Chapter 2 - INTO THE LION'S DENThe silence that followed Maisie’s words was absolute. You could hear the faint hum of the industrial fluorescent lights overhead, buzzing like trapped hornets. Julian Hart stared down at the small, blind girl, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched beneath his skin. No one—not rival cartel leaders, not corrupt politicians, not his own blood—had ever spoken to him that way to his face, let alone a child who didn't even come up to his waist.
A heavy, suffocating tension settled over the underground arena. Leo closed his eyes, bracing himself for the crack of a gunshot. He cursed himself a thousand times for bringing her here, for needing the fifty bucks for rent that had led them to this cursed underground gambling den in the first place.
Instead of drawing his weapon, Julian let out a short, cold, humorless laugh.
"Brave," Julian murmured, stepping back and gesturing grandly toward the rattling steel cage at the far end of the dirt floor. "Or suicidal. Let’s find out which one." He raised his voice so it echoed off the concrete walls. "Open the cage."
"Boss, are you sure?" the head handler stammered, stepping up with a trembling hand on the heavy iron latch. "That dog ripped off Miller’s bicep last Tuesday! He’ll tear her apart in three seconds flat!"
"Did I stutter?" Julian's voice dropped an octave, dripping with lethal ice. "Open it. If she wants to play with the beast, let her win her brother's life—and the million dollars. Or watch her become dinner."
The handler swallowed hard, unlocking the secondary deadbolt with a loud clack. He scrambled backward as fast as his legs could carry him, tripping over a spare tire and sprawling into the dirt.
With a deafening crash, the heavy steel door swung open.
Cyrus didn't charge out immediately. For a second, there was only a terrifying darkness inside the kennel. Then, two glowing, bloodshot eyes appeared in the shadows. A low, subterranean growl rattled the floorboards beneath Maisie's sneakers. The massive German Shepherd stepped out into the harsh light, his muscles corded like steel cables under a matted, scar-covered coat. Saliva dripped from his black lips, and his fangs bared in a snarl meant to kill.
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The crowd collectively stopped breathing.
Maisie didn't run. She didn't scream. Slowly, deliberately, she let go of Leo’s trembling hand, raised her white cane, and took three steady steps forward, directly toward the most lethal animal in the city.
