Chapter Two: Beneath His Gaze

I stared up at Cain, the words still hanging in the stifling air.

"You're mine now."

His voice was low, gravel rough, like the promise of a storm on the horizon.

I knew what that meant.

Ownership.

Control.

Men like him didn't say things they didn't mean.

But I wasn't some weak little flower to be plucked and pressed into a cage. I was all thorns. And if he thought I'd let him break me, he was in for a bloody surprise.

I forced a smirk, though my lip cracked and bled anew. "Wow. Not even dinner first?"

Cain's eyes flickered—something between amusement and warning—but he didn't rise to the bait. He was too practiced for that.

Instead, he stepped back and pulled a knife from his belt. My muscles tensed instinctively, but he didn't go for my throat. The blade sliced through the rope binding my wrists, and the relief was instant, even if the raw skin throbbed.

"Don't be stupid," Cain said. "It'll get you killed."

My fingers flexed, blood rushing back into them. "Oh, I'm stupid now? You sure know how to make a girl feel special."

He didn't react—just slid the knife back into its sheath with a controlled precision that told me he could've gutted me ten times over if he'd wanted to.

I rubbed my wrists, trying to mask the sting with bravado. "So, what now? Collar and leash? Or do I get a nice cozy cage?"

Before Cain could answer, the door to the container creaked open. The air shifted.

I knew, instinctively, before I even turned my head—this was someone with power.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate.

And then I saw him.

Lucian.

Tall. Sharp-boned. Refined in a way that didn't belong in the wasteland. His clothes were cleaner than they had any right to be—black military-style jacket, boots polished to an unnatural shine. His dark hair was pushed back, and he had this easy, arrogant smirk like he knew he was the most dangerous man in the room. Hell, maybe the entire camp.

His eyes—gods, those eyes—were a cold, calculating silver. Like he was constantly assessing your worth… and deciding if you were worth keeping alive.

Everything about him screamed control.

The kind that was more dangerous than brute strength.

Because men like Lucian didn't need to get their hands dirty.

They had people like Cain for that.

"Well," Lucian drawled, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "What do we have here?"

Cain's stance shifted—barely—but I caught it.

Subtle.

Respectful, but not submissive.

Lucian was the leader.

Cain was his weapon.

Power.

Leveled and layered between them like a coiled wire.

I had to fight the urge to step back.

These were not men to toy with.

But I smiled anyway—because when you're bleeding in the lion's den, the only armor you have is your teeth.

"Kira," Cain said, voice measured. "She's a survivor from the south. Said she was trading supplies when our patrol picked her up."

Liar.

But I kept my face neutral.

Cain was giving me a thread—an identity.

One I could use.

Lucian's eyes raked over me. Not the hungry, leering gaze I was used to. His was sharper—like he was peeling me apart, layer by layer, seeing what I was worth underneath all the blood and defiance.

"She got a sharp tongue, this one?" Lucian mused, stepping closer.

Cain's jaw tightened. "She's… spirited."

Lucian chuckled. "Spirited's good. As long as it doesn't get her killed."

He stopped a foot in front of me, tilting his head like I was a puzzle he was halfway through solving.

"Do you know what this place is, Kira?"

I kept my voice steady. "Looks like a poorly run resort with a bad hygiene policy."

One of the guards outside snorted.

Cain didn't move.

Lucian smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.

"We build," he said smoothly. "While others tear down, we claim. We are order in the chaos. Those who thrive here do so because they know their place. You? You can thrive here, too. If you behave."

Behave.

A leash, dressed up in pretty words.

I kept smiling. "Wow. You almost make slavery sound like a career opportunity."

Lucian laughed this time. But there was that glint in his eyes—like he liked the fight in me… but wouldn't tolerate it for long.

"You're quick," he said. "But quick gets you nowhere if you're dead."

His hand shot out, gripping my chin—firm, not brutal, but enough to remind me who had the power here. I stiffened, but I didn't flinch.

"Learn fast, Kira. Or you'll find out what we do to those who waste our time."

I met his gaze, every inch of me screaming to fight back—but I held still.

Because this was the moment.

The moment when men like him decided whether you were worth keeping… or throwing away.

And I wasn't getting thrown away.

Lucian released me with a slow, deliberate motion, wiping his hand on his jacket like I'd left a stain.

He turned to Cain. "She's yours to manage. If she steps out of line—"

"She won't," Cain interrupted, voice steady.

Lucian's eyes flicked to him, a subtle test of authority, but Cain didn't waver.

I watched it all like a hawk.

Power, balanced on a knife's edge.

Lucian finally nodded. "Good."

He looked at me one last time, that smirk returning.

"Welcome home."

With that, he was gone—leaving only his scent of leather and steel and the weight of his presence lingering in the air.

The door closed.

Silence.

Cain exhaled through his nose. "You're lucky."

I wiped my chin with the back of my hand. "Story of my life."

He stepped toward the door, then paused. "Don't push him."

I raised a brow. "You worried about me?"

Cain's eyes darkened. "I'm worried about keeping you alive."

Then he opened the door, nodding for me to follow.

I stepped into the camp, the eyes of the desperate and dangerous tracking me like prey.

But I wasn't prey.

Not yet.

And I'd survive this place.

Even if I had to bleed every last one of them to get out.