Hello.

First chapter. Hope it gives you a good first impression

(Read up to Chapter 4 on Patreon- I'll post almost every day)

I'll post a chapter every Sunday- hopefully.

Why did I come here? I asked myself over and over again. Clubs were not my thing. I knew that, and yet I let Kyle convince me otherwise. He told me to go out because I'm a stuck-up beautiful black woman who needs to get her ass fucked up.

Right now, I was feeling very uncomfortable, not because there was a very huge, terrifying man glaring at me right now. But because there's also a repulsive, very creepy-looking guy staring at me.

Not to mention this fucking club is expensive.

I tried not to glance at the scary man. He looked dangerously handsome. The scar running from his left eyebrow down through his eye and cheek told me everything.

I needed to stay clear of him.

I wanted to kill Kyle for leaving me like this, telling me to be a big girl and go out by myself.

I'm only twenty-three. I don't want to die—maybe I'm being dramatic. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm leaving.

I grabbed my stuff, tipped the bartender a hundred, and walked out.

I didn't drive because it was only a three-minute walk...but now I regret that decision.

"Hey, pretty girl," hot musty breath fanned my ears as arms wrapped around me.

"Let go of me." I yanked out of his arms, looking for anyone on the street who could see this.

No one.

I tried to run, but the guy was faster. He dragged me into an alleyway and pushed me onto the floor. This is not happening right now. I searched my bag for my taser, but he kicked my bag, causing me to scream in panic.

"Please, is it money? I'll give you money. Please don't hurt me." I started begging.

"No need for that, darling," he unbuckled his belt. "Just give me a little taste."

"No!" I screamed as his dirty hand groped my boobs, and his other went up my skirt. "Stop, stop, please! Someone help." I cried.

"Shut up, bitch!" He smacked me across the face.

That's when I realized everything was over with...until his blood splattered across my face, and he fell to the side with a gunshot wound on his head.

I gasped, looking up at the familiar scary man at the bar. "You killed him," I whispered. "Oh no, you shouldn't–you're gonna be arrested–thank you?"

There was a whirlwind of confusion and appreciation in my head. I didn't even question why he'd have a gun accessible to him–maybe he was a cop. Even though seeing blood or a dead body wasn't new to me, seeing someone be killed was such a shock. Usually, the person is already hurt before they get brought to me.

I work in a hospital as young as I am. I graduated at fourteen with a high school diploma and an associate's degree and went on to get my doctorate. That's how I'm here, at twenty-three, as a doctor, in the back of an alleyway as a witness to a murder.

"Go home," his voice was gruff, and his steel eyes were soulless and hard. I knew how this went, I'd start running, and he would shoot me in the back–how embarrassing.

I shook my head.

He glared at me. His eyes were cold and murderous. I wondered how much a person would have to go through to become this way...gone. "Go home."

I stayed completely still, hoping he wouldn't kill me and leave my body rotting next to...that man.

He sighed irritably. "Come with me."

I shook my head. "No."

His jaw clenched hard. "You're not going to come?"

I shook my head. "No–ah!" I shrieked when he grabbed my braids and dragged me down to the curb, where a car was waiting for him. I grabbed his wrist to try and pry him off, but I couldn't. He was...beyond powerful. He pushed me into the car as I fussed and thrashed. "Wait, please, I don't wanna go with you." I cried.

"I gave you an option." He glared, his jaw clenched.

"Please don't do this," I almost started sobbing. "I just wanna go home, ple–"

His jaw clenched, and his teeth grinded. "Shut up."

"Yes, sir," I said almost immediately, wiping away my tears. The car drove us to a private home in the back of town. The car was parked in the garage, and he grabbed my arm this time and pulled me out. I didn't try to pull away. It was useless too. He was a man who was obviously more muscular than me. He had the advantage.

The man was just too strong. He led me into his dark house. It was big and spacious but so dark–he could see, but I couldn't. He was walking in darkness as I squinted to make out where I was.

He stopped in the middle of what I assumed was his living room. "Go wash the blood off." He ordered, gesturing to the door next to the living room. He took out a cigarette and lit it between his tattooed hands–his manly, veiny, strong hands.

I swallowed hard, frozen under his hardened gaze. "Um,"

"Go," he glared, and I jumped, scurrying over to the bathroom. I closed the door and opened the faucet, hurriedly washing the blood off. I wasn't even worried about my makeup. I wanted the blood off.

I closed the faucet and sighed, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. I didn't want my body dysmorphia to kick in while in a stranger's house. I was doing so well.

I slowly opened the bathroom door and ambled toward the man who held my life in his hands. I noticed the bandages around his arm, the same arm that he fucking gripped me with when we arrived. It didn't feel like a normal hand, but then again, the man himself wasn't normal. If his arm isn't injured, why are there bandages wrapped around it?

I sat down slowly and looked at my heels as he continued to gaze at me. "Don't hurt me, please. I really meant no disrespect. You just–"

"I'm not going to hurt you...yet."

I looked up at him with a little bit of hope and gave him big pleading eyes–which usually worked on everyone but made him furrow his brows. "Then please, please take me home."

He blinked slowly with an attitude, glaring at me. "Go ahead and look at the time."

I dropped my phone during the attack, but he had a digital clock hanging in his living room. "Um, it's three a.m., sir."

"Exactly, I'm not going anywhere." I put my pleading eyes back on, but he was more disgusted than coerced. "You look stupid."

I sighed, embarrassment flushed my cheeks–thankfully, I'm black, and the only blush I have is the one I put on before going out. "T–this isn't my home. I don't understand why you want me here."

He gave me a look. "I told you to go home, and you said no."

"W–well," I scratched my head. "I said I didn't want to go with you either."

He gave me a condescending look. "You're not exactly that smart, are you?"

I almost scoffed. "I am very smart, and I demand you to take me home."

He furrowed his brows, his eyes–they held so much authority and power and anger, and I lowered my eyes. "You...demand?"

I gulped. "N–no–"

"Come here." He said lowly.

My eyes widened, staring at him like he was crazy. "What–?! No–"

"Come here." He gritted out. "Or do I have to come get you?"

I sighed, biting my lips, hesitating as I sauntered toward him. He tilted my chin up and looked at my face. "Please, sir," I begged to go home, but his eyes went void and full of lust, and I knew what it looked like I was doing–begging him to fuck me, but that was not at all what I meant.

And, of course, I sat here clenching my thighs and staring at him. He probably thought I was lusting after him.

I was.

I am.

You were. I shushed the voice in my head and immediately tried to correct myself. "W–w–wait, no–no!"

He threw me over his shoulder.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

That night, I lost my voice.

Edited!