Shadows of That Day

~SIENNA’S POV~

The front door clicked shut behind us, locking the heavy silence of the cab into our apartment. We had barely managed three bites of our takeout noodles before the grease turned our stomachs, leaving the cardboard cartons cold on the kitchen counter. Neither of us said a word. We retreated into our separate bedrooms, closing the doors like shields against the dark outside.

Sleep remained impossible. Every settling beam in the ceiling, every shudder of the old radiator, sounded like footsteps creeping down the hall. I stared at the ceiling for hours, my pulse throbbing behind my temples, until a timid scratch rattled against the wood of my door.

Cleo never knocked like that. Usually, she kicked the door open with her hip and threw herself across my mattress.

“Come in,” I called out.

The brass knob turned slowly. Cleo slipped into the room, drowned in an oversized white button-down shirt that slipped off one shoulder. The hem stopped mid-thigh, exposing the line of her collarbone and a pale edge of black lace.

My mouth went dry. I was straight. I had spent twenty-two years liking men, but Cleo possessed a natural magnetism that had a way of knocking common sense off balance.

She crossed the floor without shoes, her bare feet silent on the rug, and climbed onto the mattress. The bed dipped under her weight. She slid beneath the duvet, pulling it up to her collarbones, her frame shivering against my ribs.

“I keep seeing their faces,” she whispered, staring into the dark corner of the room. “Those men in the street. What if they find out about that day?”

A cold spike of adrenaline punched straight through my stomach. My breath caught in my throat. I sat up on one elbow, staring down at her face in the shadows.

“We agreed never to talk about that,” I warned, my chest tightening. “Nobody knows. Nobody could possibly connect us to it.”

Cleo held my gaze for three seconds, dead silent, before a small smirk broke across her lips. “Relax, Enna. I meant the stray dog in Spain. The one we knocked over with the moped.”

I blinked at her, stunned. “Are you serious? You almost gave me a coronary over a dog with a sprained paw?”

A giggle slipped through her lips, turning into a muffled laugh against the pillow. The ridiculous relief pulled a sharp laugh out of my own chest. We lay there laughing like idiots into the dark, our shoulders bumping, until the hysteria burned off and left only the heavy quiet of the bedroom.

The air shifted. The distance between our faces was less than two inches. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the sweet strawberry scent of her lip balm filling every inhale. Her eyes drifted down to my mouth, lingering there with a heat that made my skin prickle.

“Enna,” she murmured, lifting a hand to brush the hair from my cheek.

She tilted her chin and pressed her lips against mine.

The first touch was soft, a gentle question asked in the dark. Then she shifted her weight over me, deepening the angle, and the question vanished under a sudden rush of heat. Her mouth parted mine with a steady hunger that wiped every thought of men right out of my head. My fingers tangled into the soft strands of her hair, pulling her closer as a low moan broke from my throat.

Cleo unbuttoned my pajama top with quick fingers, pushing the flannel off my shoulders before tugging my shorts down my hips. Cool bedroom air hit my bare skin, but the chill did not last. Cleo left a trail of wet kisses down my throat, biting softly at the curve of my neck, mapping the hollow of my ribs with her mouth.

“Cleo, wait—” My voice hitched as her lips pressed against my lower stomach.

She did not wait. She gripped my thighs, parting them wide, and lowered her mouth between my legs. Her hot breath brushed against my wet folds a second before her tongue made contact, stroking upward over my clit in a long, deliberate slide.

My hips bucked off the mattress. A sharp cry tore from my throat, my hands clutching the sheets on either side of my hips. Cleo held my thighs pinned with her hands, relentless as she licked and sucked, her tongue circling the swollen bud before sliding two slick fingers deep inside my pussy.

“Oh god, fuck,” I gasped, arching my back, my heels digging into the mattress.

She curled her fingers inside me, pumping with a rhythmic cadence while her mouth devoured my clit. Heat built behind my ribs, coil after coil of pressure winding tight in my lower belly until my entire body shook. I rode her face, helpless against the friction, until the coil snapped. A blinding wave of pleasure crashed over me, pulling a ragged scream from my lungs as my walls clamped down hard on her fingers.

Cleo stayed right there, licking through the aftershocks until my thighs stopped trembling. Only then did she slide back up the bed, her lips wet, her eyes dark with satisfaction. She pulled me against her chest, letting me taste myself on her mouth as we caught our breath.

We lay tangled together, our damp skin sticking under the covers. Cleo rested her chin on my collarbone, tracing circles over my hip with her thumb.

“I’ve had a crush on you since our first semester,” she said, her voice dropping into a quiet confession. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to ruin this. But you’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words never came.

A tremendous crash shattered the silence from the front of the apartment. Glass exploded across the hardwood floor near the entryway, followed by the heavy, synchronized thuds of tactical boots storming down the corridor.

Ice replaced the warmth in my blood. Cleo scrambled up, panic widening her eyes as she grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head. I snatched my pajama bottoms from the floor, kicking my legs into the fabric.

“Closet. Move!” I hissed under my breath.

We dove inside the cramped wardrobe, yanking the slatted doors shut behind us. In the pitch-black space between hanging coats, we pressed our backs against the wall, holding our breath until our ribs ached.

Heavy footfalls slammed into my bedroom. Wood splintered as the main door was kicked inward. Through the narrow slats of the closet, I saw the sweeping beams of weapon-mounted flashlights cutting through the dark.

Before I could draw another breath, the closet doors were torn violently off their metal tracks.

Gloved hands grabbed the collar of my shirt, dragging me forward into the open room. Another man in full tactical gear seized Cleo, throwing her down beside me. We hit the floor hard. Black gun barrels snapped into place, aimed directly between our eyes. Ten heavily armed soldiers formed a tight perimeter around us, their plate carriers matte black, their helmets sterile and faceless.

Then, the soldiers shifted aside, snapping their chins down in rigid deference.

A man walked into the center of the room.

He looked like a ghost carved out of ivory. He wore an all-white bespoke three-piece suit, tailored so sharply it made the room look cheap. A heavy white wool coat draped over his broad shoulders, and his black leather shoes clicked against the floorboards with calculated precision. He carried the scent of raw cedar, damp earth, and expensive cigar smoke.

He stepped directly up to where I sat frozen on the floor and dropped into a slow, elegant crouch. His gloved fingers reached out, hooking under my jaw and squeezing until the bone threatened to crack.

“Did you enjoy yourself with your little friend?” he asked, his velvet voice laced with pure poison.

Beside me, Cleo let out a whimpering gasp. One of the soldiers stepped forward, driving the steel toe of his combat boot directly down onto her kneecap.

Cleo screamed, the sickening sound of snapping bone tearing through the air.

Rage burned away every ounce of my terror. With a feral scream, I wrenched my chin from his grip and lunged forward, throwing a wild right hook straight at his nose.

The man in white did not even flinch. His left hand snapped up with terrifying speed, catching my wrist in a vice grip before the punch landed. Without breaking his stride, he swung his right arm across, cracking a brutal backhand directly across my skull.

My head whipped sideways. The world spun in violent circles of static as my shoulder hit the floorboards, warm copper flooding across my tongue.

A suppressed gunshot coughed through the room.

The deafening snap of the round tore through my ringing ears. The soldier who had crushed Cleo’s knee collapsed sideways, his body hitting the floor like a sack of wet cement, a black bullet hole drilled neat and centered between his eyes.

The man in white lowered a silver, silenced pistol, his expression completely flat. He did not spare the dead body a single glance. He stepped over the pooling blood and crouched down over me again, his fingers fisting into my hair to wrench my face upward.

His eyes were shocking—a pale, icy blue that held zero mercy.

“You belong to me now, Sienna,” he said, his voice dropping into a lethal, low murmur. “From this second forward, your life is no longer your own. It is mine.”

He lowered his head and slammed his mouth onto mine. It was a vicious, bruising kiss that tasted of iron, gunpowder, and ruthless possession. His teeth caught my split lip, punishing me for breathing, claiming every inch of my mouth until my vision began to gray at the edges.

The room tilted into darkness. Through the fading blur of consciousness, I caught a glimpse of Cleo thrashing, weeping in agony as two soldiers dragged her through the doorway by her arms.

His lips brushed against the curve of my ear, his breath hot against my cooling skin.

“Let’s go home, Kitten.”

Then, the blackness swallowed me whole.