Chapter 2

I had met Frank three years ago when I was down here handling cartel business for the Vance family. He was being hunted by rivals, and I had eliminated the problem for him.

I threw on a black tie and took up a post as a bartender. Frank joked that with my face and physique, I ought to be an escort.

He had no clue how much blood covered these hands. Playing charming wasn't in my nature.

The nights were loud, thick with the stench of tequila and smoke. I wove through the crowd carrying trays of liquor.

Then, a petite girl caught my eye. She looked soft, innocent, and entirely out of place in a dive like this.

A sleazy man sat beside her, leering at her while pouring drinks down her throat. The girl slumped against his chest, seemingly wasted, casting a pleading look toward me.

I mind my own business. Only when she slipped away into the shadows did the man suddenly realize his wallet, watch, and gold chain were gone.

Enraged, he started wrecking the place. I rolled up my sleeves, knocked him out cold with two swift strikes, and tossed him into the alley out back.

"Who taught you to fight like that? Teach me!"

It was the little pickpocket.

I rolled down my sleeves, completely uninterested in engaging.

She stepped into my path, tilting her head with wide, innocent puppy-dog eyes.

"Underage kids aren't allowed in here, little girl," I muttered.

Her demeanor instantly flipped. "Don't act high and mighty just because you're good with your fists! I'm an adult! I'm just petite, but everything that needs to be grown is fully grown!"

She puffed out her chest, desperate to prove her point.

I shook my head, shoved past her, and kept walking. I had zero interest in stray kids.

The next time I ran into her, I was taking out the trash.

A pack of street thugs had her pinned to the concrete, beating her brutally. Blood streaked across her face. Growing bored of hitting her, they started tearing at her tank top.

Without batting an eye, I dumped the trash. I still didn't want to get involved.

Until she wheezed out two broken words: "Save me."

My mind violently snapped back to Elena.

Without my life guarding hers, would Elena ever find herself cornered like this?

The thought sent a spike of fury through my veins. The veins in my arms bulged as I tore into the thugs, dropping them one by one, before scooping the battered girl onto my back.

A weak smile formed on her lips. She wrapped her arms around my neck, refusing to let go.

Her name was Mia. An orphan who grew up surviving on whatever the streets gave her.

Blessed with an angel's face, she had perfected the art of thievery. Frank had watched her grow up, which was why he let her hustle around the bar.

From that night on, she stuck to me like glue.

She plastered on heavy eyeliner and wore revealing crop tops, strutting in front of me every single day. She was trying so hard to prove she wasn't a kid.

She was loud, and her mouth never stopped moving.

"Damian, teach me to throw a punch! Then those scumbags won't touch me."

"Damian, why do you always look so miserable? Did Frank steal your money or something?"

"Damian, you should smile more. I bet you look gorgeous when you smile."

"Damian, my cuts still sting. Put the ointment on for me, please?"

Wiping a glass, I looked at her and let out a heavy sigh.

When she lifted her hem, the scab from her previous beating had split open again.

Dabbing the medicine onto her skin, I couldn't stop Elena from invading my thoughts.

Elena had just as many scars across her back. Whenever the weather turned damp, they would ache and itch.

Her usually frosty face would melt into an uncharacteristic, vulnerable pout.

"Damian... help me, please?"