Chapter 2
I should’ve been in bed an hour ago, but instead, I am standing outside a club I had no business being in, surrounded by people I didn’t understand, wearing shoes I hated, and mentally cursing myself for forgetting my damn keys.
I wrap my arms tighter around my middle as I step into the heat and haze of Nightshade, the name alone felt like a warning, but I didn’t have options. Rosemary had texted hours ago that she’d be here tonight, and she had the only spare, and I was not sleeping on my doorstep again.
The second the doors shut behind me, the music hit like a wave, bass-heavy, all-consuming.
The kind of beat that moved through bone, not ears.
I froze just inside the entrance, people were everywhere.
Tight dresses, sharp heels, open shirts, bare skin.
They moved like they owned the world, like every touch and glance was laced with sex or violence.
Maybe both. It smelled like perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and under that, something else, something sharp I couldn’t name.
What the hell am I doing here? I take a slow breath, then another, willing myself to take a step further inside. I wasn’t here to party; I wasn’t here to be seen. I just needed to find my sister, get the damn keys, and go home.
And God, I wanted to go home. The bar I worked at was a dump, the kind of place with cracked vinyl stools, sticky floors, and regulars who reeked of beer and broken dreams. I served drinks for tips that barely covered rent.
The owners didn’t give a shit as long as we kept the glasses full and our mouths shut.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was money. And right now, I needed every cent.
I’d just finished a ten-hour shift, my shirt still faintly damp from spilled beer and too many men leaning too far over the bar to “talk,” my back ached, my feet throbbed, and all I wanted was a hot shower and to disappear under my blanket for the next twelve hours.
Instead, I was in a nightclub where the women looked like they belonged in music videos and the men looked like they belonged in prison or high fashion, maybe both. I don’t fit in here !
Everyone seemed to know exactly where to stand, how to move, who to touch. I kept my head down, edging toward the bar, clutching my phone in case I needed to text Rosemary again, though I already knew she wouldn’t answer. She never did when she was out partying and drinking.
She was the social one, the wild one. She belonged in places like this. Me? I didn’t know how to be around crowds. I wasn’t a social butterfly; I never had been, too many eyes on me made my skin crawl. I hated being looked at, and in a place like this, eyes were everywhere.
I chewed my bottom lip and scanned the crowd again. No sign of her. I stepped up to the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention without getting elbowed by the wall of bodies leaning in around me.
Come on, just ask. Get the keys and go home. I tapped the bar gently.
“Excuse me…”
I had just asked the bartender if anyone had left a set of keys with him when a hand gripped my elbow.
“What…?” I gasp, twisting in surprise .
“Boss wants a word,” the man said, unreadable behind his dark eyes and sharp jaw.
“What boss?” I ask, wondering what the hell Rosemary had gotten herself into now.
He didn’t answer, instead another man, taller, darker stepped in behind me, and suddenly I wasn’t standing at the bar anymore.
I was moving, fast, their grips firm but not brutal, guiding me like a package being delivered.
Before I can scream, they are pulling me through the crowd like a shadow, moving so fast no one noticed.
I am led up a private staircase, my pulse pounding, confusion turning to fear.
My heart kicks hard in my chest. I stumble over my own feet as we push past the crowd. No one looked, no one cared, it was like I’d vanished into the walls. Panic twisted low in my stomach. What the hell is happening?
Were they security? Were they mistaking me for someone else? Was I being dragged out for… what? Asking the wrong question? Looking too awkward? Then another, sharper thought hit me.
Rosemary .
My sister could be a reckless idiot when she drank, especially in places like this. She liked the thrill of danger, the attention of men she didn’t know, and the kind of nights that left her phone dead and her friends confused. It wouldn’t be the first time I had to pull her out of a mess she made.
Shit. Did she piss someone off? Did she hook up with the wrong guy? Did she run out on a tab or mouth off to someone she shouldn’t have? Maybe these men thought I was with her. Or worse, maybe she used my name. Again.
“Look,” I call, trying to stay calm, “I think you have the wrong…”
“Quiet,” one of them says, not harsh, but final which has me shutting up fast.
We reach a sleek, black staircase roped off from the main floor.
The guard at the bottom stepped aside without question.
That scared me more than anything as this proved that the men didn’t make a mistake and I was the one they wanted all along, that this was planned.
Coordinated. Whatever this was… it wasn’t random.
Each step we climbed made the air feel heavier. My palms were sweating, my knees felt weak. And then we reached the top, the music didn’t seem as loud here, the lights are dimmed to a soft amber. Everything was sleeker, darker, more expensive. There were fewer people and more silence.
The upper level looked like a different world entirely, it was quieter, felt colder and more dangerous up here. Not a nightclub anymore, but a throne room dressed in velvet and steel.
There were no crowds here, there are just shadows and glass.
A private bar gleamed along one side, all obsidian and chrome.
The furniture was sleek, oversized and masculine.
This area comprises of black velvet chairs, a low table made of some kind of polished stone, and walls that seemed to absorb sound.
Everything reeked of money, but also power and authority.
The kind that didn’t need to flaunt itself to be feared.
And there, near the railing, stood a man.
He was leaning against it like he belonged there, like he owned everything the light touched and even the dark corners beyond it.
He was tall, broad across the shoulders, with hair like sun-bleached gold pulled back into a low tie.
His suit was perfectly tailored but slightly undone, the shirt was open, top two buttons left loose. Effortless and lethal .
He looked younger than I expected. But the way he held himself, cocky and completely unconcerned, told me he was anything but.
His eyes met mine for a second. I don’t know what I expected, maybe some flirtation, or even confusion.
But instead, he looked right through me.
Not cruelly, not even with interest. Just…
like he was already five steps ahead of me in some game I didn’t know I was playing.
Something about him made me tense instantly. Then I blinked, and my gaze shifted just past him. And that’s when I saw him, my heart jumps in my chest.
He is standing at the far end of the loft, half in shadow, but still the centre of the room like the entire place had been built around him. He is tall, his back is broad, and he is all dressed in black.
When he turns, I catch my breath, his shirt clings to his chest like it had been sewn there, every inch of muscle defined, sharp and controlled.
But it was his face that made my legs nearly give out.
Not because he was beautiful, because he was, in a terrifying, unreal sort of way, but because of the way he looked at me.
Like I was something he had been hunting for a very long time. His eyes were dark, impossibly dark, and yet they burned. Not with anger, not even with curiosity, but something more intense, something more…then I realize it’s with possession.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every part of me is screaming for me to run. Every part of me is also screaming for me not to dare. My heart slams against my ribs like it wanted out.
Who is he? And why do I feel like I’ve already made a mistake just by coming here, a mistake that I can’t undo?
I forget how to breathe when my eyes take in his whole appearance.
He stood by the balcony, in shadow, his body cut like sin in human form.
His black shirt opened at the collar, showing the sharp angles of his throat and the edge of ink curling up toward his jaw.
His eyes, God, his eyes burned like they already knew me naked.
“Leave us,” he orders, his voice has a deep timbre that vibrates up my spine. He doesn’t take his eyes off me which tells me that he is used to giving orders and being obeyed. The guards vanished, which has me backing up a step, my heart is hammering. “W-Why am I here? ”
He walks toward me, slow in a stalking animalistic manner.
The air around him turns electric. “You smell like you were made for me,” he says, voice like crushed velvet and smoke.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I think of the hours on my feet at work, of the sweat and beer-stained t-shirt I’m wearing.
Is he mocking me? But then I shake my head, there is no way he could have smelled me from where he is standing.
I want to raise the t-shirt to my nose and take a whiff, but I stay still.
“I don’t let what’s mine walk into a place like this and leave untouched.”
I freeze, maybe in shock at his words. “Who…are you, and what are you talking about?” Maybe he’s on something, because in a place like this you would expect a lot of drugs.
He doesn’t answer, he just approaches, one hand curling around my waist, pulling me flush against his rock-hard chest, the impact has me gasping in surprise.
“Roman,” he whispers against my ear. “Say it.”
“I…” I choke.