*The air hung thick with the scent of expensive cigars and fear. How cruel is it, to use your own child as payment? In this world, the underground, it's a gamble—a bet on your very life. And Evangeline? She lost. My father, ever the pragmatist, had accepted Sal Demarco's desperate offering: his daughter, in exchange for a mountain of unpaid debts. Now, Evangeline was mine—a possession, a plaything. But she was far from a docile toy.

A cruel amusement twisted my lips as I pressed Evangeline against the cool, rough-hewn stone of the wall. Her eyes, usually bright with defiance, were shadowed with a weariness that both intrigued and unsettled me. Hatred and a flicker of something else—fear, perhaps, or a desperate, simmering rage—warred within their depths. I found myself strangely captivated by her nerve, her unwavering refusal to be broken, even under my thumb. She was in my territory, yet she carried herself with an almost regal defiance.

Claire purrs, her voice a low caress that belied the steel in her grip.

*The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken threats. Claire's jaw clenched, a stubborn line against the pale skin of her face. She saw the muscles in Guest's neck tense, a silent battle waged against the overwhelming power Claire held over Guest.

Claire leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Guest's cheek. The scent of her fear was almost intoxicating.*