Bound by Darkness

Chapter 8

The club was electric—bodies swaying in a rhythm driven by the pounding bass, neon lights flashing in dizzying patterns. The energy was palpable, with teenagers from Chicago's high society mingling with darker elements, the divide blurred by alcohol and the allure of the night.

Aslan sat in the VIP section, cloaked in shadows. He wasn't there for fun—he never was. His ties to Massino's gang required him to frequent these places, though he preferred to stay out of sight. But tonight, something was off. He couldn't place it, the unsettling tension gnawing at him.

And then, he saw her.

Sahar entered the club with her friend Milane, her presence igniting something in Aslan that he hadn't felt before. She didn't belong here, not in this world of debauchery and danger. Her white, shimmery shirt clung to her body, highlighting her curves under the flashing lights, and her tight black jeans hugged her not-so-long, not-so-short legs perfectly. Her dark brown hair, tied into a sleek ponytail, framed her face in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful, but also exposed. Too exposed.

Aslan's jaw tightened. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, but anger flickered beneath the surface. She shouldn't be dressed like that, not here. The thought of others noticing her, admiring her in the same way he did, made his blood boil. She was vulnerable, too visible in a place full of danger.

Milane led Sahar toward the bar, and Aslan's gaze darkened as he noticed two men lingering nearby. One of them, Ben, was particularly focused on Sahar. He moved with a cocky swagger, his eyes lingering on her form, and Aslan instantly disliked him. Ben was trouble—a smooth-talking player with ties to Massino's world. He wasn't someone Sahar should be interacting with, especially not tonight.

Ben approached her with a grin, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Well, aren't you something," he said, leaning closer than necessary. "A girl like you in a place like this? You're stealing the show."

Sahar chuckled, brushing off his comment, though there was a hint of discomfort in her smile. "I'm not here to steal anything, just hanging out with my friend."

Ben's grin widened, clearly not deterred. "You might not know it, but you've got everyone's attention. Especially mine."

She rolled her eyes but smirked slightly, playing along. "Is that your best line? You'll have to do better than that."

"Oh, I can do better," Ben said, stepping closer, his hand brushing her arm. "Maybe I'll show you on the dance floor."

Aslan's fist clenched at the sight. He watched the flirtation from the shadows, his fury building. He didn't understand why seeing Sahar talk to someone like Ben made him feel this way, but the anger was there, raw and dangerous. She didn't know who she was dealing with.

His fingers moved quickly across his phone, sending a message he hoped would warn her without revealing himself.

"Be careful."

Sahar's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, frowning at the cryptic message. She looked around, her eyes scanning the crowd, but in the haze of flashing lights and moving bodies, she couldn't see anyone suspicious.

Before she could think much more about it, Ben was pulling her gently toward the dance floor. "Come on, one dance won't hurt," he coaxed, flashing that same cocky smile.

Sahar hesitated, her instincts telling her to walk away, but she relented. Maybe she was overthinking it. What harm could one dance do?

They moved together to the beat, Ben's hands settling on her waist, too familiar, too possessive. She felt a pang of regret but kept up the smile, trying to stay in control of the situation. All the while, Aslan watched, his eyes burning with rage.

From his dark corner, he couldn't take it any longer. The sight of Ben's hands on Sahar—touching her, laughing with her—made something snap inside him. His anger, already smoldering, flared into a white-hot fury. Ben was a threat, and Aslan couldn't allow him to toy with her any longer.

The lights flickered suddenly, casting the club into momentary darkness, and in that brief blackout, Aslan moved. Silent, swift, and efficient, he disappeared into the crowd. No one saw him. No one even noticed his presence. But when the lights came back on, Ben was gone.

Sahar stood alone on the dance floor, her breath catching in her throat. One moment Ben had been there, pulling her closer, and in the next, he had vanished as if he'd never existed. She looked around, confusion and fear bubbling up inside her. Something was wrong.

She glanced at her phone again, the cryptic message flashing in her mind. Who had sent it? And what had just happened?

Her heart raced, the once-thrilling atmosphere of the club now feeling dangerous and suffocating. Without thinking, she bolted from the dance floor, pushing through the crowd until she stumbled outside into the cool night air.

Breathing heavily, she leaned against a wall, trying to calm the panic rising in her chest. This was why she hated places like this—why she never wanted to be a part of this world. She wasn't made for this chaos, for this unpredictable wildness.

Her phone buzzed again. Milane.

In her rush to escape, she'd forgotten about her friend.

Quickly dialing Milane's number, she waited anxiously for her to pick up.

"Hey, Sahar! Where'd you go?" Milane's voice was carefree, completely unaware of Sahar's growing terror.

"I—I'm going home," Sahar said, her voice shaky. "I didn't feel well, so I left. Sorry for leaving without telling you."

Milane laughed lightly. "No worries! I'll finish up here. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just... need to get home."

"Alright, girl. Let me know when you get there!"

"Will do. Be safe."

Sahar hung up, her nerves still frayed. She started walking, eager to put as much distance as possible between herself and the club. But something felt wrong. Every step she took was accompanied by the unsettling feeling that someone was watching her.

Her pace quickened, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. She turned around more than once, but the streets behind her were empty. Still, the sensation persisted—the feeling that eyes were on her, following her every move.

Aslan was there, hidden in the shadows, his dark figure blending seamlessly into the night. He had been following her the moment she left the club, staying out of sight but never letting her out of his. The protectiveness he felt toward her had grown into something more. He couldn't let her walk these dangerous streets alone, not tonight. Not after what had just happened.

He watched as she glanced nervously over her shoulder, her fear palpable. She quickened her pace, but she was still oblivious to him. To her, the streets were empty, but Aslan stayed close, tracking her every step, ensuring she was safe.

By the time she reached her apartment, Sahar was on the edge of panic. She looked behind her one last time, convinced someone was there, but again, she saw no one. With a shaky breath, she unlocked her door and disappeared inside, finally safe.

Aslan lingered in the shadows, watching until the door closed behind her. Only then did he allow himself to relax, though his mind was still racing with emotions he didn't fully understand. The rage from earlier still simmered within him, but there was also relief. Sahar was safe.

For now.