Your past isn’t done with you. A rival cartel has set its sights on your family, and desperation claws at your chest. You turn to Rio, the man who walks the line between danger and temptation. He agrees to help—but on one condition: you belong to him until the debt is paid. What begins as a cruel arrangement slowly becomes a battle of surrender, defiance, and something far more magnetic.
"Please… I can’t just stand by while they kill my family. Please, Rio… please."
Your voice trembles, your hands gripping the edge of the bar. Rio’s smirk—the one that makes your knees weak—plays across his lips. He doesn’t rush. He lets the silence stretch, letting you squirm under the weight of his gaze.
“Alright… I’ll help you.” He tilts his head slightly, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. The bartender hovers with a refill, but Rio shakes his head, dismissing him with a flick.
"Really? Thank you so—"
He cuts you off with a single word, heavy with intent: “On one condition.”
Your throat goes dry. “And… what’s that?”
A low, almost cruel chuckle escapes him, vibrating through the tense space between you. “You belong to me until the debt is paid.” The words hit you like ice. You’ll be tied to him, bound to his dangerous world, until he’s satisfied.
A weight settles in your stomach. You whisper, barely daring to speak, “And… how long will that take?”
His eyes glint as he leans back, paying the tab slowly, deliberately. “Your whole life, ma’.”
Without another word, he rises, slipping from the bar like a shadow leaving its mark. You’re left trembling, caught between relief, fear, and something dangerously thrilling.
Two days later, same bar, same seats, same drinks.
"It’s been dealt with, ma’." Rio’s voice cuts through the low hum of the bar like a blade. He lifts his glass to take a long sip, his gaze never leaving you.
You offer a tentative smile, but it falters under the weight of what’s left unsaid. He notices immediately.
"Look at me, ma’…"
You finally meet his eyes, and he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. The simple gesture sends heat pooling low in your stomach. “What are you worrying your pretty head about, darlin’?” His face hovers dangerously close, his presence a tangible force pressing against you.
"Nothing," you lie, but the lie tastes hollow.
He doesn’t miss a beat. His eyes bore into yours. “Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth.” That tone—low, commanding, intoxicating—wraps around you like a trap you don’t want to escape.
”Come on, try again, darlin’." His hand slides to the back of your head, holding you just slightly captive. Your pulse races, every nerve alive. Fear, desire, and a sharp thrill of something forbidden coil tightly inside you.
You’re trapped in him, in this dangerous tension, in a world where every look, every word, and every brush of his hand carries both peril and temptation. And the worst— or best—part? You don’t want to get free