The darkness wrapped itself around Kaliyah like a suffocating shroud, creeping through the cracks of her dilapidated home and into her fractured heart. The old house creaked and groaned, the wooden floorboards sighing beneath her feet as she lay on her tattered mattress. The faint slivers of moonlight piercing through the grimy window cast eerie shadows on the walls, like skeletal fingers reaching out to snatch her.
She stared at the faint light, her mind consumed by the memories of her troubled past. The shadows danced across the peeling walls, mocking her with reminders of the nightmares she could never escape. Her father's voice bellowed from downstairs, snapping her out of her bitter reverie.
"Get down here, now!" Malachi's voice was like a slap in the face, jolting her back to reality.
Kaliyah gritted her teeth, the familiar wave of dread rolling over her. Malachi Monroe. The name meant nothing to her except violence, hatred, and the kind of scars that didn't fade. To her, he wasn't a father—just a drunken tyrant who took his failures out on her.
She swung her legs over the bed, her bare feet meeting the icy floor. The cold seeped into her bones, but she hardly noticed. She was numb to the physical sensations, her emotions frozen in a state of perpetual fear.
The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she made her way downstairs. The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap booze. Kaliyah's stomach churned with nausea as she entered Malachi's office.
The room was a mess, papers scattered everywhere, covering the desk, the floor, and even the windowsills. Kaliyah doubted Malachi even knew what half of them were for. The smell of old books and dust filled the air, making her sneeze.
"What do you want?" she asked, her tone defiant as her eyes roamed the mess. Malachi leaned back in his chair, his bloodshot eyes narrowing.
"You've been getting bold lately," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "Think you're too good for me, huh?"
Kaliyah rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, his hand came down hard across her cheek. The sting was immediate, followed by another slap.
"You're nothing," he hissed, his voice a venomous growl. "A nobody. Don't forget that."
Kaliyah clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms to keep herself from crying out. The pain from the slaps throbbed through her cheek, but she refused to give Malachi the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
"And cover those bruises," he snapped. "You've got a mission tonight."
Her stomach sank. A mission. It always meant the same thing—being used as bait, seducing men, and enduring their lecherous advances to achieve Malachi's goals.
"Great. Can't wait," she muttered sarcastically as she left the room, ignoring the fiery ache on her cheek.
Club Onyx
Hours later, Kaliyah found herself walking into the pulsing chaos of Club Onyx. The music was deafening, the strobe lights flashing in a disorienting rhythm. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and sweat, and the crowd was a sea of faces, all blurred together.
But this wasn't just any club—it was a strip club. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. Malachi's cruelty knew no bounds.
Scanning the room, she quickly spotted Victor, her target. He was slumped at the bar, his eyes glazed over from one too many drinks. His leering gaze roamed over the dancers, making her stomach churn.
"Time to get this over with," she thought, plastering a bright, fake smile on her face as she approached him.
"Hey, handsome," she cooed, sliding onto the stool beside him. "What brings you here tonight?"
Victor's gaze swept over her, lingering a moment too long. "Just enjoying the view," he slurred. "And I think I've found something better."
Her skin crawled, but she forced herself to laugh. "You're sweet," she said, batting her lashes. Inside, her anger boiled.
As she played her part, Kaliyah's eyes wandered, scanning the crowd. The club was a dimly lit, smoke-filled room, the air thick with the smell of sweat and desperation. The music pulsed through the room, a relentless beat that seemed to match the pounding of her heart.
That's when she saw him—a tall, dark-haired man leaning against the wall, his piercing gray eyes locked on her. Her breath hitched. Something about him unsettled her. It wasn't just his intense stare—it was the way he exuded power and danger, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
"Focus, Kaliyah," she whispered to herself, tearing her gaze away. She turned her attention back to Victor, who was now stumbling over his words, trying to impress her.
In the shadowed corner of the club, Cian watched her closely. His eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing as he studied her. "She's Malachi's, isn't she?" Levi, his blond-haired companion, asked.
Cian's lips curled into a cold smile. "If that fool is trying to double-cross me, he'll regret it." Levi nodded grimly. "Are we killing him, then?" Cian's gray eyes darkened. "He's already dead."
Back at the bar, Victor was getting handsy. Kaliyah resisted the urge to shove him away. "Be right back," she said sweetly, forcing a smile. "I need to freshen up." "Hurry back, baby," he slurred, attempting a wink that came off as grotesque.
Kaliyah rolled her eyes the moment she turned away, heading toward the restroom. The bathroom was a cramped, dirty space, the air thick with the smell of stale urine and cheap perfume. Kaliyah wrinkled her nose in distaste as she splashed water on her face, trying to calm her racing thoughts.
When she returned, Victor was gone. Panic gripped her as she searched the bar, her heart pounding in her chest. Finally, she spotted a dark alley behind the club and heard voices. She crept closer, staying out of sight.
"You saw too much," a cold voice said. "And for that, you'll die." Victor's slurred pleas followed. "Please! I won't tell anyone, I swear!"
Kaliyah dared a peek and froze. The gray-eyed stranger stood over Victor, a gun pressed to his temple. Levi was at his side, his expression unreadable. Before she could stop herself, a gunshot rang out. Victor slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Kaliyah let out a gasp before clamping her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. The stranger's head snapped toward her hiding spot, his steely gaze locking onto hers. Her blood turned to ice.