Chapter 2 Are You the Hunter or the Prey?

# Chapter 2: Are You the Hunter or the Prey?

I stared at the phone in disbelief, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through file after file. My entire life was laid out in clinical detail—childhood photos, medical records, even notes about my coffee preferences. But it was the section about my brother that made my stomach clench.

"Marcus Reyes, 29. Gambling addict. Current debt: $457,000 to Vincent Moretti."

There was even a surveillance photo of Marcus being dragged into a car three weeks ago—the night he disappeared. The night that started all this.

I dropped the phone like it had burned me and looked at Damien's unconscious form. Who was this man? How had he known I was coming for him? And more importantly, why had he let it happen?

Pushing aside my questions, I focused on what needed to be done. I retrieved Damien's phone and opened the camera app. I needed proof of life for the ransom demand.

"Your precious heir is with me," I spoke clearly into the camera, keeping Damien's slumped figure in the frame. "Five million dollars in unmarked bills. I'll contact you with the exchange location. You have 48 hours."

I was about to continue when a voice behind me said, "You know, your voice is very special."

I whirled around, nearly dropping the phone. Damien's eyes were open, alert and focused directly on me. There was no grogginess, no confusion—just that piercing blue gaze that seemed to see right through me.

"That's not possible," I whispered. The sedative should have kept him under for at least four hours. It had been barely thirty minutes.

"Many things are possible, Juno," he replied, his voice steady despite the restraints binding him to the chair. "Like developing an immunity to common sedatives when you're a potential kidnapping target."

My mind raced. The first dose hadn't worked at all. The second had only affected him momentarily. I was completely unprepared for this scenario.

"Keep recording," he said, nodding toward the phone in my hand. "You'll need that video."

I stepped back, trying to regain control of the situation. "Shut up. I'm the one giving orders here."

A slight smile curved his lips. "Are you?"

I pressed on with the recording, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "No police. No tricks. Five million or he dies."

When I finished, I set the phone down and faced him directly, knife in hand. I needed him to understand I wasn't playing games.

"Your father will pay," I said, the knife pointed at him. "He'll pay, I'll get my brother back, and this will all be over."

"Your brother," Damien said thoughtfully. "Marcus, right? Who does he owe his life to? Moretti? The Castillo family? Or is it someone new?"

The casual way he mentioned the crime families sent a chill down my spine. "How do you know about them?"

"I know most things worth knowing in this city," he replied. "Including which families use relatives as leverage for their dirty work. It's an old trick, but effective."

I gripped the knife tighter. "You don't know anything about me or my situation."

"I know you're not a criminal, Juno. Not really. Your hands shake when you hold that knife. You measured the sedative dose carefully—enough to incapacitate, not to harm. You even apologized when you thought I was unconscious."

His observations stripped me bare, and it infuriated me. "Stop talking like you know me!"

"But I do know you," he said quietly. "Better than you might think. For instance, I know you volunteer at the animal shelter on Sundays. I know you send money to your mother in Arizona every month, even though she abandoned you when you were twelve. I know you drink your coffee black but secretly prefer it with cream and sugar."

Each detail felt like a physical blow. "Why?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Why would you investigate me? I was nobody to you before this."

"Were you?" He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "Are you certain about that?"

His cryptic response pushed me over the edge. I slammed my hands on the table in front of him. "Stop playing games! You're the hostage here!"

"Am I?" he asked calmly.

Something in his tone made me pause. There was no fear in his eyes, no concern about being tied to a chair at knifepoint. If anything, he seemed... amused.

"Your brother owes money to Vincent Moretti," Damien continued when I didn't respond. "Moretti works for me, technically speaking. Though he's been operating his own side ventures lately—ventures I don't approve of."

The revelation hit me like a bucket of cold water. "You're lying. Moretti is a crime boss."

"Moretti is a mid-level enforcer who got ambitious," Damien corrected. "He uses my legitimate businesses to launder his dirty money. Or he did, until I cut him off last month."

My world tilted on its axis. If what Damien said was true, then I'd been manipulated from the start—a pawn in some power struggle between him and Moretti.

"Why would he send me to kidnap you if you're his boss?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Because I'm not just his boss," Damien replied. "I'm the man who's about to destroy him. And you, Juno, were supposed to be his insurance policy."

The pieces started falling into place. Moretti hadn't expected me to succeed—he'd expected me to get caught. My capture would give him leverage against Damien, or at the very least, a distraction.

"And my brother?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Is probably being kept alive until Moretti confirms I've been taken. After that..." He let the implication hang in the air.

I felt sick. I'd walked right into a trap, and dragged my brother deeper into danger in the process.

"I need to call Moretti," I said, reaching for my phone. "I need to tell him I have you."

"And then what?" Damien asked. "You think he'll just release your brother and hand over five million dollars?"

"I have to try something!"

"No," he said firmly. "What you need to do is untie me, and let me help you."

I laughed bitterly. "Help me? Why would you help me when I just tried to kidnap you?"

"Because unlike Moretti, I understand the difference between a criminal and someone being forced into a corner." His eyes held mine. "And because I might be the only person in this city with enough power to save your brother."

I wanted to believe him, but trust wasn't a luxury I could afford. "How do I know this isn't a trick to escape?"

"If I wanted to escape, I would have done so before you woke up this morning," he said simply.

The implication was clear—he could have freed himself at any time. I'd never truly had him captured.

"Fine," I said after a long pause. "But one wrong move, and I swear I'll—"

"You'll what?" he interrupted, his voice suddenly cold. "Kill me? We both know you're not capable of that. Now untie me so we can discuss your brother's situation properly."

Reluctantly, I moved behind him and began working on the knots binding his wrists. As the rope fell away, he brought his hands forward, rubbing his wrists.

"Thank you," he said, his tone softening slightly.

I stepped back, knife still in hand. "Now talk. How are we going to save my brother?"

Damien stood, towering over me, and I fought the urge to retreat further. "First things first. Tell me everything Moretti said to you. Every detail matters."

For the next hour, I recounted my interactions with Moretti—the threatening phone call about Marcus, the meeting in the abandoned warehouse, the instructions for the kidnapping. Damien listened intently, asking occasional questions but mostly letting me talk.

"We need to rest," he said when I finished. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

"Rest?" I echoed incredulously. "My brother could be dying, and you want to sleep?"

"Your brother won't be harmed until Moretti confirms my status. We have time, and we need to use it wisely." He glanced at the boarded-up window. "It's already past midnight. A few hours of sleep will help us think clearly."

I knew he was right, but the thought of sleeping with him in the same house made me uneasy. "There's only one mattress," I pointed out.

"I'll take the floor," he offered, surprising me with his consideration.

That night, I bound his hands again before he lay on the floor near the bedroom door. I took the mattress, positioning myself so the only exit from the room was past me. I clutched the knife under my pillow, determined to stay awake and watchful.

"Juno," Damien said softly in the darkness. "What did your brother do to end up owing so much money?"

The unexpected question caught me off guard. "He gambled. Started small, got bigger. Then he borrowed to cover his losses, and... you know how that story ends."

"And you feel responsible for him?"

"He raised me after our mother left," I replied, not sure why I was sharing this. "He worked three jobs to keep us off the streets. I owe him everything."

Silence stretched between us before Damien spoke again. "Sometimes the people we love most are the ones who hurt us deepest."

Something in his tone made me wonder who had hurt him, but I pushed the thought aside. He wasn't someone I should sympathize with.

"Get some sleep," I said curtly. "Like you said, tomorrow will be a long day."

Despite my intention to stay alert, exhaustion eventually won. My last conscious thought was that I needed to be smarter, more careful around Damien. I couldn't afford to underestimate him again.

When I awoke, sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the boarded windows. I bolted upright, immediately reaching for the knife under my pillow. It was gone.

So was Damien.

Panic surged through me as I scrambled off the mattress—only to find myself yanked back. A metal handcuff encircled my wrist, chaining me to the bed frame.

"Good morning," Damien's voice came from the doorway. He stood there, completely at ease, my knife in one hand and a cup of what smelled like coffee in the other. "I thought we might benefit from a change in our power dynamic."