Chapter Three

Leah

The motorcycle slows as we pull up to what looks like a cabin tucked away in the woods. I blink, taking it all in. I don't know what I expected my new ‘prison’ to look like, but it definitely wasn’t a beautiful cabin with large windows and a nice porch. It feels... warm. Safe, even. A stark contrast to Harry's big, cold mansion.

The engine cuts off, leaving the air heavy and quiet. My buyer—I still don’t know his name—swings off the bike with ease, then turns to offer me his hand. He's a tall man. Very tall. He's not quite as muscular as Kane, but that doesn't make him any less intimidating. I glance at his outstretched hand, at the colorful ink that runs up his arm disappearing into the short sleeve of his shirt, and I can't help but wonder how far it goes. I let my gaze roam to his face, taking in the sharp, well defined features, his black hair is tied back in a ponytail, but it’s his eyes that throw me off. They’re a deep, staggering blue, intense yet oddly gentle. He's a very handsome man, in a rugged, unrefined kind of way– the kind of hero that I read about in adventure books.

Snap out of it, Leah!

Taking a deep breath, I take his hand. His grip is surprisingly gentle and warm as he helps me down. Our gazes clash and I feel my breath catch in my throat at the intensity in his deep blue eyes.

What was that?

I follow him to the door, unsure of what to expect next. The inside of the cabin is just as warm as the outside with nicely worn out furniture and a nice fireplace. The place smells just like him, a heady mixture of wood and earth. “This way,” he says quietly, his deep voice filling the space. He leads me down a narrow hallway and opens a door. It’s a small bedroom, but cozy—a bed with a soft-looking comforter, a dresser, and a dim lamp casting soft shadows on the walls.

There’s an awkward pause, and I can feel the tension settling between us. I swallow, glancing at him shyly before asking, “What’s... your name?”

I feel a little ridiculous for asking, but I need to know something, anything, about him. His blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I feel like I’m sinking into their depth. “Don Vincent,” he says, his voice low but clear. “But everyone calls me Don.”

My blood runs cold at the sound of the name. Don Vincent… He can't be the infamous Don I've heard about, right? The ruthless leader of the Black Vipers Bikers, rumored to have killed his best friend for the position? The same man who owns most of the nightclubs and casinos in Newark, and was once arrested under suspicions of running an underground cartel?

This must be some sick joke… I have just not been sold to the most dangerous man in Newark.

“Y-you're…” I swallow, clearing my throat lightly. “You're not the leader of Black Vipers, are you?”

“My reputation precedes me, I guess,” he says, his lips slightly turning upward in a cryptic smile.

“I'm sorry, I mutter, suddenly feeling guilty for sounding so judgmental. It's something about his expression, the fleeting disappointment in his beautiful blue eyes. “I didn't… I just…” I let my voice trail off before I make another blunder.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Leah,” he says, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Do you need anything? Dinner, maybe?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m... I’m not hungry.” My stomach is too knotted with everything that’s happened tonight.

An awkward silence settles between us. I steal a glance at him, quickly averting my eyes when they clash with his. There’s something about him that makes me feel both nervous and... drawn to him. I can’t explain it, but it’s there. I’m not sure what to make of it yet.

“If you need anything,” he says finally, “just let me know.” He pauses for a second longer, like he wants to say more, but instead he turns and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything. The events of the day feel like a blur—Harry, the auction, the terror of what could’ve happened. But my mind keeps drifting back to Don. There’s something about him that I can’t quite wrap my head around. It's ironic that he saved me tonight with the kind of reputation he has. Isn't he supposed to be some dangerous thug who eats girls like me for breakfast? So who is the gruff yet gentle giant who treats me like I'm some delicate flower? What does he want from me? What is he going to do with me? It feels like he saved me tonight and I should trust him, but if there's anything I've learnt so far in life, it's never to trust anyone. Even the ones that are supposed to be family…

But why do I feel like I'm safer here? With him.

A soft knock pulls me out of my thoughts. My head jerks up, and before I can even answer, Don steps into the room. He’s holding a steaming cup of something and… a small box. His presence fills the space, a commanding kind of quiet that both unnerves and reassures me.

“Hot chocolate,” he says, handing me the cup.

I take it, feeling the warmth of the mug seep into my palms. He moves to sit in the chair by the bed, and I notice the box still in his hands. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes, those intense blue eyes, never leave mine.

He leans forward slightly and places the box on my lap, his voice dropping to a softer, almost intimate tone. “Happy birthday, Leah.”

I blink at him, completely taken aback. How… how does he know?

My heart races, but curiosity overcomes my shock. I glance at him again, and without thinking, my fingers begin to untie the ribbon around the box. Slowly, I lift the lid, revealing a delicate music box inside. It’s intricately designed, the kind of thing that would be considered an antique, with carved roses on the lid. I can’t help the sharp intake of breath when I wind the tiny key on its side and hear the first notes of the tune.

That song... the one Mama used to play for me when I was little. I haven’t heard it in years, but it’s woven into every corner of my memories. As the melody fills the room, my throat tightens, and my eyes sting with unshed tears.

“H-how do you…?” I stammer, unable to finish the question. It’s not a coincidence. It can’t be. He knows my birthday. He knows this song. My mind swirls with suspicion, confusion, and something else I can’t quite name.

“I ran a background check,” he replies quietly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I shake my head slowly, grappling to gather my scattered thoughts. “For my birthday, that's understandable, but the song… it's personal.”

He shrugs, his expression revealing nothing. “Just a wild guess?”

I blink at him, trying to wrap my head around his words, he leans in and reaches out to graze his thumb over my chin. “You've got uh– a bit of chocolate right here.”

I freeze, instantly losing my trail of thoughts. Don watches me closely, his gaze soft yet unwavering as he gently slides his thumb over my skin. I can barely breathe. The feel of his skin against mine sends sparks igniting in my chest, sending a shockwave of heat through my entire body.

My breath hitches, and I swear the room feels smaller, the air thicker. Before I can even process what's happening, his touch lingers, his thumb gliding just over the edge of my mouth, and something shifts in the air between us.

I see it in his eyes—a deep hunger. It's not sudden. I've seen glimpses of it all evening, that startling intensity that I've been trying to decipher. But I feel it now…The desire radiating off him is unmistakable, pulling me in like gravity. Every inch of me is buzzing with a need I didn't know existed until this very moment. His gaze darkens, and I know. I know what's about to happen before he even moves.

He leans in, his breath fanning over my lips, and I'm frozen in place, my heart thundering in my chest. Gently, he pries the mug of hot chocolate from my hand and places it on the bedside, his eyes never leaving mine. His mouth finally claims mine, and everything else seems to blur into oblivion. The kiss is hard, yet gentle, possessive, yet careful. It's everything I never knew I wanted, everything I've been unknowingly aching for.

Heat floods my body as his lips mold against mine, his hand cupping the side of my face, pulling me closer, deeper into the kiss. I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel. My fingers curl into his shirt, and I lose myself in him, the taste of him, the warmth of his body, the way his hand tangles in my hair as he angles my head, deepening the kiss. It's my first kiss, but nothing about it feels awkward or new. It's raw and wild, and so, so right. His mouth moves over mine, coaxing, claiming, and every touch sends a wave of pleasure coursing through me. My body melts into his, needing more, craving the fire that he's ignited within me.

Suddenly, he pulls back, breaking the kiss. I blink up at him, breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. A small sound escapes my lips, a protest, and his eyes darken further. "Leah," he growls, his voice rough with restraint, "if we keep going, I can't promise I'll be able to stop."

I can see it-the raw desire burning in his eyes, the way his hands tighten around me, the tension in his body as he fights for control. He's holding back, but I don't want him to. I don't want him to stop. Without thinking, my hand moves to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. His breath hitches as I close the distance between us again, my lips brushing against his.

"Don't stop," I whisper, my voice shaky but filled with certainty. "I want you."

For a moment, he looks like he's battling with himself, but then something snaps. His mouth crashes into mine again, harder this time, more urgent, more desperate. He grips my waist, pulling me against him as his tongue parts my lips, exploring, tasting. My body reacts instantly, heat pooling low in my belly as I kiss him back with everything I have. His hands are everywhere-on my back, my waist, sliding down to my hips as he lifts me, pulling me into his lap, and I wrap my legs around him instinctively, pressing closer, needing to feel every inch of him. The way he touches me, the way his lips devour mine-it's overwhelming, intoxicating, and I don't want it to end. His hand slides up my spine, tangling in my hair as his other hand grips my thigh, holding me in place as our kiss deepens, growing more frantic, more heated. I feel like I'm burning from the inside out, my body aching for more, needing more.

He breaks the kiss again, his forehead resting against mine as he pants, his breath hot and ragged. "Leah," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "You make me lose control."

The way he says it, the way his hands tremble slightly as they hold me, sends a thrill through me. I want to be the one who makes him lose control. I want to be the one who breaks through that careful restraint.

Santa must be real, because this-this moment, this man-is the perfect gift.

I lean forward again, until my lips brush against his and I murmur in a shaky voice, "Please, don't stop…"