last door at the end of the hallway. Kane steps forward, his hand resting on the knob as he looks to Harry for confirmation. Harry gives a curt nod and Kane pushes the door open, revealing a dark room beyond. Harry turns to me, his eyes colder than ever.

“Get inside,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

I hesitate, fear rooting me to the spot. But then Harry’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm with surprising force. He shoves me forward, and I stumble into the room, my stomach lurching with dread. As the door closes behind me, I realize with chilling certainty; whatever is about to happen, there's no turning back now. Inside the room, the lightning is dim, and I can barely make out the details around me. The air feels thick and suffocating, like it’s clinging to my skin. Harry moves ahead without a word, his steps measured and purposeful.

In the corner, I spot what looks like a clothing rack, barely visible in the murky light. Without looking at me, Harry strides over to it, his hand brushing past several garments until he grabs one. He pulls it off the rack and tosses it at me with a single flick of his wrist. The fabric lands in my arms, and I glance down at it, my stomach twisting in disbelief. It's a skimpy, red Santa costume—just like the ones I saw on the other girls in the hallway. It’s more like lingerie than an actual outfit, with short sleeves made of sheer mesh and a plunging neckline. My throat tightens as I hold it up, my mind reeling. This can’t be happening.

"W-what am I supposed to do with this?" I ask, my voice shaking despite my efforts to stay calm.

Harry doesn’t even bother to look at me. He nods toward a curtained section of the room that I hadn’t noticed before. "Go change into it."

For a moment, I just stand there, frozen. The sheer absurdity of the situation makes my head spin. "Are you serious?" I ask, more to myself than to him. He’s not actually expecting me to wear this… is he?

But as I search his face for any sign of hesitation, I find nothing. His eyes are cold, completely devoid of emotion. He’s not joking. He’s dead serious.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "No, I’m not doing this. I’m not—" The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. The whispers I’d overheard about his company, the rumors of financial trouble—how people said he was in too deep, with no way out. I never believed it. Not really. Harry Forbes, the untouchable, the powerful, on the brink of bankruptcy? It seemed ridiculous. But now… I stare at the Santa costume in my hands, and everything starts to fall into place.

He’s here to auction me off.

"Is this what this is?" I choke out, dropping the outfit to the floor. "You're selling me?"

Harry doesn’t flinch. Or blink. He doesn’t even seem remotely concerned by my outburst. "Put on the damn costume, Leah," he says quietly, the calm in his voice more terrifying than if he’d shouted.

"No!" I back up, nearly stumbling over my own feet. "You’re insane! I’m not doing this. I’m leaving." I make for the door, ready to bolt—ready to get the hell out of here and never look back.

But I never get the chance.

In one fluid motion, Harry pulls a gun from inside his jacket, the barrel gleaming under the dim light. He points it directly at me, the cold metal unwavering as it aims between my eyes.

"Either you put on the costume," he says softly, his voice chillingly calm, "or you die. Right here. Right now."

My breath catches in my throat. My whole body goes rigid, my mind struggling to process what’s happening. The gun doesn’t waver. His eyes don’t falter. I know that look in his eyes, that complete and utter lack of humanity. He’s not bluffing. He’ll pull the trigger without a second thought.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "You wouldn’t," I whisper, but even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. He would kill me right here, and he’d feel nothing.

"Try me," he says, his finger twitching slightly on the trigger.

Time seems to slow, and my vision blurs as panic tightens its grip around my chest. I’m trapped. There’s no way out. Every instinct in my body screams at me to run, to fight, but what’s the point? A gun pointed at my head—this is how it ends?

Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. No. No, I can’t break down. Not now.

I look at the costume on the floor, then back at Harry, his eyes still fixed on me, the gun steady in his hand. The weight of the decision presses down on me like a thousand pounds. Wear the costume, or die.

I feel my resolve crumbling. As miserable as my life is, I don't want to die.

Chapter Two

Don

The room is packed with men in tailored suits and porcelain masks, all gathered for one reason: the auction. Their faces are hidden, but their intentions are clear. I know what they are—wolves in designer clothing, hiding their depravity behind a thin veil of wealth and power. The air is thick with murmurs and anticipation as girls are paraded in front of them, each one more vulnerable than the last. The auctioneer’s voice cuts through the tension, listing each girl’s “attributes” like they’re objects, not people. It churns my gut.

I sit at the back, my gaze steady, fists tight. The dim light barely reaches my corner, which suits me just fine. I don’t want to be seen. Not by these degenerates. I’m here for one reason only.

Leah.

She doesn’t know me. Not yet. But I’ve known her for a year, and for every one of those long months, I’ve told myself she’s off-limits. That I have no business wanting her.

It was a year ago when I first saw her, and it feels like it’s happening again. I'd just taken over as the leader of the Black Vipers Biker Gang and Harry had invited me to his estate to get ‘acquainted.’ Of course, he really just wanted to know if he could use my crew to take care of his dirty political business. The man is a fucking snake, but I had to play along. I’d been looking for a way to infiltrate his network and his invitation came at just the right time. I'd excused myself under the guise of going to the restroom, made a detour and planted some bugs in strategic places in his home. It was a piece of cake for me, and I was done in no time. Then on my way back to the meeting room, I heard it; a soft, angelic voice floating through the halls of that cursed mansion. It stopped me dead in my tracks. I followed the sound, drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and that’s when I saw her. Leah. Sitting at the grand piano, her long brunette hair cascading down her back, her profile delicate yet striking. The way her fingers glided over the keys, the way her voice filled the room—it was like watching poetry in motion. I’ve seen beautiful women before—plenty of them. But Leah is different. She’s everything my world isn’t. Pure. Soft. Untouched by the filth that surrounds her. And that’s why I spent the past year keeping my distance. She doesn’t belong in my world, the one filled with violence and darkness. But no amount of distance stops the pull she has on me. And now, after finding out about Harry’s plan to auction her off like some object, everything has changed. Restraint doesn’t matter anymore. I’m taking her home tonight. Whatever the cost.

The auctioneer’s voice slices through the noise in my head, dragging me back to the present. “And now, the highlight of the evening, gentlemen. Our pièce de résistance… a very special offering.”

The room falls silent. Every eye is glued to the stage as the curtains start to rise. And then she steps into the light. Leah . She looks confused and terrified, standing there in a Santa costume that clings provocatively to her small frame, barely covering her body. The short red skirt exposes her long legs, the top plunging low enough to make every man in the room salivate. It’s obscene, the way the velvet hugs her delicate curves, showing off everything she should be keeping hidden. I can feel the hungry gazes of every man in this room on her as an excited hum starts to spread through the room. I grind my teeth, my fingers unconsciously ball into fists at the filthy thoughts going on in their heads. The fabric barely covers her. The short red skirt exposes her long legs, the top plunging low enough to make every man in the room salivate. It’s obscene, the way the velvet hugs her delicate curves, showing off everything she should be keeping hidden.

Rage surges through me, hot and violent. My fists tighten until my knuckles turn white, but I keep my face unreadable, my emotions buried deep. I can’t lose control. Not here. A strong wave of possessiveness hits me hard, like a punch to the gut. She’s mine. These bastards have no right to even look at her, let alone think they could buy her. But they don’t know that. They don’t know what’s coming. I want to rip every pair of eyes off her. The thought of anyone else thinking about touching her makes my blood boil. She’s not theirs. She’s never been theirs. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

I’ve waited long enough.

“Fifty thousand to start,” the auctioneer calls, his voice slick with greed.

The first bid comes in almost immediately. “Fifty-five.”

My jaw clenches as the numbers start to climb. With every new bid, it feels like a knife twisting deeper into my side. Leah trembles, her hands gripping the hem of that ridiculous skirt, trying to cover herself. She’s terrified, and it’s killing me to watch her go through this.

“Sixty.”

“Sixty-five.”

The room is buzzing with excitement, but all I feel is cold, controlled fury. I need to get her out of here. Now.

When the bidding hits seventy-five, I push my chair back. The legs scrape loudly against the floor, drawing attention. I don’t care. This ends now. I raise my hand, my voice calm but final.

“One hundred thousand.”

The room goes dead silent. The auctioneer stutters for a moment, caught off guard. “One hundred thousand,” he repeats, louder this time. “Going once…”

I don’t take my eyes off Leah. She’s confused, scared, trying to make sense of what’s happening. She doesn’t know it yet, but her life is about to change.

“Going twice…”

I stand tall, ready for what’s next. Leah is coming home with me tonight. But this is far from over. Harry will pay for this, and not just with money. He’s crossed me before, but tonight, he’s pushed too far. He thinks he can sell off what’s mine? He’s got no idea what’s coming for him.

“Sold.”

The gavel strikes. It’s done.

I sit back, letting the weight of the moment settle in. Leah is mine now, and nothing in this room—no amount of money, no man in a mask—can change that. But the rage still simmers under my skin. Harry Forbes is going to regret this in ways he can’t even begin to imagine.

And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

The gavel's final strike still echoes in the silence as I stand, pushing my chair back with a slow, deliberate motion. All eyes are on me now, the masked men’s narrowed gazes radiating tension and barely contained animosity. It's a pointed silence, like a collective breath held in disdain, and I know I've made more than a few enemies tonight.

I couldn't care less.

Without glancing at anyone, I stride up to the front, the weight of their glares rolling off my back like nothing. My focus is locked on her—on Leah— standing there on the stage, looking small and fragile under the dim lights. Her face is pale, her green eyes wide with confusion and fear. She's shaking, barely holding on.

When I reach her, I pull off my jacket, draping it around her shoulders. The oversized fabric swallows her petite frame, giving her back some semblance of the dignity that this place has tried to strip away. I can feel her trembling through our touch, her body tense under the soft material. I meet her gaze, those shimmering green eyes filled with terror and disbelief. She has no idea what's happening, no idea why I'm here or what comes next. I take her hand in mine, and for a moment, everything else fades. Her skin is soft, delicate, and cold. I give her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze-my only way of telling her she's safe now. That I won't let anything happen to her. She doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away, but the fear still lingers in her eyes. Without a word, I lead her off the stage, weaving through the crowd of men still glaring daggers at my back. They're not my concern. She is.

Once we're outside, I guide her toward the back lot where my motorcycle is parked. She hesitates when she sees it, her footsteps faltering slightly. I can feel the tension in her eyes, the reluctance, but I don't speak. I'm not one for words. Instead, I grab the helmet from my bike and turn to face her.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly. I can see she's trying hard to keep a brave front and the thought almost makes me smile. She's cute.

“I'm taking you home,” I reply simply.

Her eyes flicker at the word. Home. She looks like she wants to say something but decides against it. She gives me a curt nod of permission and I gently place the helmet on her head, fastening the strap beneath her chin. My fingers brush against her skin, and for a brief second, I'm caught in the mesmerizing depths of her gorgeous green eyes, unable to look away. The desire to touch her, to claim her lips and explore the soft curves of her body, surges through me. My fingers linger at her jawline, my thumb grazing her cheek. But now isn't the time for that.

I rein in my desire, swallowing the lustful thoughts swirling in my head. Control. I've always had it, and I'm not about to lose it now.

I swing my leg over the bike and reach for her hand again, guiding her behind me. She climbs onto the seat, her body tense against mine as she grabs the sides of my jack. I rev the engine, the sound roaring to life, drowning out the weight of everything else for a moment.

“Hold on tight,” I say gruffly, and she obediently slides her arms around my torso. “Good girl,” I mutter to myself as I pull away from the auction house.

My good girl.