Page 48 of Fractured Allegiance
Drazen promises more.
And Silas? I don’t know what he’s offering. But it’s surely not mercy.
I lie back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The light above the bed flickers; it’s either cheap wiring to blame for it, or maybe the building remembering too much.
I think about the sound of Silas’s voice. Not what he said. Just the way it felt. Like pressure applied with precision.
He never asked me for anything. That’s what makes it worse.
Dom asks. Drazen demands. Silas just watches. And somehow, that gets under my skin faster than the rest.
Because he sees the cracks.
Because he doesn’t speak to the mask. I think he may want the person underneath it.
Could I even survive that?
The sheets don’t warm. I lie still for too long, trying to breathe slower, trying to make my muscles forget the way they tense every time I close my eyes.
But nothing inside me is still. I feel it under my skin—this pacing thing, like a heartbeat out of rhythm. No threats in the room, no command in my ear, and yet the anxiety lingers. That’s how I know it isn’t fear.
It’s him.
My body remembers Silas like a temperature I can’t shake. I’ve felt men look at me before: some with hunger, some with disdain. Silas doesn’t look like he wants to consume me.
He looks like he already has.
Not physically. Not yet. But in the places no one else bothers with. The parts of me I try not to leave uncovered, even when I’m naked.
It’s been hours since the club. Since I left Dom in his throne of polished cruelty and walked the corridor like it didn’t cost me something. Since I passed that corner booth where Silas first saw me and caught the glint of recognition behind his eyes.
I reach for the glass again, only to find it empty.
I get up. Not dressed for company. Not caring.
I cross the room and stand at the window again, drawn by something I can’t name. A thread. A pull. I open the curtain fully this time. Lean one hand on the glass.
Still nothing.
No figure in the alley. No shape against the rooftop. But the weight of presence hasn’t left. I can’t explain it. My body just knows when it’s being seen.
And it doesn’t feel like Drazen.
I’ve learned to spot his eyes, for better or for worse. His eyes are invasive. Hungry. Impatient. They strip you, then get bored once you stop resisting.
Silas’s gaze feels… different.
Colder, but more patient. Less conquest, more calculation. Like he’s learning something by letting me be.
That terrifies me more than violence ever did.
I trace a circle into the glass with one fingertip. My breath fogs the spot, but the shape remains.
My pulse is fast now, even though I’m not moving. The air feels charged, like it’s listening. I don’t know if he’s out there, but I speak anyway.
“I know you’re watching.”
The words vanish into the pane. But they taste real in my mouth.
