"...This is highly unacceptable. You don't just grab someone off the street, drag them down here, and keep them in this filthy—filthy—place!" Carmella Johnson, the reporter who'd been snatched right outside her street, squirmed in her restraints and glared at the men around her like they were roaches in her apartment.
"Can someone shut her up? I can't take it anymore," Rico muttered, retreating to the far side of the dingy white room.
Carmella whipped her head toward him and shot him the nastiest look she could summon—one that could peel paint off a wall.
Leonardo stepped forward.
She turned her eyes to him, slowly. He towered over her, arms crossed—bulging muscle on full display. His tattoos were a mess of skulls and... whatever else, but it was the one crawling from his jaw to his neck and vanishing beneath his shirt that made her squint. Creepy.
But she didn't flinch. Not even a blink. She'd seen worse. Okay, maybe not this bad, but she was a crime reporter. This came with the territory. Still, she hadn't expected it to be this... crude.
The basement reeked of mold and rot. The only light came from a flickering bulb, and the cement walls were stained with old water damage. A busted pipe in the corner dripped steadily—drip... drip... drip...—each one like a ticking clock of doom.
Carmella lifted her chin, meeting Leonardo's stare with a practiced calm.
"You think muscle scares me?" she said coolly. "I've interviewed cartel leaders, corrupt politicians, smugglers. Compared to them, you boys are lost puppies."
Leonardo blinked slowly. He looked... unimpressed.
Then, without a word, he crouched in front of her, elbows resting on his knees.
"You talk a lot," he said quietly.
Carmella opened her mouth for another comeback, but his hand shot out and gripped her jaw—hard.
"You think this is a movie?" he asked, his tone low and terrifyingly calm. "You think you get out of here, write some exposé, win an award, maybe get a Netflix deal?"
Her nostrils flared.
"I think you're scared," she whispered. "You wouldn't have grabbed me if I wasn't close to something real."
His eyes flickered. Then he smiled.
"I like her," Rico muttered from across the room. "She's got spunk."
"Shut up," Leonardo said, not taking his eyes off Carmella. He leaned in close—too close.
"You're right. You got close. But that's not bravery, sweetheart. That's stupidity."
"You gonna kill me?" she hissed.
Leonardo stood, finally releasing her jaw.
"No," he said. "Kieran will decide what to do with you."
Carmella's blood froze.
Kieran.
As in the Kieran Blackwood—the same man whose press conference she'd been at just hours ago?
What the hell was going on?
"So I suggest you shut that pretty little mouth until he gets here. Then you can use it to apologize for what you did," Leonardo said, brushing his hand off her jaw as if she were dirt on his jeans.
The moment his hand left, she gasped and moved her jaw around, trying to soothe the ache. Her fists clenched.
"And why would I apologize? I didn't do anything wrong."
The men in the room laughed.
Except for Damon, who leaned against the wall with his eyes closed—well, now they were open—but he didn't laugh.
Leonardo chuckled.
"For all your squawking like a parrot, you're actually kinda dumb," he said.
Her face flushed beet red.
"I'm not dumb! You're the dumb one!" she snapped, wriggling in her restraints again.
Leonardo leaned down. "Okay. I'll give you a clue. Let's just say... you hurt the most important person to our boss. That's why your pretty little ass is here and not sipping wine in your cozy apartment."
She gritted her teeth.
How did this knockoff gangster know her apartment was cozy? And yeah, it is cozy. Hardwood floors. Velvet cushions. But that's beside the point.
More importantly... Who did she hurt?
Wait.
No way.
No—freaking—way.
Her eyes went wide.
The wannabe gangster smiled like a lunatic. "Has it clicked yet, pretty reporter?"
It had.
When she'd asked that very pointed question at the press conference about why Kieran's wife hadn't spoken. She'd just stood there like a porcelain doll. Beautiful—no exaggeration—like someone straight out of a fairy tale.
But she looked... off.
Carmella had noticed.
She was clinging to him but not in the same way the others used to. The ex-girlfriends were always flaunting him like, look what I bagged. But this woman?
She looked like she was holding on for dear life. Scared. Desperate. Trapped.
And let's not forget the freaking collar.
The one that read Property of Knight.
Who the hell was Knight?
The only Knight Carmella knew was... nope. Not going there. That's a whole other dark corner of the world.
There was no way Kieran Blackwood was Knight.
Right?
Still… that collar wasn't just some accessory. Some reporters had whispered about it, called it weird or gross, degrading even but clearly none of them knew a damn thing. It screamed BDSM—and not the vanilla kind.
That could be a story: "Is Kieran Blackwood a Dominant?" People would eat that up. His fanbase was insane.
But back to that press conference.
Carmella had seen the woman panic at her question. It was subtle, but it was there. The way Kieran had looked at her afterward? That should have been her first clue. And now?
Well.
Here she was.
In a moldy basement with wannabe gangsters.
Just great.
She looked up at Leonardo. "This is, like, the third time you've called me pretty. Not to be vain, but I know I'm pretty. You don't need to keep saying it."
Leonardo raised a brow.
"And yeah," she continued, "go get your boss. I'll apologize. I'm tired of sitting in this dump. Unlike y'all, I have real things to do."
No way was she apologizing, she was just doing her damn job. But she needed to get this over with, and more importantly, she needed to see Kieran.
His lips curled, not quite a smirk, but close and he gave a mock bow. "Your wish is my command, your pretty highness," he said, then turned and swaggered back to his fellow wannabe gangsters.
Ugh. She had never wanted to throttle someone so badly in her life. And she was not even a violent person… okay, maybe she had a bit of a temper, but this guy? He was begging for a slap. Still, deep breath, Carmella. Be the bigger person. Be cool. Don't punch anyone. Yet.