Even asleep, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, her body waking her with the knowledge that something is wrong. Awake and aware, Nylah remains unmoving, her eyes don’t open nor does she let her breathing change, she simply listens, sensing the room around her. The room is still dark even behind her lids, which meant it’s late, but she is alone in the king size bed which meant it isn’t late enough for Kieran to be home. But someone is in the apartment and had managed to get up here without setting off the alarm. That knowledge has her pulse skyrocketing and adrenaline flooding her system. Silently, she pulls open the drawer of the nightstand. Feeling around until she finds cold, hard metal and her fingers wrap around the gun, immediately flipping the safety off. It’s loaded, she didn’t need to check to know that every weapon hidden in this house is loaded. All she has to do is aim and fire.

Dressed only in Kieran’s tshirt and boy shorts, she slides from their bed, her dark hair messy from sleep, and makes her way to the partially closed door. There’s comfort in the heavy metal pressed against her palms, in the gentle touch of her index finger against the trigger. The slightest of pressures would keep her safe. It isn’t a stranger in her grasp, it’s far more comforting than it should be. Her fingers wrap around the grip and her eyes follow the sight like second nature. This isn’t the first gun to grace her palms and she’s certain it wouldn’t be the last. Not with the shadows that dressed her past. Not with the monster her husband became at night. Their world would always be full of violence. A violence she secretly craved.

Stepping into the dark hall, Nylah sticks close to the wall, trying to keep herself as invisible as possible as she inches closer to the main part of the penthouse, where she can hear whispered voices. The tile is cool beneath her feet despite the sweat that breaks out across her skin. Her hands flex around the gun, the barrel pointed at the ground in front of her as she moves. Are they here to finish eradicating the Ryann line? Or was it Kieran’s work that brought them here? Whatever it was, she knew they weren’t welcome. Kieran wouldn’t not tell her if he was bringing others home in the dead of night. Not if he wanted to continue breathing.

Peering around the corner, she spots a handful of men she doesn’t recognize, all dressed in black, all looking like they belonged in the special forces. What is strange though, is they all seem to be waiting. They weren’t rummaging through cupboards, they weren’t ransacking the place for whatever they could carry. Heavily armed, they spread out around the room, all remaining situated around the elevator doors. Nylahs mouth went dry. Despite the pit the sits heavily in her stomach, Nylah is already formulating a plan. How many shots could she get off before one of them stopped her? How long before Kieran gets home? Could she really hold her own for that long? Licking her lips, Nylah takes a step back and lifts her gun. What were the chances of her making it to the elevator?

Bang!

Nylah doesn’t bother with the triangle of death. She doesn’t aim for his chest, certain he’s wearing kevlar. Nylah aims to kill with a viciousness that was instilled in her many years ago. Aiming straight for his temple, Nylah doesn’t miss. Blood spatters across the wall and furniture and his body drops with a thud. Then all hell breaks loose. Men start yelling and cursing, ducking to avoid her barrage of bullets as she begins to systemically empty her clip, aiming for the next closest man. Blowing out a steady breath, Nylah does exactly as her father trained her to do. She’s no damsel in distress, waiting for her husband to rush in and save the day. The gun recoils in her hands with each squeeze of the trigger and she feels the force travel up to her shoulders. With a wide stance, her body absorbs the recoil - a feeling she’s sorely missed. There’s something fucked up in how soothing the deafening shots are as they echo in the apartment. In the recesses of her mind, she makes a note to visit the shooting range.

But it’s not to last.

Sneaking up behind her, she doesn’t see the owner of the arm that snakes around her waist, pulling her against his hard chest as his hand grabs her wrist, his grip bruising. She gasps, startled, but that didn’t cause her to hesitate. Nylah didn’t hesitate. Not even as her skin began to crawl with the knowledge that another man was touching her. As they grapple for control of the gun, it fires once more before she hears the unmistakable click of an empty clip. It’s followed by the sound of dark laughter in her ear. ”Uh oh.” The voice is mocking, his breath hot and sticky against her skin. Dread claws up painfully up her throat as she drops the empty gun. It’s of no use to her now. Dropping elbows where she can, Nylah twists in his grasp like a feral animal, fighting for any chance to escape. And Nylah fights dirty, she bites and scratches, throwing her fists and kicking her legs like her life depends on it. Because it does.

Behind her, there’s a few curses, someone demands to know what the fuck just happened, why no one was told about her, another chimes in that so and so is dead. Someone else yells that another guy was hit and bleeding out. But it’s all background noise as she’s dragged into the living room, fighting her captor every step of the way with a slew of hateful curses on her tongue. Nylah puts up a hell of a fight, her fist lands across his jaw, but at the end of the day, Nylah hardly stands a chance against a man who is larger and stronger than her. When he returns the favor and his fist kisses her jaw, Nylah sees stars, her sides heaving hard with effort. She staggers and stumbles, pain exploding across the side of her face as she collapses. Blood fills her mouth, the tang of metallic a taste she hasn’t tasted in years.

There’s that dark, sickening laugh again. ”Crazy fucking bitch.” He mutters, though it doesn’t sound like an insult, it sounds like admiration, before he kicks her in her stomach. Stubbornly, Nylah swallows any sound as her body instinctively curls up. The pain is dizzying and her stomach threatens to empty its contents on the floor at his feet. She refuses to give him the satisfaction. Without warning, she’s hauled to her feet, her head lolling back as she does her best to glare at him. Sporting a fresh bruise across her jaw and a split lip, she lets the blood and saliva pool in her mouth before she spits in his face. He growls, his open palm landing on the opposite side of her face before he’s scrubbing his hand over his own face to wipe away her insult. ”You’ll pay for this.” He snarls at her, shoving her down on the couch, presumably to await her fate.

Leaving Nylah alone, unsupervised, was one of many mistakes made. Maybe it was a good thing they didn’t recognize her. Their ignorance bought her time - time to disassociate from her pain, time to get a grip and plan her next move. Blood rushed in her ears as she remained slumped on the couch, only her eyes moving. Taking inventory, none of her bones were broken but that did little to quiet the sharp pain in her ribs, the throb in her head and face, the ache in her hands. Her knuckles were swollen and bruised but none of it would kill her. With everyone’s attention of their dying comrade, Nylah inches towards the coffee table, desperate for the small handgun that she had strapped to the underside. It was so close. Her fingertips grazed the cool metal and it felt like salvation. But as her fingers curled around the weapon, she’s met with a hard shove forward before she’s flipped on her back, the gun clattering on the floor. Her arms and legs flail, lashing out to try to keep the man from straddling her waist. It’s all in vain. She’s slower now, weaker and he takes full advantage.

Her nails dig into the skin at his wrists as his hands wrap around her throat. Malice glitters in his dark eyes and it’s combined with a nauseating lust for violence, for her. Panic starts to rise and she hates it. She despises the way it claws up her throat, the way her skin grows hot and clammy as she struggles to control that panic. It drags her straight back to her first wedding night, to sloppy kisses and groping hands, to a heavy weight pressing down on her. Her skin crawls and her fight is renewed as she bucks her hips, growing more and more desperate for freedom. Her captor only laughs. She struggles against the lack of oxygen, against the slowed blood flow to her brain. That’s when she hears the low hum of the elevator. The entire apartment goes deathly silent, even Nylah pauses for a moment. ”We’ll play later.” The man whispers harshly in her ear though he makes no effort to get up. Her glare says what her mouth cannot. Fuck you. His grip looses slightly but now that he has the upper hand, he’s not letting her go. When his attention shifts to the elevator, Nylah bids her time.

She’s lived here long enough to know the exact moment the doors would begin to slide open. Her eyes are honed in on the man pinning her down and she waits until the last possible second. She waits until just before the doors start to open to release his wrists and slam her fists into the curve of his elbow to loosen his grip on her even more. Dragging in a ragged breath, she unleashes an ungodly sound as she offers the only warning she can. ”Guns!” Before she’s being lifted and slammed down on the hard floor, the back of her head cracking against the unforgiving floor, dazing her enough that her body goes limp. Her vision goes spotty and she fights against the impending darkness, desperately clinging to her consciousness.


The rapid succession of gunfire is deafening in the apartment. It echoes painfully off the inside of her skull. She doesn’t see Kieran exit the elevator but judging from the continued gunfire, she suspects he’s in the apartment. Her suspicions are confirmed when the man holding her down suddenly slumps, a spray of blood spattering her face and his weight pinning her to the cold floor. He’s dead. Despite his dead weight holding her down, she’s relieved. He’s dead. There would be no “playing” later. Already weakened, it takes every ounce of her willpower to move him off so she could escape. So his blood didn’t continue to dribble across her skin. She’s desperately sucking in air by the time she’s free and her body feels like it’s made of lead. Her adrenaline keeps her awake and mostly coherent.

Coherent enough to see a new man charging towards her. Renewed anger flashes in her eyes. If there’s anything that fuels Nylah, it’s her fury. Running on fumes, she lunges from her place on the ground for the gun that had been previously kicked away from her. But she’s not fast enough. His weight lands on her back and she grunts as the air is forced from her lungs. His grip is bruising as he secures her wrists behind her back before he forces her hands up toward her shoulder blades, bending her arms into a rather uncomfortable position. Just because she doesn’t have her hands, doesn’t mean Nylah becomes compliant. Unable to kick out at him with him behind, she goes utterly limp. She does not help one bit as he attempts to haul her to her feet, forcing him to struggle to maneuver her. Until his hand fists the hair at the nape of her neck, forcing her to look ahead.

Kieran lays on the floor of their dining room, unconscious. Her body stills, every cell seeming to holds it breath. On some level, she knows what’s coming. He’s already bleeding from a gunshot to his arm and a cut on his temple - presumably where he was knocked unconscious. Those injuries are insignificant when she meets the eyes of the man standing above her husband. The grin on his face is malicious. His gun is aimed at Kieran. She knows what’s coming and there’s not a damn thing she can do. Still, a small part of her clings to the hope that she’s wrong, that she isn’t about to watch her husband get shot. It’s naive and she knows it. Nylah knows all the danger this life brings. For Kieran it’s different, he doesn’t wear a crown and he never has. His life is shrouded in a different sort of danger. One day, it catches up with them all.

Bang!

”No!” She doesn’t recognize her own voice as it fills the apartment. She doesn’t even realize she spoke. Lurching forward, she doesn’t get far, the man keeping her in place - holding her against him and still fisting her hair. When her knees give out, she hardly notices, not that she cares if the man has to hold her weight. Helplessly, she watches as the blood stains Kieran’s tshirt and pools under him. The silence that follows is unlike anything she’s ever heard. Tears burn, unfamiliar, behind her eyes. Of all the people to be ripped so violently from her life. Nylah knew violence. She knew it well. Violence was a close friend to her. It was carved into her skin in unspeakable ways years ago and the lasting scars are a reminder. Stripping her of trust, she stepped into her third marriage with the knowledge that it would be no different. It would end with her being a widow, again. After she endured whatever atrocity he would force on her. But Kieran was different. Months were spent nurturing a fragile trust and he never gave up. Persistently, he remained a constant. Kieran had managed to become one of two people that she trusts. That she loves.

And now he’s gone.

It’s enough to rip a sob from her chest. And the man laughs, dropping his gun to his side.

But immeasurable loss quickly turns to rage. Her nostrils flare as the world becomes crystal clear. Her captor isn’t wholly prepared for her sudden outburst - the sudden jerk of her arms from his grasp as she twists in his arms. Her legs wrap around his waist as she hoists herself higher for the advantage of throwing her fists down at him. Somewhere behind her, his buddy snaps at him to get her under control. There’s no such thing, she is a product of her upbringing, the result of years of abuse. Unadulterated venom rushes through her veins and if Nylah is destined for hell, she’s taking at least one of these men with her. The only thing that stops her is when she’s yanked backwards by her hair, hard end to send her falling to the unforgiving floor. Her legs kick out, catching one man square between the legs. Immediately, he doubles over and her bloodied lips curl with satisfaction. ”Fucking bitch.” He grounds out, glaring at her with a hatred that promises she’ll pay for everything she’s done tonight.

Working together, they overwhelm her, holding her down until one gets his hands around her throat and squeezes. With her arms pinned at her sides, there’s nothing she can do when her lungs start to burn and her body screams for oxygen. It’s impossible to fight the way her vision goes spotty until it finally goes black.

-

When she finally does wake, her head pounds with a splitting headache and her body aches like it never has before. For the brief of moments, she forgets. Forgets the home invasion. Forgets the ensuing battle in her living room. Forgets that Kieran is dead. Until it all comes rushing back. She sucks in a sharp breath and sits up too fast so that the dark room spins. She battles the panic that threatens to rise as her breathes come out in short rapid pants. Kieran’s dead. Depleted, she can’t hold back the sob that racks her battered frame. Tears well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks. Her grief is all consuming, its power a force of nature that she’s never experienced before. It hadn’t been the first time she watched her husband die. She’s intimately familiar with all their final breaths. But the target on Kieran’s back had faded until it disappeared entirely. And once the crying starts, she can’t stop. Hunching forward, her head hangs as she leans into the excruciating loss. How long she stays like that, she doesn’t know.

Her stubbornness is both a blessing and a curse. She’s not dying in this god forsaken hellhole. Not without taking one last soul her. Swiping at her cheeks, she wipes away her tears and something bone chillingly hateful settles on her bruised feature. Picking herself up off the floor, she settles on the ground concrete floor on her knees. Pale green eyes take in the details of the cell she’s been locked in. That’s where she stays, utterly still, even when she hears the distant sound of a door opening and closing.