The next time I come to, I’m in the bed, but I’m not alone.

Fear ratchets through me as I consider my options here. Let’s just say, none of them are good. Not a fucking one. Either I’m leaving here in a body bag or I’m never leaving here at all. And look at me, I grew up in a goddamn one-percenter biker gang. I know what happens to girls when they’re kidnapped: men rape them.

Lo and behold, there’s a man sitting in the chair closest to me. He has a fucking eyepatch on, I kid you not.

“Classic movie villain,” I croak out, my voice hoarse and grainy with disuse. How long have I spent passed out? My aware moments seem to be few and far between, but at least I’m not in pain anymore. Whatever drugs are in that IV are high-class. I let myself relax back into the pillows and close my eyes. There’s a bit of sunshine leaking in the window to my left, but not enough to dispel the shadows and darkness inside my heart.

I betrayed the club; I betrayed my father. Most of all, I betrayed Crown.

Sucking in a huge breath, I banish those feelings as far from myself as I can get them.

When I freed Grey, I chose my humanity. No matter what happens, I will always have that. If I die here, I go to the grave knowing that I put my money where my mouth is, that I have morality that can’t be stripped from me in a crisis. More often than not, doing the right thing is the hardest choice of all.

“Movie villain?” the man asks, his voice cultured and accented. “Oh, I think not.”

I open my eyes at the sound of his chair creaking. He approaches me slowly, observing me with a single eye, his face almost disturbingly reminiscent of Grey. So, this must be Alvise Wolfe, huh? The Don of the Grey Wolfe Mafia. If he’s paying me a personal visit, then I must be special. As Cat’s only surviving daughter, he probably assumes he can use me as leverage against the club.

I’d laugh if, you know, I wasn’t chained to a bed in a dark room owned by career criminals.

Clearly, this guy doesn’t know Cat at fucking all. My father wouldn’t give his pinkie nail to set me free; I’m as good as dead to him. As soon as he finds out from Crown what I did—I’m sure he already has—then he’ll start orchestrating my death, just in case the mafia doesn’t do what needs to be done.

Blood in, blood out.

That’s my daddy’s motto.

“You look the part,” I breathe as the man reaches into his pocket and I close my eyes. Rape has been something I’ve been lucky enough to avoid for years; most girls aren’t so lucky. As the daughter of the club president, I was afforded some level of decency from his men and a wide berth from lesser criminals or boys at school. Looks like my luck has finally run out.

The man— Alvise—pulls a key out of his pocket, unlocking one shackle and then the three others.

Freeing me.

“Get up and follow me,” he says, turning and heading from the room with absolutely no fear of leaving me at his back. I sit up, breathing heavily, eyes wide as I look down at my hands. The bandages have been removed, and the road rash looks quite a bit better than it did that first day when I was tied to the chair.

Flicking my eyes toward the open doorway, I scramble to stand up—and then promptly fall to my knees on the floor. Not only have my legs buckled, but my head is spinning, my vision blackening at the edges.

“If you have to crawl, crawl,” the man says, and there’s an ironclad authority to his words that says he’s used to being obeyed. My jaw clenches and I grit my teeth, but I’m nothing if not stubborn. Forcing myself forward, I plant one palm against the ground, then the other. Again and again and again, I move forward. Progress is slow, but that doesn’t matter much. All that matters is that careful placement of my palms, the scooting of my knees. I’m sure I’m bloodying the skin underneath the bandages, but if it means I get to live, then I’ll do it.

After a while, I find myself at the Don’s feet again. He seems to like that, looking down and seeing me there on my hands and knees.

We’re in a doorway leading to a luxurious suite, one that’s outfitted with champagne silk and burgundy wallpaper, dark wood furniture, iron sconces on the wall. Hell, there’s even a chandelier.

“Do not disappoint me again, Grey,” Alvise says as I finally notice the boy sitting on the edge of the bed. As soon as he hears his father’s voice, his head snaps up and we’re staring at each other like our lives depend on it.

Clearly, they do.

“I won’t,” he promises, his voice as hard as his father’s as he flicks his attention over to me. “I swear it.”

“Not necessary,” Alvise replies smoothly, moving toward a set of double doors against the far wall. He glances back just once and lets a sickening smile take over his genteel mouth. “Next time you mess up, you both die. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

And then he leaves, and I’m left on my hands and knees on the floor.

“Shit, let me help you up,” Grey says, moving over to me. I slap his hand away when he tries to help me up, too consumed by pride and too shaken up by the idea that I might’ve just escaped the worst fate known to womanhood and managed to survive all in one go.

Grey sits back on his heels and watches as I struggle pathetically toward the bed, using the comforter to pull myself up to my knees and then, blessedly to my feet. I manage to keep them for all of two seconds before I collapse on the mattress, but there it is. I’m on top of the bed. I’m lying down. All on my own. Cat would be proud.

The thought disgusts me.

“Don’t touch me.” The words don’t sound like me, more like a poor imitation of the person I used to be. I’m tough as nails, right? I can handle anything, right?

Thing is, I just fucked myself into a corner. A corner made up of mafia men and pissed-off outlaws, outlaws that I betrayed. Crown’s face flashes in my mind, the deep-set melancholy that was etched there when I stole his bike and took off.

Cat will know everything by now; he’ll want my head.

Finally, the thing I’ve feared the most my whole life will come true: my father will actively be trying to kill me.

“If that’s what you want,” Grey posits, sitting down beside me on the bed. I notice that his hands are bandaged. Well, his fingertips more like. He notices me looking and smiles, but it’s a hideous expression, more like a ghost of what a smile should actually be. Possessed. Wicked sad. Almost defeated.

But that can’t be true, right? This is the guy who looked me right in the eye and told me to kill him without a drop of fear in his voice, a guy who knew he was about to die but was trying to save me the guilt of actually ending his life.

I groan and start to cough, spattering blood across the cream-colored comforter. That cannot be a good sign.

“They pulled all my fingernails off, remember?” Grey continues, lifting his eyes up to look at the ceiling. Frankly, I’ll be lucky to live through the night, so I don’t bother following his gaze. Whatever he’s looking at doesn’t matter, not anymore.

I have no life.

I’ve thrown mine away in exchange for his, in exchange for some teenage boy that I don’t even know, whose brother was in love with my sister.

Fuck.

“I think I might be dying,” I choke out, because when you cough up blood, you’re in trouble. Big trouble.

Grey just shakes his head slowly, curling his bandaged hands up in his lap.

“My father’s doctor personally saw to it that you wouldn’t.” He flicks his pretty gray eyes over to mine, and I wonder what it is that’s going to happen to me now. I might not have had much, but I had something before all this. I had Faith, my dog Feminist … those stupid asshole officers. But if I’d killed Grey, none of that would’ve mattered, would it? My soul would be forfeit. Even if I die now, this is better. “You’re bleeding because he had to pull a cracked tooth. It’s in the back so nobody can see it, but you might want to get a crown later.”

A crown. Crown.

I snort, but the sound just makes my whole everything hurt, and I end up coughing again. More blood on the blanket.

“What happens now?” I ask when I can finally catch my breath, forcing my tired body up to slump into the pillows. It’s a journey, but once I get there, it’s all worth it. My eyes close, and I can feel the fingers of sleep digging into my psyche.

“We either prove to the family that we’re in love …” Grey starts with a long sigh, dragging his bandaged hand over his face. “Or we die. Your choice.”