The Prey in The Dark

The heavy door of the Lincoln Navigator resisted, a slab of cold steel against Caprice Booth's thin frame. A gust of Manhattan winter wind shoved it back at her, the air so cold it felt like swallowing glass. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the handle.

"Get in, Caprice."

Kendell Steele's voice cut through the wind from the back seat, devoid of warmth, sharp with impatience.

She climbed in without a word, the way she had learned to do ever since her mother Eleanor married Kendell’s father, Harrison Steele. Overnight, she had become a guest in their sprawling Upper East Side mansion—a charity case tolerated for the sake of family appearances. Tonight was no different: Kendell needed someone to drag along, and she was the closest available body.

She finally wrenched the door open and slid inside, the scent of expensive leather and Kendell's cologne filling her lungs. The door slammed shut, sealing her in the suffocating silence. The vehicle pulled away from the curb, gliding silently into the river of Upper East Side traffic. She smoothed down the skirt of her polyester dress, the cheap fabric a stark contrast to the plush interior. Her hands were freezing. She balled them into fists in her lap.

"Seriously?" Kendell's voice dripped with disdain. "That's what you chose to wear? It looks like something you'd find in a clearance bin in Queens."

Her stomach tightened. She didn't respond, turning her head to watch the city lights blur past the tinted window. The glittering towers were like beautiful, sharp-toothed monsters.

Her silence seemed to infuriate him more than any argument could have.

A loud smack echoed in the car as his hand hit the back of the passenger seat, inches from her head. She flinched.

"Listen to me," he hissed. "You are a guest in my father's house. Tonight, you will be quiet, you will be invisible, and you will not embarrass me. Do you understand?"

A cold wave washed over her, numbing the sting of his words. She gave a small, tight nod, her eyes still fixed on the window.

"I understand."

Her compliance was a wet blanket on his anger. He slumped back into his seat with a frustrated sigh.

The car lurched to a sudden stop in front of a nondescript black awning in SoHo. The momentum threw her forward, her shoulder knocking hard against the door. Before she could recover, a valet in a sharp red coat was pulling her door open.

A wall of sound—a deep, vibrating bass that shook the fillings in her teeth—hit her.

Kendell was already out of the car, striding toward the entrance without a backward glance. He didn't wait to see if she could manage the icy pavement in her three-inch heels. She scrambled to keep up, the wind whipping her hair across her face and stealing the breath from her lungs.

Just as she reached the velvet rope, a security guard with a neck as thick as her thigh put a hand out, stopping her. "Invitation?"

His eyes raked over her dress, his expression a mixture of boredom and contempt.

Kendell turned, his face a mask of irritation. "She's with me." The words were clipped, dismissive, as if he were claiming a piece of lost luggage.

The guard grunted and dropped the rope. His eyes, however, lingered on her for a moment longer, a silent judgment that made her skin crawl. The class difference was a physical barrier, as real as the velvet rope had been.

She followed Kendell through a dizzying hallway of flashing lights and into the club's chaotic heart. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and spilled liquor. He led her up a flight of stairs, away from the writhing mass on the dance floor, to a heavy, soundproofed door at the end of a private corridor.

He pushed it open.

The immediate assault was of rich cigar smoke and expensive whiskey. The VIP room was a den of shadows and low, expensive light. The conversations stopped. Dozens of pairs of eyes, belonging to the sons and daughters of New York's elite, turned to fix on her.

A young man with slicked-back hair and a cruel smile, holding a glass of amber liquid, sauntered over. "Kendell, my man. Who's the Cinderella you brought with you?"

Kendell's jaw tightened. "Just a freeloader from home. Don't mind her."

A ripple of laughter went through the room.

Caprice's fingernails dug into her palms, the sharp, grounding pain a welcome distraction. She forced her face to remain a blank mask.