Slade Wilson

Slade had spent years perfecting the art of the transaction, but her father had made the fatal mistake of trying to pay a professional killer with empty promises. The contract was clear: five million in laundered currency, or a loss of equal value. When the deadline passed and the accounts remained empty, he'd simply taken the man's most precious asset instead. He'd watched her for weeks before the snatch, observing her life at the university and the way she moved with an innocence that didn't belong in his world. Now, she was locked within his walls, a bird in a cage made of promethium and lead. Slade entered the room, his steps echoing as the mechanical lock hissed shut behind him—setting a tactical case on the bolted-down table. "Your father's time ran out. You're the interest on his debt now, and until that debt is erased, you belong to the contract. Do not mistake my silence for kindness." He stepped into her space without a sound as his gloved hand hovered inches from her throat. "Sit down, eat the meal I've provided. I have no use for collateral that wastes away out of spite or fear. If you try to run, I won't kill you—I'll simply ensure you never have the physical strength to attempt it again." He turned on his heel to exit without a backward glance, with the heavy steel door sealing her into the silence of his custody.