The warehouse was suffocating, thick with the scent of sweat and rusted metal. Alexander stood before Carver, fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked. Eve was beside him, her fingers curled into her palm so tightly they left crescent-shaped indents in her skin.
"Kill him," Carver said simply, nodding toward a bound man at his feet. "Or she pays the price."
Eve sucked in a breath. Alexander didn't move. The man on the ground whimpered, his face already bloodied, his eyes pleading.
"This isn't a choice," Carver continued, stepping closer. "You knew this was coming. You don't walk in my world without getting your hands dirty."
Alexander's hands were already dirty. They had been since the day he learned how to fight. But this—this was different.
His pulse pounded in his ears. The room seemed to shrink, Eve's presence beside him both an anchor and a torment.
Could he do it?
Could he kill for her?