Chapter 3 - The place looked like a tactical bunker designed by an expensive architect.
“Sit.”
Chantelle refused the white sofa because she was soaked and filthy.
Instead, she lowered herself onto a wooden stool by the island and wrapped her wet coat around her.
She had begun shaking uncontrollably.
Devlin removed his damaged suit jacket and threw it over a chair.
His black shirt was torn near the shoulder, exposing a dark scrape.
He did not appear to notice.
He opened a steel cabinet.
Trauma supplies.
A bottle of amber liquor.
He brought both to the counter and poured 2 glasses.
“Drink.”
Chantelle stared.
“Is it poisoned?”
A trace of amusement touched his mouth.
The first human expression she had seen.
“It’s a $200 Scotch. Poisoning it would be a tragedy.”
He emptied his own glass in 1 swallow.
Chantelle took a small sip.
Fire moved down her throat into her empty stomach.
She coughed.
Her eyes watered.
But the shivering began to ease.
Devlin opened the trauma kit.
“Take off your coat.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your left knee is bleeding through your jeans. You’re favoring your right shoulder.”
His eyes moved over her clinically.
“Take it off.”
Chantelle had no energy left to argue.
She removed the damp coat.
Beneath it was a faded blue diner uniform stained with coffee and ketchup.
Devlin said nothing about it.
He removed medical shears and knelt.
“What are you doing?”
“Accessing the wound.”
He took her ankle firmly.
2 cuts opened the fabric at her knee.
The scrape beneath was jagged and dirty with tunnel grit.
Devlin cleaned it.
Antiseptic burned fiercely.
Chantelle hissed.
His hands remained steady.
Careful.
“Who is Lucian Bell?”
Devlin paused.
“Someone you never wanted to meet.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
He applied the bandage.
Then stood.
“Lucian controls the docks, the unions, and roughly half the politicians in this city.”
Chantelle stared.
“My father had an arrangement with him.”
Devlin’s face did not move.
“My father died 2 weeks ago.”
That explained something in his exhaustion.
“Lucian decided the arrangement died with him. He decided my family’s territory was available.”
“A mob war?”
“A transition of power.”
His tone remained smooth.
“One Lucian is handling poorly.”
He put away the supplies.
“He believed he could remove me quickly tonight.”
Devlin looked toward her.
“He failed.”
Chantelle lowered her eyes to her hands.
“I just wanted to sit down.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“That’s all. 1 empty seat.”
Devlin leaned against the counter.
“In my world, there are no empty seats.”
His gaze held hers.
“Everything costs something.”
A pause.
“You paid for that seat when you sat in it.”
Then:
“Now you belong to the perimeter.”
Chantelle looked up.
“I have a job. Rent. A life. You cannot lock me inside a bunker.”
“Your life is currently on a hit list.”
She froze.
“How do you know my name?”
Devlin indicated her uniform.
“Your name tag.”
He tapped his temple.
“I notice everything. That is how I stay alive.”
Then:
“And right now, it’s how you’re going to stay alive.”
His voice hardened.
“You stay here. You don’t leave. You don’t contact anyone.”
Chantelle stared.
“If you do, Lucian finds you.”
He turned away slightly.
“And his men are not as polite as I am.”
“Polite?”
A bitter laugh escaped her.
“You dragged me through a sewer.”
“I kept you breathing.”
Devlin’s tone lost even the trace of conversation.
“Do not confuse my methods with cruelty.”
His eyes went cold.
“I am the only reason you are not in a body bag on that train.”
He lifted the Scotch bottle.
“There’s a bedroom down the hall. Hot water. Lock the door if it makes you feel better.”
Devlin looked back over his shoulder.
“But understand this. You’re in my world now.”
May you like
A pause.
“You play by my rules, or you die by theirs.”
