"If you want to succeed, be strong."

"Don’t ever let anyone piss on you. If someone dares to do it, put a bullet between their eyes without mercy, or you'll end up six feet under."

"You're a woman, you shouldn't be dealing with that."

"What is a woman doing in this world?"

"I refuse to do business with a brat."

I’ll never forget the impact those phrases had on me during my childhood. They shaped me as much as they shattered me.

Women are said to be sweet, generous, fragile, and all that nonsense. But we all know that’s a lie, and it’s hard to get people to accept it”especially those who can’t overcome their own biases.

People are naive enough to trust an image or appearance, so… why not use that to your advantage?

For years, I heard the same garbage over and over:

"You have no place in the criminal world."

"You’re meant to be protected, not feared."

I had no choice.

I fought not to depend on anyone; the people you love always end up betraying you.

No one ever wanted me for being a woman.

I did everything I could to prove myself, but it’s hard when the world keeps throwing your supposed inferiority in your face without even giving you the chance to show your worth.

I was always a failure, someone who inspired disgust and hatred.

Since birth, I was told they wished I had been a boy.

They reminded me that my qualities were worthless because they would never measure up to those of a man.

I understood, from a very young age, that being a woman was an obstacle, and if I wanted recognition, I’d have to fight relentlessly.

I wished I could’ve had the normal life of a twenty-year-old girl.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Still, my life experience forged my character.

I sigh as I stare at the reflection everyone seems to hate.

My skin is dark. My hair is straight, jet-black, and falls just to my shoulders.

My eyes are dark brown, almost black, almond-shaped.

They don’t reflect hope or innocence.

I wonder if anyone can see anything in them besides darkness.

My body is tall and athletic, built through a lifetime of intense training.

The features of my face and the color of my skin reveal my Saudi heritage.

Both of my parents come from that magnificent country: Saudi Arabia.

My mother died in a car crash when I was four.

She burned to death after her car crashed into a tree and caught fire.

I remember that day in the hospital like it was yesterday”

The day they told me she was gone.

At just four years old, I understood I would never see her again.

Nothing would ever be the same. I had just been pulled out of childhood and thrown into adulthood.

My mother left me alone, helpless.

I was devastated, inconsolable.

I remember screaming in pain and begging the doctors to give her back to me. I was just a lost little girl.

My “father,” Khalid, is the leader of a criminal syndicate, known as one of the most powerful arms traffickers in all of Europe.

His business is, and always will be, his most prized possession.

He’s always wanted to be the most feared man in the country, to inspire terror in everyone.

But he never truly reached his goals.

I suppose that’s what led him to so much frustration and bitterness.

I spent most of my childhood training in combat sports and weapon handling until I became a specialist in every discipline.

I’m the only woman in my father’s organization.

I carry out high-risk missions just like the men.

But being accepted is incredibly difficult”especially when you’re the boss’s daughter.

To both our allies and enemies, I’m known as a psychopath who enjoys pulling the trigger on anything that annoys her, without the slightest bit of remorse.

I was born to be my father’s personal soldier.

My entire life belongs to him.

I’ve never tried to deny the ticking time bomb reputation that follows me.

I’d rather be feared than approached.

My provocative attitude has earned me a long list of enemies who would pay millions to kill me or see me on my knees”

But none have ever dared to make a real move.

I have no compassion for my opponents.

My father despises such feelings.

He associates them with weakness.

He’s always told me:

“All it takes is one minute of doubt to end up in a grave.”

Don’t think that just because Khalid is around, no one has tried to hurt me”because that’s a lie.

He’s not a protective father.

We share blood, and that’s where it ends.

He treats me like any other soldier.

And in case of failure, the punishment is the same”if not worse.

I guess you're wondering what my name is, right?

Call me Inara.

MAIN VILLA

2:35 PM

I’m in my father’s office. He’s looking me up and down and gives me a crooked smile that doesn’t promise anything good.

I’m standing in front of him, hands in my pockets, my gaze fixed on him as he sits.

I break the silence:

"You asked to see me?"

"That’s right."

"What’s going on?"

"I have a mission that could earn you a lot of money if you manage to complete it properly."

I figured that was the reason”usually, we’re summoned as a group. I find it strange to be alone; he must want me to handle it personally.

It must be a delivery or the retrieval of a new weapon.

It seems important, since he looks concerned despite his fake smile; I doubt it’s just a simple delivery.

I ask for more details:

"What are we talking about?"

"A very high-risk mission, probably one of the most difficult you’ll ever have to do in your life."

He captures my interest. I’m eager to know what this is about and how much I can make from it.

"I’m listening."

"Sit down, my daughter."

It must be serious if he’s using "my daughter." My father always calls me Inara or by my last name, which is different from his. He always makes sure to keep his distance from me.

I sit across from him and lock eyes with his. I brace myself for whatever he’s about to announce”this could seriously shake up my life.

He hands me a sheet of paper on which I see a number with several zeros.

There’s no way to earn that kind of money by doing something easy.

I set the paper down on the desk and look at him carefully:

"You want me to kill a minister?"

"No."

"Then what? I don’t see any mission that could pay that much unless it involves killing someone extremely powerful."

"That money will be yours if you carry out this job with your legendary efficiency."

"Stop beating around the bush and tell me what it is."

"I need you to do an infiltration."

That’s it? That’s why he looks so anxious? He underestimates me way too much. I’ve already done far riskier missions.

"Seriously? And that’s what’s going to earn me that kind of money? Consider it done."

"Don’t celebrate too quickly."

I look at him, puzzled, as he studies me.

"You want me to infiltrate a rival gang, is that it?"

"This isn’t a simple infiltration, and it’s not a gang."

I raise my eyebrows.

I don’t see the point if it’s not a rival organization.

"I don’t understand what you’re trying to say."

"It’s a high-risk infiltration because it’s taking place in a prison. It’s the most notorious prison in France, housing violent and extremely dangerous criminals."

A prison?

"You want me to get myself arrested on purpose to get into a women’s prison?" I say with a crooked smile. "Fine. I’ll take one of your men with me. I just have to threaten him with my gun in front of lots of witnesses, then wait for the cops."

"It’s not a women’s prison."

"What do you mean? What are you saying?"

"It’s a men’s prison."

I burst out laughing, then look at him to try to spot a hint of a joke in his eyes.

But he doesn’t seem to be joking. I get serious again under the dark look he gives me:

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Watch your language when you speak to me. I’m serious”more serious than I’ve ever been."

"You tend to forget, but I’m a woman, and that’s pretty obvious. There’s no way they’ll send me to a men’s prison."

"I know that quite well, considering all the remarks I hear from the other gang members about you. But I have a plan."

What is wrong with him?

"Don’t you get it? I’m a woman! Women and men aren’t put together in prisons!"

"I told you, I have a plan."

"There’s no way. Send one of your men! Leave me out of your bullshit."

Sure, I’m reckless and impulsive, but I’m not suicidal enough to go into a men’s prison.

Men who haven’t seen women in years can quickly become violent and aggressive.

I know how to defend myself, but I’m not invincible.

Imagine they corner me”six of them in a hallway. What would I do? Scream for help?

I know how prisons work. Accidents are quickly forgotten. No one sees or hears anything.

He ignores what I’m saying and keeps trying to convince me:

"I know you’re perfect for this mission. If I send one of my men, it’s suicide. He could be recognized by the police or by other inmates who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. It’s too risky."

Right, because it’s so much less risky for your only daughter, dad.

How can he even consider sending me there? Do I really mean that little to him?

"Aren’t you the one who keeps yelling at all the men in the network to stop acting sexist? I’m giving you the chance to prove your theory that women are just as capable as men."

"Don’t take me for an idiot! You’re sending me into that mess only because you think people will be less suspicious of me than of your men, who all look like criminals and psychopaths! Don’t try to make me believe it’s to help me fit into the gang when you haven’t given a damn for twenty years!"

He smiles and claps his hands, then gives me a dark look:

"You really are your father’s daughter."

"I’m not going to that prison."

"It’s safe. Stop acting like a coward! Who’s going to suspect you? You’ve got the face of an innocent little girl”no one will see through your double game!"

"I said I’m not going. Find someone else to do your dirty work."

I stand up and so does he, walking around his desk to face me. I don’t move.

He grabs me violently by the throat and starts to squeeze tightly.

I try not to show any reaction, even as I struggle to breathe.

"Let me go."

My voice is cold.

"I’m not giving you a choice. You’ll do this mission, whether you like it or not. That’s an order. You know very well I can’t stand disobedience."

He lets go of my throat, and I catch my breath, holding my neck.

I scowl and clench my fists.

All that fake politeness, just to tell me it’s an order.

How could I be naïve enough to think, just once, my opinion would matter?

He walks back behind his desk as I sit down again.

"What do I have to do?"

I have to pull this off.

"See? I knew you’d come around," he says.

He’s enjoying this.

"It’s not like you gave me the option to refuse."

"You’ll pose as a new guard sent to help the prison for just one month, because they’re short-staffed."

I sigh:

"You’ve already sorted out all the paperwork for my cover?"

"Of course. You can keep your identity”you just need to avoid revealing too much about yourself. Everything is credible and solid. Don’t worry."

He’s thought of everything.

"What if one of the inmates is someone I’ve dealt with before?"

I’d rather avoid being stuck in a room with one of my enemies.

"You’ll figure it out."

Always so supportive, dad.

"Why do I have to infiltrate there?"

"One of the inmates is a very powerful gang leader and dangerous criminal. He belongs to an old, influential and well-known crime family."

"How long is he in for?"

"He has one month left. Once he’s out, you can leave the prison."

"What did he do to end up in prison if he’s so important?"

"He’s serving time for assault. But I suspect he arranged to be sent to prison on purpose."

"What kind of psychopath gets himself locked up willingly?"

"The kind who can kill you with his bare hands! So watch your mouth."

Even better.

"I want you to find out what he’s doing there and what his goal is."

"What good does that do you? His gang is way more powerful than ours. We should stay out of things that don’t concern us."

"Just follow orders. My motivations aren’t your business. You’re not allowed to fail. This mission will be crucial for your future."

"I don’t accept other people’s mistakes; I won’t make any. Failure isn’t in my nature."

I wish I knew why I’m risking getting raped or killed just to find out what this guy’s hiding, but I know he won’t tell me.

My father clearly has a personal interest. But he’s way too smart to let me in on it.

"You start tomorrow morning. I’ll send you a message with all the instructions. I got you an apartment right next to the prison. Pack your bags. You’re moving there tonight for the duration of the mission. You’ll have access to all the money you need to succeed."

I nod and get up from the chair.

"Fine."

"That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for your other responsibilities to the gang”and to me."

"I know."

He nods in approval. I turn to head for the door, and just as I open it, I hear him cough. I turn back around.

"The inmate you’re supposed to watch is named Alexander Graves."

I leave his office without a word.

PRISON

7:10 AM

I’m in the warden’s office of this lovely prison. He’s been staring at me for a few minutes now, and I remain unfazed by his rude attitude.

He finally decides to speak:

"I didn’t expect you to be so young. Women like you usually avoid working in prisons with criminals like ours."

I hold back a sigh.

"I know what I’m getting into."

"I don’t think you do. It would be a shame if something were to happen to you."

"I can defend myself. Don’t worry about me."

"That’s your choice. However, I don’t believe you understand the gravity of what our inmates have done. Most of them are real animals."

"I told you I’ll be fine."

He’s starting to piss me off, treating me like I’m incapable. I hate being seen as weak, especially by a stranger who’s judging me solely based on my appearance.

"Well, it’s up to you, miss. We’re glad to welcome you to our prison."

"The pleasure is mine."

"I’ll let you get settled and familiarize yourself with the place, but you’ll need to put on your uniform."

"Alright."

"I’m sorry, your colleagues aren’t aware of your arrival yet”it all happened quite suddenly. You’ll find them in the yard. They should be out walking the inmates. You really are a miracle at the right time; we’re seriously short-staffed."

I’m anything but a miracle. Still, I’ll take the compliment”it might be the last time I hear one.

I smile at the man. He pulls a uniform from his closet, hands it to me; I take it and leave the room.

I get a quick tour of the facility.

I head to the locker room to put on the uniform, which hugs my curves tightly. Then I place my civilian clothes in the locker assigned to me.

I head toward the outdoor yard. I’m about to open the door that leads to it, hand on the handle, but I hesitate for a few seconds.

Breathe, Inara.

Once you walk through that door, you’re no longer a criminal”you’re a guard. You’ll have to act like one, avoiding lashing out every time you feel threatened because, here, you’ll feel in danger every single second.

I take a deep breath and push open the door, revealing a vast view of the yard full of inmates.

All eyes are on me”my colleagues’ and the prisoners’. But I hold my head high. I stay indifferent to their remarks, which clearly imply they want to do indecent things to me.

I hear fragments of sentences like:

"Who’s that, the new whore?"

"Damn, I’ll take her in a closet."

"Haven’t seen hips and an ass like that in years."

"I just fell in love with that woman."

I ignore them.

Sadly, comments like those are part of my daily life.

I walk toward my colleagues”three men who stare at me like I’m an alien.

I’m the only female guard. I don’t like that.

My colleagues are undressing me with their eyes, as if the prisoners’ looks weren’t enough.

I give a polite smile and extend my hand toward the blond one. The older man and the dark-haired one seem too busy checking me out”I wouldn’t want to interrupt.

"I’m Inara. I’m your new colleague."

They stay silent for a few seconds, then all smile. The blond one shakes my hand, followed by the other two.

The oldest is named Franck: around forty, broad build, hair between brown and gray.

The blond is Mathieu: in his twenties, slim but tall, always smiling, with stunning blue eyes.

The dark-haired one is Anis: in his thirties, very tall, shoulder-length dark hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin.

I notice clear stitches on his forehead and a slightly swollen eye. He must have taken a beating recently.

The introductions go well.

Never thought I’d be working alongside prison guards”justice and I don’t exactly get along.

And to think I’m supposed to be one of them.

Ironic.

The oldest speaks first:

"We weren’t informed we were getting a new colleague."

"It all happened quickly."

"That’s strange, isn’t it? You just show up here overnight, out of nowhere?" Anis adds, sounding suspicious.

If he keeps looking at me like that, things won’t end well.

Mathieu tries to ease the tension:

"It’s rare to see a woman your age working here."

I give a small smile.

They ask me to sit on one of the benches in the yard while they escort the inmates back to their cells.

Meanwhile, prisoners keep calling out:

"I love you!"

"If you’re the one taking me to my cell, I won’t ever want to leave."

Deep down, I can’t blame them”it’s probably been a long time since they’ve seen a woman.

I still don’t know what Alexander looks like.

My father didn’t give me any information or photos to help me identify him.

I’ll have to manage on my own, as usual.

I don’t even know how to start figuring out why he got himself locked up in this hellhole.

A few minutes later…

I’m in the cafeteria with Franck and Anis, who are telling me their heroic stories as guards and explaining how I should avoid getting killed.

I couldn’t care less about what they’re saying. The only thing that matters to me is completing my mission.

Still, I have to play nice.

I’m not here to make friends”and even if I were, these two are way too arrogant to join my very limited (or nonexistent) circle of friends.

Anis shifts the topic to me:

"You better not get too close to the inmates. With your body, they might try to attack you in a group."

"Anis is right. Let us handle things”we’ll protect you," Franck adds.

I wish they knew I’ve been trained in combat since I was a child. Maybe they’d stop treating me like I’m weak.

But I decide to keep it soft:

"I’m here to do my job. I can defend myself. I’m not here to hide."

They exchange a glance and burst into mocking laughter.

"Listen," Anis says, "with a pair of tits and an ass like yours, you better keep away from them if you don’t want to get raped."

How can they joke about something so serious?

Franck chimes in:

"Women aren’t meant for this kind of work."

I raise an eyebrow. Sexism really does follow me everywhere.

Franck places a hand on my thigh; I shoot him a deadly glare.

"We can watch over you… in exchange for a few services. A pretty mouth like yours must know how to do a lot of things."

I instantly understand the innuendo.

I’m about to pull the knife hidden in my bra and stab him in the chest, but I manage to restrain myself.

Anis gives a wide grin while I stare daggers at Franck’s hand.

If we were outside, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes for daring to talk to me like that.

I warn him:

"Move your hand off my thigh before I break it."

"You’re really cute when you get mad," Anis pipes in.

"She bites," Franck adds with a smirk.

I roughly push Franck’s hand away and stand up.

"You and I are going to establish a safety distance. Your dumbass remarks? Shove them where your balls are supposed to be. I’m far from 'cute,' Anis. Don’t forget”you don’t know me. I can do a lot more damage than you think."

I head for the exit, and I hear them laughing.

They don’t take me seriously.

"Don’t come crying when the inmates rape you and there’s no one to help!" Franck yells.

"We offered our help, and you refused, so deal with it!" Anis adds.

I act like I didn’t hear and leave the cafeteria.

I’ve already made enemies of two out of three colleagues in just a few hours.

I need to be careful”I’m on my own.

If something goes wrong, those two morons won’t lift a finger to help.

I need to find my target.

My father really threw me into a pile of shit.