Chapter 2

The call came late, as it often did.

Leo, Marcus' s assistant, his voice tight with stress.

"Ava. Penthouse. Now."

Marcus was with Tiffany, a showgirl with too much glitter and not enough sense.

He was in one of his rages.

I arrived.

The penthouse was a wreck, broken glass, overturned furniture.

Tiffany was crying, her makeup smeared, a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek.

Marcus was pacing, a storm in a thousand-dollar suit.

He saw me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Relief? Annoyance?

It didn' t matter.

I moved, calm, practiced.

I stood between them.

"I did it," I said, my voice flat.

Tiffany looked confused, then scared.

Marcus stopped pacing.

The police were already on their way, a routine call from building security about a disturbance.

They arrived, two bored officers.

I took the blame.

"She attacked Mr. Thorne," I said. "I defended him."

Tiffany was too scared to argue.

The officers knew me, knew my reputation.

Ava, Thorne' s attack dog.

Blindly loyal.

Marcus played his part, amused.

He put an arm around me, casual, possessive.

"She gets a little overprotective," he told them, a charming smile on his face. "Spoiled, you know."

He made a call.

Ten minutes later, I was walking out.

No charges.

No questions.

Marcus Thorne owned this city, and everyone in it.

In his car, the leather cool against my skin, he looked at me.

"Seven years, Ava."

His voice was soft, almost a purr.

"You were just a kid when I found you. Eighteen. Scared."

He touched my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline.

The same way he did that first night.

"Still look so much like her."

Sarah.

Always Sarah.

I said nothing.

My loyalty, my devotion, it was a shield.

And a weapon.

Tonight, it had been reinforced.

The city would whisper about it.

Ava, the fixer, who would take a fall, even an assault charge, for Marcus Thorne.

Let them whisper.

It was all part of the plan.

Each act of "loyalty" was another stone in the foundation of their destruction.