I hated him. I hated the way he looked at me—like I was a puzzle he'd already solved. I hated the way my own body was betraying me, leaning into his strength because it was the only thing keeping me from collapsing.
"I'll kill you in your sleep," I whispered.
"You can try," he replied, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. "But you'd have to be within six feet to do it. Which means you'll be right where I want you."
He didn't let go of my waist as he began to lead me out of the alley. I stumbled, my legs still weak, my shoulder brushing against his arm with every step. The friction was maddening. Every time we touched, the bond pulsed, a rhythmic reminder that I was no longer my own person.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice sounding small even to my own ears.
"My place," he said. "Somewhere private. Somewhere I can decide exactly what to do with you."
"I'm not going anywhere with you willingly."
Kane stopped abruptly and turned to face me. He didn't shout. He didn't have to. He just looked at me with those predatory eyes, and for the first time, I saw the void behind the 'Golden Boy' mask. There was nothing there. No heroism, no justice. Just an endless, starving hunger for control.
"Willingly is a luxury you lost the moment you signed that contract," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black collar—not a literal dog collar, but a high-tech dampener that shimmered with a faint blue light. "This will keep your power spikes from alerting the Bureau's scanners. It also lets me know exactly where you are. Even if you try to hide in the bathroom."
"I am not wearing that," I snapped.
"Then you can go back to the alley and wait for the cleanup crew to find your remains." He held the device up, his thumb hovering over the activation switch. "Choice is yours, Selah. The collar, or the coffin."
I glared at him, my vision blurring with a mix of rage and exhaustion. I wanted to spit in his face. I wanted to tear his throat out. But the tug in my chest returned—a warning that I was drifting too far from his center of gravity. I leaned forward, my forehead almost touching his, and bared my teeth.
"I'm going to make your life a living hell," I vowed.
"I'm counting on it," he murmured.
He snapped the collar around my neck. The click was final, a metallic punctuation mark on my freedom. The moment it locked, a surge of data flooded my mind—a connection, a link. I could feel his heartbeat. Not his emotions, but the steady, arrogant thrum of his life force.
He leaned in close, his lips almost brushing my ear, his voice a low vibration that sent a shiver down my spine. "Now, let's go. The world needs to see their favorite villain has finally been tamed."
He steered me toward a sleek, black hover-car idling at the curb. As the door slid open, he didn't let me get in first. He pushed me into the leather seat and slid in right beside me, his thigh pressing firmly against mine, erasing any gap between us.
He tapped a command into the dashboard, and a holographic screen flickered to life. It was a live feed of a news network. The headline read: *Selah: The Traitor’s Final Hours.*
Kane looked at the screen, then at me. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of the black collar around my neck, his touch lingering just a second too long.
"Time to give them a show," he said.
He hit a button on his wrist comm, activating a public broadcast. The camera shifted to his face—the perfect, heroic smile, the concerned eyes. He looked like a saint.
"People of the City," Kane announced to millions of viewers, his voice dripping with fake sincerity. "I know you've been worried about the threat Selah posed. But I've managed to secure her. She's under my personal supervision now."
He shifted his gaze to me, his hand sliding from my collar to the back of my neck, gripping me with a possessive force that made my breath hitch.
"She's my new pet," he told the world, "and I promise you, she'll be very well-behaved."