Alea shifted in her cell, the hardness of the bench barely softened by the wipe-down blue mat. It was bloody freezing in here. She rubbed the tops of her bare arms and glanced around the tiny space once again. Nothing new. Porcelain tiles that reflected the bright light filtering through the window high in the wall behind her, immaculately mopped grey laminate floor. The bars on the window left strange shadows on the floor. Shadows she'd seen half a hundred times.

"Hey!" She yelled at the door opposite her. It was heavy, with no handle on the inside and a small slot that could be opened by the officers on duty. There was no answer. The cell vibrated with her call as the noise bounced off every surface and she winced. She had come down from her high now and suddenly the situation didn't seem as funny anymore.

God, that had been fucking torture. Sitting in an empty cell as she crashed: eyes refocusing, sight steadying, mood tumbling. Alone. Cold.

"Hey!" She tried again, "You ever heard of central heating?"

Footsteps outside, muffled through the thick door. A pause and then the slot covering slid back with a snap. A pair of eyes peered in, narrowed and dark.

"Shut your mouth, junkie."

Alea felt the familiar cocky attitude fall back into place. She shifted, leaning back on her hands and smiling widely.

"Junkie?" She scoffed, "Hardly."

The eyes narrowed further, threatening to leave. Alea snapped forwards, crossing her arms, "I'm cold."

The eyes widened incredulously, glittering with glee, "Naw. Is baby cold? Maybe Daddy can buy her an overpriced cashmere blanket with diamonds sewn into it. Oh wait – Daddy isn't here."

Alea snorted, "A diamond encrusted blanket would be hideously uncomfortable. What's your name officer?" She smiled sweetly, "I could get you a diamond blanket if you want?"

The eyes narrowed, "I'm adding 'Attempting to bribe an officer of the law' to your list of charges."

The eyes drew back, the slot slammed.

Alea smirked. Tetchy. It was an empty threat – her case would never go to court. All record of her arrest and charges would be wiped from every record. A sizable donation into the police's trust fund would anonymously appear and it would be like she had never been here at all.

Except she was here. And she was cold...and very bored.

She sighed, the sound jumping back and jarring her senses. She wondered if Thorn was in an adjourning cell and considered tapping on the wall to see if he knocked back but thought better of it. You wouldn't hear sound through these walls anyway. Getting high was so not worth this. She'd been here for fucking hours. Someone could have come and got her a thousand times over by now but no one had because her father was making her stew as punishment.

It wouldn't be her only punishment. When your father was a drug lord punishments tended to be pretty harsh. She'd earn some bruises tonight. It wasn't the bruises she minded so much but the people who gave them to her: namely not her father. It was always his lackeys as she liked to call them. His employees. She sniffed just thinking about it. They were beneath her! They should not be allowed to touch her body. It undermined her authority.

Thorn would get bruises too. Maybe even worse than her. Thorn was Murtagh's best friend and her father had somewhat of a soft spot for him (although he would never admit that out loud). He lived with them and sometimes did odd dealings for the cartel, nothing major. Murtagh had been the one to convince her father to let him stay and it had taken a while but once he had, there was no going back. Murtagh was the son of her father's second-in-command, Morzan – the two of them did not get along. That was putting it mildly. Morzan was a nasty piece of work – well, they all were in that place, but he was the very worst of them. Sadistic, cruel, violent...the list went on. Luckily Murtagh had turned out alright – or as 'alright' as any one of them could be.

Thinking about her 'family' made her grit her teeth. Sure it was nice having a lot of money, having immunity from the law. But God, she wanted a normal life.

What felt like hours later, footsteps in the corridor alerted her to freedom. The door clanged open and a female officer stood in the frame with a sour look on her face.

"You're free to go."

Alea smirked. She bet it killed the officer to have to let her off scot-free. She stood up, her knees stiff from sitting in the cold for so long. The light had dimmed in the time she had been there and she guessed it was early evening. She made sure to bang into the officer's shoulder on the way out.

"Don't worry yourself," She threw back over her shoulder, "I know the way."

She swaggered down the corridor and into the reception area. It was markedly warmer out here, the bastards. Thorn was waiting at the desk next to a tall, pale man with a shock of red hair.

Shit.

Of all the people sent to fetch them, Durza was the one she had least wanted to see. Even Morzan would have been better. Durza was cold, but something about him unnerved her. The way the colour of his lips bled into the skin around his mouth, the way his skin was tight and never moved when he spoke, the way his eyes glinted red in the sun, the way his teeth were sharp when he smiled his smug smiles and flashed when he spoke in his soft, slippery voice.

She held back a shudder and switched her gaze to Thorn. He grinned at her. The pair of them had skipped school this morning to go and smoke weed in a secluded area of the park but the cops had shown up and completely ruined their buzz. Nevertheless, it was cool knowing they'd been let off once again. She grinned back and followed Durza as he turned silently and led them out the doors and into the small carpark.

"How was your stay in the world's best hotel?" Thorn teased her, falling into step.

She glanced up and narrowed her eyes at him, "Fucking terrible."

He smirked, "You look at me like it was all my fault."

"It was all your fault. Your idea. You get the blame. It was fucking freezing in there."

He frowned, looking forward for a moment, "Yeah it was."

"Hey!" She dodged as his arm slipped around her waist, "I'm mad at you."

He grinned, "Oh what, you only into me when you're high?"

She avoided his gaze and split off from him, walking around the side of a black Range Rover and pulling the passenger door open. Durza got in the front. She slammed the door with more force than necessary but didn't bother with her seatbelt. Only then did she reply, staring dead ahead.

"Yep."

While they'd been in the park Thorn had leaned over and kissed her. They'd ended up making out for a while, roaming hands and tongues.

He chuckled, clearly not offended. She was glad it was getting dark though, because otherwise he would have seen the colour in her cheeks. What he didn't know was that she was kinda...into him. A lot. He was tall, not as tall as Murtagh but he had more muscles and he knew he looked good. Murtagh had the aristocratic, classic looks with the jaw line and the high cheekbones, while Thorn was rough, with wide shoulders and shining orange eyes. His eyes were weird, but they had always been that way and she liked them. It made him different. He was very funny and he messed around with her more that Murtagh, who was always serious and demanding. With not much to do at home, this morning had not been the first time she'd made out with him and it never meant anything when they did, but God had it turned her on. And he had no idea how much.

The engine started and the car reversed smoothly, bringing on a wave of nerves. She knew what awaited her when she got back.

She woke up in the dark, a black outline sitting over her. She felt the soft surface beneath her and the warmth of the blankets and knew it was over.

"Hey." Murtagh's voice.

"Hey." She croaked back. She could taste blood in her mouth and vaguely remembered biting her tongue as Barst had hit her. "How do I look?"

Murtagh's outline shifted, "There's a reason we're sitting in the dark."

Her body ached all over, especially her stomach. She frowned.

"My face."

"What?"

"He hit my face...He hardly ever lets them mark my face."

He likes to keep me pretty. The unspoken statement passed between them. Alea knew she looked good. Long blonde hair, sweetheart face, full lips and eyes framed by dark lashes even without mascara, she was never self-conscious. Especially not now puberty had paired her face with wide hips and full breasts to match her narrow waist and long legs. She was what all the boys wanted and she flaunted what she had. But there was a darker side. She was a bargaining chip, a reward. If his men ever did something particularly praise-worthy her father had her brought to their bedroom for the night. It was his way of encouraging them to stay loyal.

"He was pretty angry, Lay." Lay. Her nickname.

"He's always angry, Tag..." She sighed, "How's Thorn?"

"Dunno," He shifed on the bed and she felt the matress dip, "They dragged him in after you were taken out. He's still in there. He'll be fine. He's tough."

"Yeah." She glanced away, wincing a the pain in her jaw.

Murtagh sighed and stood, "Go to sleep, Lay. I'll see you in the morning."

She didn't bother to reply.