Chapter 01 | The Devil of Siren City

Skylar

2 bedroom 1 bath apartment in Siren City.
Private live-in nurse needed for spare bedroom.
Generous salary. Ocean views.
1 YR contract required. Text for details.

Short and sweet, particularly the part about the generous salary. And the location.

No one wants to go to Siren City. All I’ve ever heard about the place is to never go there if you can avoid it, especially not alone. Those who do rarely come back. Some are seduced by the dark allure of a city by the sea. Others are simply… never heard from again.

Luckily, that’s exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for right now.

The buildings surrounding the apartment are tall and pristine, with afternoon sunlight glittering off the windows. It’s easy to see what’s so seductive about this place, especially in daylight. I squint beneath the rays, scanning busy Aurora Avenue one more time to be sure I’m in the right place. But this is it.

The apartment is more low-key than the ones surrounding it. It blends in, just as tall as the others, mostly. The bricks are old and pale, more of what one would expect so close to the harbor. The windows don’t glitter, however. They’re duller with more of a matte finish.

Quit stalling and go.

I enter the deserted lobby, jarred by the sudden silence as the door closes behind me. As I approach the elevator, I pass a wall of mailboxes along the way and my sneakers whisper along the stained carpet.

Retrieving my phone from my back pocket, I skim my instructions again.

3PM. Apt. 13A. Bring your resume.

I board the elevator, tap 13, and hold my breath. It’s a long ride up, the lift struggling somewhat along the way as it takes its time. Though one glance at my reflection shows that to be a fortuitous thing.

I set down my duffel bag, reaching in to find my hairbrush inside. The stench of bleach still lingers in my nostrils as I pull the bristles through my freshly trimmed locks. I let them fall where they may, briskly moving on to touch up my lips and eyes.

The elevator comes to a quivering stop; the doors opening in a short entryway with only one door.

13A.

With my resume now in hand, I secure my duffel over one shoulder and creep toward the door. The hall is dark, windowless. Not particularly inviting, but it’s not like I have anywhere else to go.

Point of no return.

What are you gonna do?

I knock.

Almost immediately, there’s movement on the other side, light but purposeful steps in my direction. There’s surely no turning back now, so I stand tall and wait.

A man opens the door. He’s young with rough edges; not quite thirty-five, but far from twenty. With sky-blue eyes and trimmed black hair. His shoulders are broad, but his waist is tight, creating a stunning V-shaped body that’s sadly obscured by a buttoned up white shirt and black slacks. Rolled-up sleeves and shiny shoes.

“Hello,” I say. “I’m—”

“Ms. Green?”

I nod. “Yes. But Skylar is fine.”

He eyes me for a moment before saying, “I’m Adrian Price.” Opening the door farther, he gestures me inside. “Come in.”

My curiosity piqued, I walk in and pause in the entryway; a mudroom with a coat rack along the wall and plenty of space for shoes beneath a bench, though there isn’t a pair in sight. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say. “I know you’re probably a busy man…”

He closes the door. “Your resume?” he asks.

I give it to him, cringing internally at the fresh crease down the center.

Adrian doesn’t seem to notice. Or he doesn’t care. He skims it quickly, his expression blank, his bright eyes hooded beneath long, dark lashes.

“No references, I know, but…” I swallow, my throat going dry. “I can contact some former co-workers if need, or I can provide a demonstration—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, flipping it over to read the back. “You’re a trauma nurse?”

“Yes,” I answer. “For almost two years. In Kansas City.”

“You’re far from home.”

“A little, yeah.”

He peeks at me again. “Impressive work history for someone so young.”

“I was homeschooled,” I explain. “Graduated from high school at sixteen, so… you’d be surprised what two extra years can do for a resume.”

No reaction.

“I’m a hard worker,” I say. “I put my patients first, and I rarely take vacation.”

“No family?”

“Not anymore,” I say. I lie, though it’s more true every day. “I know you probably have plenty of more qualified candidates in mind, Mr. Price, but I would really appreciate it if you gave me a chance.”

He looks me in the eye, and I nearly flinch. “The job is yours, Skylar,” he says, the decision seemingly already made. “You can start today. May I keep this?”

“Uh…” I nod at the paper. “Yes. Of course.”

Adrian walks away, leaving no clear directive for me to follow. I lurch forward anyway, keeping my distance as I trail him into the next room. It’s a common space with hardwood floors and a cream-white rug and a couch to match. The left wall features a fireplace built into the brick, small and modern. There’s a coffee table, and nothing else. Just a single coaster swiped from a coffee shop down the street. No photos. No art prints. Only plain brick walls and wide windows with a full view of the harbor beyond.

Well, the ad did say ocean views.

“Mr. Price?”

“Adrian, please,” he says as he wanders into a connected kitchenette off to the right side of the mudroom.

“Adrian, I have questions.”

“I’d be concerned if you didn’t,” he says from behind a long rectangular table. He sets my resume down next to an open folder. “Ask.”

“Well, your ad was… brief,” I say. “So, I’m curious about salary. And rent.”

“There is no rent.”

I blink. “I don’t have to pay rent?”

“As for salary, it’s thirty-thousand.”

“Oh.” I expected to negotiate, but I didn’t expect him to be this cheap. “I’m not sure how it is here in Siren City, but that’s considered very low for a private nursing position. In fact, thirty-thousand a year won’t get someone very far at all — no matter where you live.”

“Not a year. A month.”

“A month?!”

“That’s right.”

Well, shit. Sign me up.

“You’re gonna pay me thirty-thousand dollars a month?”

“Yes,” he says.

“That’s three-hundred and sixty thousand dollars for the year?”

“Eh, round it up to three seventy-five,” he says, his brow furrowed. “Sounds better.”

“Okay.” I chortle. “And I won’t be responsible for rent?”

He nods. “Correct.”

“Utilities?”

“Also covered.”

I stare at him. “Respectfully, Mr. Price…”

“Adrian.”

“Mr. Price, what’s the catch here?”

“There is no catch,” he says. “You’ll live here and you’ll perform your duties as required.”

“And what exactly are those duties?” I ask, this whole thing leaving a sour taste in my throat.

“Nothing you haven’t encountered before, I’m sure,” he says. “General first aid. Maybe a stitch here and there.”

“Sounds a little simple.”

“It is that simple.”

I glance around, searching for evidence of another person. “Well, before I agree to anything, I would like to meet the patient first.”

“I am the patient.”

“Oh.” I pause. “I’m sorry. I assumed you were hiring a nurse for a parent or a relative.”

“No,” he simply says.

I hesitate, struggling to find the words. “I’m… I don’t know how to ask this without sounding rude.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Nothing, currently,” he says. “But having a medic on standby is common practice in my line of work.”

“Are you a cop?” I ask.

“No.”

“A linebacker?”

“No.”

“A hitman?” I joke.

He doesn’t reply.

I inhale sharply. “Boy, that’s a… long pause.”

“It’s nothing that concerns you or the role you perform.”

“Right,” I say, nodding along. “And now I’m realizing why the pay is so good. To keep me from asking questions just like these.”

“Skylar—”

“None of this is legal, is it?”

“No,” he says, his eyes an even deeper blue. “Is that a problem?”

Sounds good to me.

A few days ago, I probably would have raced down the block, screaming for help. But things change.

I’m in Siren City now.

“No,” I answer.

“Good.” Adrian pushes the file toward me on the table and places a ballpoint pen on top. “Read it, then sign. You can begin moving your stuff in immediately.”

“That won’t take too long.” I pick up my duffel and set it right back down. “All done.”

“That’s all you have?”

“That’s all I own.”

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws a leather wallet. I watch with wide eyes as he sifts through a bundle of cash. A bundle of hundreds, specifically.

“Here,” he says, handing me…

I count it and scoff.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It’s an advance,” he says. “Go get yourself some clothes. You’ll need bedding, too. Stock the kitchen and bathroom with whatever you need.”

I stare at the money for far too long — the most money I’ve ever seen before in one place. The reality of my situation creeps into my gut and claws its way over my head.

“You just have three thousand dollars in your pocket?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“No. I have eight thousand dollars in my pocket.”

I can’t tell if it’s a joke. I wonder if this guy even jokes at all.

“Because ten would make it too bulgy,” I say with a chuckle, the tension in me far too tight. “I’m sorry. I… I make stupid jokes when I’m nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” I swallow. “Yes.”

For the first time, Adrian smiles. “Don’t be. Your signature on this lease means that I’m the last person in the world you need to be nervous about.”

“And why is that?” I ask.

He looks me in the eye again, hard and unblinking. “You take care of me, I’ll take care of you. It’s that simple. Are we clear?”

No. None of this is clear.

Still, I nod.

He picks up the pen and holds it out. I stare at it, willing my fingers to stop trembling before taking it.

The lease is short, as brief as he’s been so far. Three-hundred and sixty-five days. 24/7 on-call medical assistance. Do not involve the authorities under any circumstances. Doing so renders the contract void. What that entails… well, it’s even briefer on that point.

I touch the pen to the paper, then pause.

“I have another dumb question,” I say.

He arches a curious brow.

“You’re not…” I gesture at his torso. “You’re not one of those snake guys, are you?” I ask.

Adrian softens his gaze, amused, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt.

I hold my breath, definitely not expecting him to just show it to me.

He opens his shirt, exposing his upper chest. Firm and toned. Very toned. But no tattoo. A few scars. No. A lot of scars. One a thick line over his heart. But no ink.

I nod, my lips pressed together. “Good to know,” I say, turning back to the lease to hide my blush.

This is it. No more stalling.

I’ve reached the second point of no return in ten minutes. Nothing has changed since the last one, though.

I have nowhere else to go.

I sign the dotted line.