The elevator door hissed shut behind them as they started their ascent toward the last level of Vlamurik's ship. His prisoner, despite her insistence to 'look presentable', was kept in the same tank top and shorts she was found with. Ezekiel wouldn't take any chances before handing her over. After complaining repeatedly about having to walk barefoot through the station, Ezekiel relented, allowing her to put on her pair of white sneakers. Now she looked less like a prisoner and more like someone plucked from a workout. But Ezekiel knew better.

She stood in the corner of the elevator, hands bound on her back, staring at him, her face a mask of defiance. The air in the small cabin felt thick, almost electric with tension, her gaze boring into him, unyielding. He was impressed by her fearlessness, but he wondered if she would keep her grit once he delivered her to Vlamurik and whatever gruesome end he had planned for her. He could almost feel pity as he looked at her—young, pretty, full of energy, as if she still believed she could fight her fate. That flame in her eyes... just like a girl he once knew. An old, familiar pang of regret started to rise inside him, but he pushed it off his thoughts, focusing instead on the numbers on the elevator panel.

"So, how does it feel to be someone else's hound?" she asked, her nose flinching in contempt.

Ezekiel remained silent, ignoring her remark.

"He probably has a nice bone waiting for you up there, right?" she continued, sticking her tongue out and panting like a dog. "Good boy."

Ezekiel glanced at her performance, but remained impassive, his eyes going back to the numbers rising. She was obviously trying to get inside his head, to shake him, anger him. But he wouldn't fall into her mind games. Soon she'd be the boss's problem.

"Your parents must be very proud of you," Kira went on. "Actually, I doubt your mother survived birthing a beast like yourself. And your father? I bet even she didn't know who he was. Too many customers, after all."

Ezekiel balled his hands into fists, his knuckles whitening, his muscles twitching. He fought to remain composed, ignoring the way her words burned. He would not let her get to him.

"Maybe there's someone else to be proud of you," she said in a mocking tone. "Maybe a sister, working the docking bays like your mom, jiggling her ass for spare cyphers."

Ezekiel snapped, rage coursing through him like wildfire.

He lunged at her, banging his palms against the metal walls on either side of her head, cornering her. The elevator shuddered, the sound ringing sharply in the confined space. Kira flinched, her shoulders tightening as her back pressed against the wall, but her gaze held his, challenging, daring him to strike. He leaned in, so close he could feel her breath on his face. "You'll shut your fucking--"

Her knee smashed his groin with vicious precision.

Blinding pain shot through Ezekiel's body, white-hot and immediate, knocking the breath from his lungs. The world tilted, his vision blurred. His knees gave way. He crashed on the floor, the impact shaking the elevator beneath him. The pain was sharp, overwhelming, radiating a wave of nausea through his guts.

Through the haze, he saw Kira moving. Leaning on the wall, her foot pressed against the control panel, hitting the buttons with urgency. The elevator jerked to a halt, the doors opening in a whoosh. Without missing a beat, she leaped over him, her bound hands barely slowing her momentum.

Running on pure instinct, Ezekiel's arm shot up, his fingers clamping around her ankle mid-air with an iron grip.

Her shoulder slammed into the metal frame with a dull thud, a muffled cry escaping her lips as she crashed to the floor. She groaned in pain, but twisted, kicking hard at his fingers with her free leg. Ezekiel gritted his teeth, dragging her back inside as he forced himself to stand, blazing agony in his every movement.

He sat on her thighs, pinning her down. "Argh! You fucking ape," she spat, struggling under his weight. His hand fumbled in his pocket for another set of cuffs, clicking the restraints onto her ankles with a satisfying snap.

He rose from the floor, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Pain still throbbed through him, but his victory dulled it just enough. His gaze locked on hers, as his chest filled with both fury and a flicker of grudging respect.

Kira lay on the floor, breathing heavily, hair splayed around her face. His finger marks, angry red, marred her ankle. Her eyes burned, refusing to yield. She was not broken. Not yet. But she would be. The boss would make sure of that.

Ezekiel hoisted Kira up as the doors slid open at the ship's uppermost level. He dragged her forward, his grip firm on her arm, blaster ready in his other hand. They stepped into Vlamurik's domain—the place where fear lived.

The room was vast and hollow, the kind that could swallow you whole. Its metallic surfaces reflected cold, lifeless light, just enough to suggest size without giving away the shadows that lurked in the corners. Dim overhead lights cast a sterile glow that left most of the space in blackness. The cool air held a tang of steel and a hint of something else—something primal.

In the center of the room stood a large metal desk, a single light casting stark silhouettes across its surface. Behind it, in the farthest reaches of the chamber, a massive cage loomed in the gloom, its steel bars thick, unyielding. A faint clinking of chains echoed from within, its contents shrouded in darkness. A mystery. An unspoken threat. A dreadful presence that made the hairs on Ezekiel's neck stand on end.

Two massive henchmen stood near the table, arms crossed over broad chests, their faces as hard as the steel around them. Their presence would make most people flinch, but Ezekiel barely gave them a glance. His attention was drawn to a third figure. Noose stood to the side, his face swollen and bruised. As soon as he saw Kira, he shifted slightly, an ugly sneer tugged at his lips. His eyes locked onto her like a snake, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Ezekiel could feel his hatred, radiating from him like heat off a furnace.

But Ezekiel's eyes soon drifted to another man. Vlamurik stood near the window, his back to them, gazing out at the endless stars. His attire was functional: black fitted t-shirt, grey pants, and black boots. Yet his presence was anything but ordinary. His lean, athletic frame showed a life of discipline, and the intricate tattoos snaking down his arms whispered of battles won, enemies vanquished.

As they approached, he turned, and the air seemed to shift, heavier. His face was lined with the marks of time, his grey hair receding at the temples, but it was his eyes that gripped hardest: sharp, cold, unforgiving. A chill ran through Ezekiel's spine as they landed on him and Kira, the room shrinking under the weight of his gaze. It told them everything here belonged to him: the room, the ship, the stars outside. And their lives.

Ezekiel could see Kira's body tense, but her face remained hard, rebellious. As Vlamurik's gaze swept over her from top to bottom, her fingers twitched behind her back, but she didn't waver. His eyes landed on her ankles and the cuffs binding them. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked, turning to Ezekiel, his tone calm, even. He'd almost never heard the boss raise his voice. He could order a killing with the same calm indifference as ordering dinner. "I doubt she'd dare pull any stunts in my presence," he concluded.

Ezekiel gave a stiff nod, lowering to release her ankles.

"Her hands, as well," Vlamurik gestured.

Ezekiel's hand lingered for a moment, his hands clenching, but he did as he was told.

"Try anything," he whispered on her back as he unbound her wrists, "and you're dead on a blink."

Kira's shoulders stiffened at his words, but she didn't flinch. She shot him a hard glance from the corner of her eye, but said nothing. Crossing her arms over her chest, her gaze returned to Vlamurik.

"I'd have gotten your money by now if not for your goons trying to kill me at every corner," Kira said, raising her chin.

"This isn't about money anymore. It's about respect," Vlamurik replied, walking toward the cage at the back of the room. "Come here."

Ezekiel could hear the clinking of chains again. Kira stayed rooted in place. "What's he got back there? Your cousin?" she whispered to him, her tone sharp, but Ezekiel caught the way she bit her lip and how her eyes lingered on the shadowy prison.

Ezekiel didn't answer. The truth was, he didn't know. Vlamurik had a taste for exotic pets--one more grotesque than the last--but no one had introduced him to this latest acquisition. He'd heard rumors, whispers about something darker, more terrible than anything his boss had kept before. Every instinct in him screamed to stay back.

Vlamurik turned from the cage, his cold eyes catching their hesitation. He sighed, a slow, deliberate breath, as though mildly disappointed by their reluctance.

Ezekiel gripped Kira's arm, pulling her forward. She yanked it free with a sharp twist, snapping, "I can walk on my own, you freak!"

Ezekiel clenched his jaw but let her go. As they neared, a sour, suffocating musk stung his nostrils, mingling with the sharp stench of rot. The air felt thick, damp, making his stomach churn. Whatever lived behind those bars reeked of death and blood.

Vlamurik turned to Kira, his cold eyes gleaming. "Let me show you what respect really looks like."

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading!

Chapters 2 and 3 were originally written as one chapter, but I decided to break them up because of their length. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this second chapter!

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