Chapter 4
I survived Monday. I survived Tuesday and Wednesday. By Thursday night, my body was giving up. The chemo was a slow, toxic burn in my veins. It made my skin pale, my joints ache, and my stomach roll with constant nausea. I stood behind the bar at Lumen, wiping down the sticky wood with a damp rag. The heavy bass from the speakers vibrated right into my teeth. It was 1:00 AM. One hour left.
A man in a rumpled gray suit slammed his empty glass on the counter. “Another.”
“We're doing last call,” I said. My voice was raspy and weak.
“I said, another.” He leaned over the bar. He smelled like sour gin and stale sweat.
“I can get you some water,” I offered, turning away to grab a clean glass.
His hand shot out. His thick fingers clamped around my wrist. He squeezed hard. A sharp pain shot up my arm.
“Hey,” I gasped. I tried to pull back. I didn't have the strength. The poison in my blood had stripped my muscles bare. I felt incredibly fragile, like my bones were made of glass.
“Don't walk away from me, sweetheart,” he slurred. He yanked my arm, pulling my chest hard against the edge of the wet wood. “I'm talking to you.”
I opened my mouth to shout for Gina.
Before the sound left my throat, a tall shadow fell over the counter.
A large hand grabbed the back of the man's collar. The grip was violent. The man was yanked backward so fast his shoes slipped on the dirty floor. My wrist was instantly free. I stumbled back against the liquor display, clutching my arm to my chest.
I looked up. My breath stopped.
Adonis.
He wore a long, dark wool coat. His jaw was locked so tight the muscle twitched. He didn't say a single word. He just pulled his arm back and drove his fist directly into the man's face.
The wet crack of bone echoed over the loud music. The man crumpled to the floor like a broken doll. Dark blood immediately pooled on the tiles.
The lounge went dead silent. The music kept thumping, but nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Adonis stood over the man. His broad chest heaved up and down. He flexed his right hand. His knuckles were split and bleeding. Then, he slowly turned his head and looked at me.
I froze. I didn't have my armor on. I didn't have my polite assistant smile or my blank, professional stare. I was just Sierra. Sick, exhausted, and barely holding on. I leaned heavily against the back counter. My hands shook uncontrollably.
Adonis's eyes swept over me. He looked at the hollows of my cheeks. He looked at my pale skin and the dark, bruised bags under my eyes. A strange, sharp flicker crossed his face. It wasn't anger. It looked like pure panic. He didn't understand why I looked like a ghost. He just knew I was fading.
“Get your coat,” he ordered. His voice was low and rough.
I swallowed hard. “Adonis, I'm working.”
“Now.”
I didn't argue. I didn't have the energy to fight him. I walked slowly to the back room and grabbed my jacket. When I came out, he grabbed my arm. His touch was warm, and it burned right through my sleeve. He pulled me out the back door and into the freezing alley.
A sleek black car sat idling at the curb. The driver scrambled out to open the back door. Adonis practically shoved me inside, then climbed in beside me. The heavy door slammed shut. The silence in the car was thick and suffocating.
I huddled into the far corner of the cold leather seat. I rubbed my sore wrist.
Adonis stared straight ahead. The streetlights flashed across his face in rapid bursts. He was breathing hard, like he had just run a mile.
“Four days,” he said suddenly. He didn't look at me. “My security team told me you've been coming here for four days. I sat in my office and thought it was a mistake.”
I looked down at my lap. “It's a second job.”
He finally turned to me. His dark eyes were wild and furious. “A second job? You work for me. I pay you enough to live comfortably. Why the hell are you pouring drinks in a dive bar until two in the morning?”
“I need the money,” I whispered.
“For what?” he snapped, leaning closer. “What could you possibly need money for?”
*To survive.* The words sat on the tip of my tongue. *To buy a little more time.* But I couldn't say it. If I told him I had cancer, he would pity me. He would feel obligated to help. It wouldn't be real.
“That's my business,” I said quietly.
Adonis let out a harsh, bitter laugh. He leaned into my space. His scent—cedar and cold winter air—wrapped around me. I wanted to lean forward. I wanted to close my eyes and rest my heavy head on his chest.
“Two hundred thousand,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” he repeated. His voice shook slightly. He was trying to sound cold and commanding, but the raw desperation bled right through the cracks. “A month.”
I stared at him in the dark. “For what?”
“For you.” His eyes dropped to my lips, then snapped back up to my eyes. “You quit the bar. You quit any other side work. You move into my penthouse.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “You want me to be your...”
“My kept woman,” he finished harshly. “A transaction. You need money. I have it. You belong to me. Exclusively.”
He was punishing me. He was reducing me to the gold-digger I pretended to be seven years ago. He wanted to own me, to control me, because he didn't know how to just ask me to stay.
I looked away. Two hundred thousand a month. It would cover the aggressive chemo. It would cover the hospital stays and the medications. I wouldn't have to worry about the medical bills piling up on my kitchen counter.
And I would be with him. I would sleep under his roof. I would breathe his air. It was a degrading offer. It should have made me furious. But all I felt was a tragic, broken kind of relief. I was dying. Pride didn't matter anymore.
“Okay,” I said softly.
Adonis froze. He had expected me to fight. He wanted me to scream and slap him. He wanted me to prove I wasn't the girl who only cared about money.
“You agree?” he asked. His voice was barely a whisper. The victory sounded like ash in his mouth.
“Yes,” I said evenly. “I accept the terms.”
I turned my head and looked out the window. The city blurred past us in streaks of neon light. I didn't want him to see my face. I didn't want him to see the tears welling in my eyes. I pressed my fingertips against my collarbone and held my breath.
Beside me, Adonis shifted. He didn't say another word. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look down at his bleeding hand. He looked like a man who had just won a war, only to realize he had destroyed his own home.
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