Chapter 5

Mika didn’t believe in many things, but she believed in Leather and Lace.

The bookstore was a sanctuary, a place that felt more like home than any apartment she had ever lived in. Nestled between a high-end shoe boutique and a bar that smelled of stale beer, the small shop was unassuming to most. But to Mika, it was everything.

The faded gold lettering on the window, the scent of old paper and vanilla candles that hit her the moment she stepped inside—it was her favorite place in the world.

She had found it years ago, wandering the streets of Brooklyn on one of her rare free afternoons. At first, she had thought it was just another used bookstore, but then she stepped inside and saw the shelves—floor-to-ceiling stacks of dark romance, gothic thrillers, and books dripping in danger and desire.

She had fallen in love instantly.

It was the only place where she felt like she belonged.

Where no one looked at her like she was strange for wanting villains instead of heroes, where the women who owned the shop never questioned why she gravitated toward the books with bloodstained covers and twisted love stories.

Because Mika had always been different.

She had learned early that the world didn’t operate on fairy tales. That love wasn’t always kind. That people who were supposed to care for you could just as easily hurt you.

She had grown up in places where beds creaked under too many bodies crammed into one room, where whispers carried through thin walls, where some children disappeared in the night and never came back.

Foster homes were supposed to be safe. They weren’t. Not always.

Mika had learned to be quiet, to blend in, to keep her head down and stay small. But inside the pages of her books? She was anything but small.

She read stories about women who were wanted, worshiped, feared. Women who were never forgotten.

And maybe, in some small, secret part of herself, she had always wanted to be one of them.

She had spent hours in this bookstore over the years, curled into the deep, worn leather chairs in the back, getting lost in worlds where men were dangerous but devoted, where obsession was just another word for love, where darkness wasn’t something to run from—it was something to be consumed by.

And today, she needed that escape more than ever.

It was her first day off in weeks, and she had promised herself that she wouldn’t think about work, wouldn’t think about what she had seen on the subway, wouldn’t let her mind drift into dangerous places.

She just needed this.

The bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside, warmth wrapping around her like a familiar embrace.

"Ah, my favorite little dark heart," came a voice from behind the counter.

Mika smiled before she even turned, already recognizing the voice of Lucille, one of the owners. She was a woman in her mid-fifties with jet-black hair and a wardrobe that consisted exclusively of flowing black dresses and combat boots. She had the energy of a rockstar turned witch and the attitude to match.

"Lucille," Mika greeted, walking up to the counter. "Tell me you have something new for me. Something dark. Something… unhinged."

Lucille grinned, tapping her black-painted nails against the wooden surface. "Oh, I have just the thing."

She turned, pulling a book from beneath the counter and sliding it toward Mika. The cover was black and red, embossed with elegant lettering. Violent Ends.

Mika picked it up, running her fingers over the smooth surface, already feeling that familiar spark of excitement. "Tell me everything."

Lucille leaned in conspiratorially. "Assassin. Femme fatale. Morally gray chaos. A love story built on blood and destruction. You’re going to love it."

Mika exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Yes. This was exactly what she needed.

She tucked the book under her arm, already planning her evening—curled up in her favorite corner of the shop, lost in another world.

Because here, in Leather and Lace, nothing could touch her.

Here, she was safe.

And for a little while, she could forget about everything else.

Mika tucked herself into the oversized leather chair in the back of Leather and Lace, the scent of aged books and vanilla clinging to the air like a whispered promise. The low hum of the jazz record spinning on the old turntable blended with the occasional murmur of other customers, but here, in this corner, Mika was alone.

Just her and the book in her hands.

She ran her fingers over the cover, the raised texture of the embossed title beneath her touch. Violent Ends. It was a fitting name. The kind of title that promised everything she craved in a story—love that was messy, sharp-edged, and all-consuming.

The kind of love she’d never experienced. The kind that probably didn’t exist outside these pages.

Mika wasn’t naive. She knew the world wasn’t built for grand gestures and soul-deep devotion. She had learned that early.

Real love? The kind people talked about in soft tones and fleeting glances? That belonged to someone else. Someone who hadn’t grown up knowing that love could also be cruel.

She cracked the spine, the pages smooth beneath her fingertips as she leaned back, letting herself sink into the world within.

He was a man made of steel and shadows. A weapon disguised in tailored suits and cruel smiles. He killed without hesitation, without remorse—except for her. Always her.

Mika exhaled slowly, already feeling the familiar pull.

The dark ones were always her favorite.

The ones who were brutal, broken, and unwilling to be tamed. The ones who would burn the world down for the person they claimed as their own.

She had spent her whole life fascinated by them—these fictional men who were dangerous and violent, yet so devastatingly loyal to the women they chose.

And maybe it was because she had never been chosen. Not really.

Mika had spent most of her childhood watching people come and go, shuffled between foster homes like an unwanted burden. Caseworkers with tired eyes and tight smiles would tell her, Maybe next time. Maybe the next home will be better.

But it never was.