Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother - Chapter 159

Chapter 159: Chapter 159
Seraphina’s POV

The water in my tiny shower ran lukewarm at best, but I stood under it anyway, letting it wash away the smell of that alley. The fear. The violence. The blood that wasn’t mine.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I scrubbed at my skin with the cheap soap I’d bought at the dollar store. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. Felt his hands on me.

I turned off the water and wrapped myself in the threadbare towel that had come with the furnished apartment. In the mirror above the sink, my reflection looked like a stranger. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Hair dripping wet and hanging in tangled strands around my face.

I looked like exactly what I was: a woman who’d nearly been assaulted in an alley and was now standing alone in a dump of an apartment, trying to pretend everything was fine.

The adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving behind exhaustion so complete I could barely stand. My legs felt like jelly as I made my way to the bedroom, pulling on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had seen better days.

I collapsed onto the mattress, and that’s when I felt it. The sharp edge of something in my pocket.

The business card.

I pulled it out, staring at the simple black text. *Rico Santos. Talent Acquisition.*

Underground fighting. Good money. Very good money.

The rational part of my brain immediately rejected the idea. I wasn’t a fighter. What happened in the alley had been desperation and basic training from years ago, not skill. I’d gotten lucky. That man had been drunk and sloppy and underestimated me.

But would I be that lucky next time?

Because there would be a next time. Women like me—alone, vulnerable, obviously struggling—we were targets. Tonight had proven that.

I sat on the edge of the bed, turning the card over in my hands. The back was blank except for a phone number.

*Female fighters are especially popular.*

The words made my skin crawl, but they also made something else stir in my chest.

I walked to the kitchenette and opened the cabinet where I kept my meager food supplies. Half a loaf of bread. Three packets of instant noodles. A nearly empty jar of peanut butter. And that was it. That was everything.

The grocery bag from tonight was still sitting by the front door where I’d dropped it. The bread was completely squished, the peanut butter jar cracked. Even if the food had survived, it would have lasted maybe three days.

I pulled out my phone and checked my bank account. $247.83. After rent was due next week, I’d have less than fifty dollars to my name.

The Morrison’s money had seemed like so much when I’d first found it. A cushion. A safety net. But it was almost gone, burned through in just two weeks of city living. And I still didn’t have a job.

I looked down at Rico’s card again.

*You could make more in one night than most people make in a month.*

No. Absolutely not. I wasn’t that desperate. I wasn’t that stupid.

The apartment felt impossibly small suddenly, the walls pressing in around me like a trap. The radiator clanged to life, that familiar metallic hammering that had kept me awake every night since I’d moved in.

The tears came suddenly, hot and angry and completely unstoppable. I pressed my hands over my mouth to muffle the sobs, not wanting my neighbors to hear me falling apart.

*No,* I told myself firmly. *This is insane. You don’t know anything about this Rico guy. He could be a pimp. A trafficker. Someone who preys on desperate women.*

But the alternative was what? Keep failing at interviews? Keep counting pennies until I ran out of money completely? End up homeless on the streets of a city where I knew no one?

At least if I called Rico, I’d have options. Even if they were terrible options.

I turned the card over again, memorizing the phone number. Just in case.

*You’re not going to call him,* I told myself. *You’re going to find a legitimate job. You’re going to figure this out like a normal person.*

But as I slid the card under my pillow, I wasn’t entirely convinced.