Chapter 8 Truths and Tremors
Amara
“Your… your Liam,” I say breathlessly.
There’s no point hiding it — the fear, the shock, the recognition. My stomach twists into knots as my knees threaten to give out. I know exactly who this man is. Trapped. I’m trapped in a prison with Liam fucking Draeger… while Killian lurks in the shadows, slipping notes onto my bed. This isn’t bad luck. This is a nightmare.
He takes a single step closer, his eyes narrowing, sharp as blades. “So you haven’t been living under a rock. Your face tells me all, Kitten. You know exactly who I am. Now tell me — who are you?”
My hands tremble. Frozen. My mind spirals. What should I say? What can I say? I can’t tell him I belonged to Killian. That would sign my death warrant — either by Liam’s hand or Killian’s. I can’t tell him what happened that night, how everything shattered. I can’t tell him that my best friend risked everything to hide me, to keep me safe. Or that the man who once promised to love me now slides letters under my door like threats carved into paper.
I can’t tell him Killian is coming.
And I definitely can’t tell him how I know Liam Draeger — how I know his war with Killian, his rise, his bloodstained claim over this city. Lying outright would be stupid… but telling the full truth would be suicide.
He’s waiting. Watching. I can feel his eyes digging into me, peeling back my layers like he’s reading every secret straight from my bones. So I won’t lie. But I’ll choose my truth carefully.
“I’m Amara… Black.” My voice comes steadier than I expect. I force my hands still, my spine straight, my expression blank.
He tilts his head. “And who is Amara Black? How do you know my name well enough to tremble?”
“My father…” I swallow hard. “Is Andrew Harrison.”
The room goes still. Air tightens, heavy enough to choke on. His face falters — the shock flickers through before he can mask it. For once, he’s the one unguarded.
“You’re lying,” he says flatly. “Harrison had no children.”
“He did,” I whisper. “There’s a reason my last name isn’t Harrison.”
“The leader of the mafia — Harrison — was your father?”
“Yes. Up until his untimely death.”
He steps back, eyes dark, calculating. “And you’re here. No, you wouldn’t be here.”
“There are only three other people alive who know that,” I say quietly. “Well… and now you.”
His brows furrow. “And how do you know this?”
“My father came to see me once a year. Always in secret.”
“That doesn’t explain how you know me.”
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You’re kidding, right? After him and that other guy… died, you came in and took over the city.”
His eyes narrow. “Lots of people came and tried that, Ms. Black.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, meeting his gaze, “but only two actually did. And the city’s been divided ever since.”
He steps closer, closing the space between us. His fingers brush under my chin, lifting it until I’m forced to look up into those dark green eyes. My breath catches. The air between us hums — danger, curiosity, something else I can’t name.
“And who,” he asks softly, “was the other man that took over? What is his name?”
My heart pounds. If I say it — if I even whisper Killian’s name — I’m dead. Maybe not right now, but soon. He’ll know. He’ll dig. He’ll find out. And then?
“I… don’t recall,” I lie, my voice barely above a whisper. The words taste like salt and ash on my tongue.
He smirks, amused, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “That will be all, Ms. Black,” he says, voice smooth and sharp all at once. “You can return to your cell.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. My legs feel heavy as I turn to leave, every instinct screaming to run.
Inside, my thoughts race faster than my feet — two monsters, two kings, and me caught in the crossfire.
And one of them…
Is standing right behind me.
