June sat on the hard plastic seat of the subway car. The train rattled through the dark tunnels. She stared at her reflection in the dirty window. Her hair was hacked into uneven pieces. Her arm was bruised and aching. She wrapped her arms around her ribs and shivered.

The next morning, June pulled a cheap gray beanie over her head to hide her hair. She pushed open the glass doors of the architecture firm.

The office was dead silent. Every person in the room looked at her with wide, terrified eyes. They shrank back in their chairs as she walked down the aisle.

She reached her desk. A cardboard box sat in the center of her chair. All her pens, notebooks, and a small framed photo were dumped inside.

Martin Pryce walked out of his office. He threw a single piece of paper on top of her box. He told her she was fired and ordered her to get out.

June grabbed the edge of the desk. She asked for her severance pay. Her rent was due in three days. Without that money, she would starve.

Martin laughed in her face. He told her she had pissed off the Becker empire and cost him his biggest client. He said she was lucky he wasn't suing her for damages.

The building security guard stepped up behind her. He grabbed June by the bicep, shoved the box into her chest, and physically pushed her out the front doors onto the sidewalk.

June stood on the concrete. The freezing wind whipped down the Manhattan street. She felt the crushing weight of Gage's power. He owned the city.

She set the box down. She pulled out her phone and dialed the numbers of three other firms that had offered her jobs last month.

The first two hung up the second she said her name. The third manager sighed heavily. "Listen, kid. The word is out from Becker Industries. No one in the city will touch you. You're blacklisted across all top firms." Then the line went dead.

June picked up her box. She took the train back to Brooklyn. She just wanted to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head.

She walked up the street to her apartment building. Her battered suitcase sat on the sidewalk next to the overflowing trash cans.

Her landlord, a heavy woman in a thick coat, stood on the front steps. She pointed a fat finger at June and started screaming. She called June a liability who brought gang members to her property.

June dropped her box. She ran to the steps, begging the woman to let her in. She reminded the landlord she had paid a security deposit.

The landlord pulled a check from her pocket. She ripped it into tiny pieces and threw them directly into June's face.

The woman told June if she stepped foot on the stairs, she would call the cops for trespassing. She turned around and slammed the heavy iron door shut. The lock clicked loudly.

The sky turned dark gray. The first snow of the New York winter began to fall. The temperature plummeted. June only wore a thin autumn jacket.

She crouched down next to her suitcase. Her fingers were stiff and bright red from the cold. She pulled out her phone and dialed the one number she swore she never would again.

The phone rang for a long time. Finally, Jessica Cole answered. The sound of crashing ocean waves played in the background.

June's teeth chattered. She told her mother that Gage had blacklisted her. She had no job, no apartment, and nowhere to go.

Jessica Cole sighed loudly. She called June an idiot for provoking a madman like Gage Becker.

Jessica Cole offered a cold solution. She told June to take a bus to a small town in upstate New York and hide for a few years. She demanded June stay out of the press so her new husband wouldn't find out.

June's chest tightened. She asked her mother how she could be so heartless. She reminded her that Gage had a video that would ruin her life.

Jessica Cole cut her off. She said she would wire five hundred dollars a month. Then, she hung up.

June listened to the dead silence on the line. The last ember of hope in her heart turned to ash.

She stood up. A raw, burning anger mixed with her despair. She pulled her arm back and hurled her phone directly at the brick wall of the apartment building. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass and plastic.

She grabbed the handle of her suitcase. She turned her back on her building and walked into the blowing snow.

The snow fell harder, sticking to her clothes. People rushed past her on the sidewalk, their heads down. No one looked at her.

Her stomach cramped violently with hunger. She dug her freezing fingers into her coat pockets. She pulled out three quarters and a dime. Not even enough for a cup of hot coffee.

The streetlights flickered on. The Brooklyn streets grew dark and empty. June dragged her suitcase behind her, walking blindly into the freezing night.

June pulled her suitcase through the heavy snow, her head bowed against the wind.

The blizzard howled through the streets. June's lips turned a pale shade of blue. She dragged her suitcase down a set of concrete stairs into a dimly lit pedestrian underpass. The air smelled strongly of urine and damp trash.

She pushed her back against the cold tile wall. She rubbed her stiff hands over her frozen cheeks. Her legs shook violently. She had nothing left.

The sound of scuffing boots echoed from the far end of the tunnel. Two men in dirty, oversized hoodies walked into the light. Their eyes were glassy and erratic.

They spotted June. More importantly, they spotted the expensive brand logo on her suitcase. They looked at each other and split up, walking toward her from both sides.

June's heart slammed against her ribs. She gripped the handle of her suitcase and tried to back away toward the stairs. Her worn heels slipped on the icy concrete.

The man on the right lunged forward. He grabbed the handle of the suitcase, yanking it hard, spitting a foul curse at her.

June held on with everything she had. She threw her weight backward and slammed her elbow directly into the man's ribs.

The second man rushed in. He pulled his hand from his pocket. A rusty switchblade clicked open. The dull metal caught the flickering overhead light.

He swung the blade down. The metal sliced deep across the back of June's hand. Warm blood instantly poured from the wound, dripping onto the dirty snow.

The sharp pain forced June's fingers to open. The first man ripped the suitcase away. He raised his heavy boot and kicked June squarely in the stomach.

The force threw her backward. She hit the icy ground hard, splashing into a puddle of freezing slush.

The two men turned and sprinted up the stairs, vanishing into the blizzard with everything she owned. June curled into a tight ball. She gasped for air, the pain in her stomach and hand making black spots dance in her vision.

She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out. She laid her cheek on the freezing concrete. She closed her eyes, waiting for the cold to take her.

Twin beams of blinding white light swept across the entrance of the underpass.

A massive, armored black Maybach rolled to a stop at the curb. The heavy tires crunched loudly against the packed snow.

The rear door swung open. A bodyguard stepped out and opened a large black umbrella. Gage Becker stepped out from the backseat. He wore a long, black cashmere coat. He looked like the devil stepping out of the shadows.

Gage ignored the puddles. He walked down stairs and stopped right in front of June's curled body. He looked down at her.

June blinked through the icy water dripping from her eyelashes. She saw his face. A violent tremor ripped through her spine.

Gage crouched down. He reached out and hooked his index finger under her chin, lifting her face out of the mud. He sneered, telling her she looked like a stray dog.

He told her this was what happened when she fought him. He said the world would watch her freeze to death and do nothing.

The absolute humiliation and the threat of death snapped something deep inside June's brain. A surge of wild, feral energy flooded her veins. She threw herself forward.

Before the bodyguards could even blink, June opened her mouth and clamped her teeth down hard onto Gage's extended forearm.

She bit down with every ounce of strength she had left. Her teeth tore through the expensive cashmere, ripped through his cotton shirt, and sank deep into his flesh. The hot, metallic taste of his blood flooded her mouth.

Gage let out a sharp grunt. His jaw clenched tight. But he did not pull away. He stayed perfectly still. His black eyes darkened, turning entirely pitch.

The bodyguard behind him drew his gun, aiming it at June's head. Gage raised his free hand and gave a sharp, immediate signal to stand down.

June held on until her jaw cramped. Her energy faded rapidly. Her teeth slowly slipped from his arm, and she fell back onto the ice, panting heavily.

Gage looked down at his arm. A deep, bleeding bite mark ruined his coat. Blood dripped from his sleeve. Slowly, a twisted, dark smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He reached down with his good arm. He grabbed the collar of her soaked jacket and hauled her up from the ground like she weighed nothing.

June kicked her legs. She hit his chest with her bleeding hand, but she had no strength left.

Gage dragged her up the stairs. He shoved her violently into the back of the Maybach. She fell across the heated leather seats.

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the howling wind. Gage slid in next to her. He stared straight ahead and ordered the driver to take them to the Long Island estate.

The engine roared. June pressed herself against the far door, trapped in the moving cage with him.

The Maybach was dead silent. The heat blasted from the vents, but June could not stop shaking. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pressing herself into the corner of the leather seat.

Gage sat on the other side. He wrapped a white silk handkerchief around his bleeding forearm. His dark eyes never left June's face. He watched her shiver like a predator studying a wounded bird.

The car turned off the highway. It drove into a massive, private forest on Long Island. They passed through three separate, heavily guarded iron gates. The outside world disappeared completely.

The Maybach pulled up to a sprawling, Gothic-style stone estate. Its massive towers cast long, dark shadows over the driveway.

The driver parked. A bodyguard opened Gage's door and held an umbrella. Gage stepped out. He turned around, reached into the car, and grabbed June by the ankle. He yanked her forward.

June screamed as she fell out of the car. Her knees hit the wet marble steps. The cut on her hand tore open again. Blood mixed with the freezing rain and ran down her fingers.

Gage did not care. He grabbed the back of her wet coat collar. He dragged her up the steps and through the massive front doors like a dead weight.

The grand foyer was blindingly bright. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Two rows of maids and butlers stood against the walls, their heads bowed. No one dared to look up.

June kicked her legs. Her scuffed heels squeaked against the polished marble floor. She screamed for help, but her voice just echoed off the high, painted ceiling.

Gage laughed coldly. He dragged her toward a heavy wooden door that led to the basement. He told her she was going to live in the dark from now on.

June squeezed her eyes shut. She braced herself for the pain of being thrown down a flight of concrete stairs.

"Enough!"

An old, powerful voice cracked like a whip from the second-floor balcony.

Gage's hand froze on June's collar. A flash of pure irritation crossed his face. He stopped moving.

June scrambled backward, her hands slipping on the marble. She looked up toward the voice.

An elderly woman with perfectly styled silver hair stood at the top of the sweeping staircase. Beatrice Becker wore a dark, tailored suit. She leaned heavily on a cane topped with a massive ruby.

Beatrice looked down at the foyer. She saw June shivering on the floor, covered in mud and blood. The old woman's brow furrowed in deep disapproval.

June saw the disgust in the woman's eyes-not toward her, but toward Gage. She pushed herself up and ran to the bottom of the stairs. She fell to her knees right below Beatrice.

June grabbed the hem of Beatrice's skirt. She sobbed, her voice breaking as she begged the old woman to save her, swearing that Gage was going to kill her.

Gage took three long strides across the foyer. He reached for June, yelling at her to get her dirty hands off his grandmother.

Beatrice lifted her cane. She slammed the rubber tip down onto the marble floor. The loud thud echoed like a gunshot. Gage stopped instantly.

Beatrice glared at her grandson. She demanded to know if he was trying to turn the Becker family home into a mafia torture chamber.

Gage ground his teeth together. He pointed to his bloody arm. He told Beatrice the girl was a violent threat.

Beatrice looked down at June's bleeding hand and her blue lips. A complicated look of pity flashed in the old woman's eyes.

Beatrice unclasped the thick cashmere shawl from her own shoulders. She bent down and wrapped it tightly around June's shaking body.

The sudden warmth of the fabric broke June. She buried her face in the soft cashmere and sobbed uncontrollably.

Beatrice stood up straight. She ordered the head butler to prepare a warm guest room on the second floor immediately. She told him to call the family doctor.

Gage stepped forward, his fists clenched. He argued that this was his house and she was his prisoner.

Beatrice let out a cold laugh. She reminded Gage that until she was dead, she controlled the family trust, and she made the rules.

Two older maids hurried forward. They gently helped June to her feet and led her up the stairs toward the guest wing.

June reached the landing. She looked back over her shoulder. Gage stood in the center of the foyer. He looked like an enraged lion. His black eyes locked onto her, promising violence.

June followed the maids down the hall, leaving Gage standing below.