Adrik
The elevator doors slide shut behind me. I’ve arranged that no other suite on this level will be used tonight, and other than me, only a handful of trusted staff can get up here.
I left her with instructions to order room service and eat. I’ve arranged for my head housekeeper to buy enough clothes to last her until I know it’s safe for her to leave the hotel.
I drag my fingers over my lips where I can still taste her. I can still feel the scratch her nails down my back, the way her body clenched around me like she was made for me and didn’t know it until tonight.
And it does something to me. Something I wasn’t prepared for.
My darkness has always been a tool. Sharp. Controlled. Calculated. But now it coils beneath my skin like a living thing, restless and hungry. It doesn’t slink quietly into the corners like I used to be able to make it do. Instead, it expands. It presses against my ribs, prowling, alert, electric.
Because she saw me and let me inside her. Needed me inside her. Because the darkness in me proved something to her. Awoke something inside her.
And now the part of me designed to destroy is desperate in a way it hasn’t been in years.
I descend floor by floor, deeper into the guts of my hotel and casino. Each passing second feeds the fire sparking through my veins. My men stand straighter when I pass them in the hall. They can feel it too. The shift, the storm, the gravity of what I’ve become.
I’m not angry.
No. Anger is hot. Loud. Reckless.
This is colder. Sharper. Focused like the edge of a blade honed for one purpose.
Kane.
The doors open onto the lowest of the basement levels. The air here is cooler. Denser. Soundless except for the low hum of ventilation. My boots echo on the polished concrete as I walk the corridor lined with locked steel doors, each one thick enough to muffle a scream.
Door seven is open.
Damian waits outside, disinterest written over his face as he thumbs the screen of his phone. He’s my best man, practically family, since we were raised pretty much alongside each other. When he glances up briefly, something flickers in his gaze. Recognition.
Of what I am now. Of what happens when the wrong man touches the right woman.
"Boss," he says quietly. "He’s waiting."
Waiting. As if this is simply business.
It was business. Before Jasmine. Before I felt the tremor in her breath when she came apart beneath me. Before her kiss rearranged something fundamental inside me and marked her as mine in a way even I can’t rationalise.
Now this is personal.
My darkness stretches, licks its teeth.
I step inside the room, and the door closes behind me with a heavy click that echoes like a final judgment.
The space is stark, concrete walls painted gray, a single bulb hanging overhead casting sharp shadows across the floor.
Kane sits strapped to a metal chair in the center, his face already a mess of bruises and dried blood from the rough handling my men gave him during the pickup.
His eyes lift to mine, wild and desperate, but there's no recognition yet. He doesn’t know why he’s here, only that he crossed the wrong path tonight.
"Adrik Korolyov," he rasps, his voice cracking like brittle glass. Sweat beads on his forehead, mixing with the blood trickling from a small graze. "Whatever this is, we can talk it out. I work for the Iron Serpents. They’ll come looking."
I circle him slowly, my footsteps deliberate, each one pulling the air tighter around us. The darkness inside me hums now, a low vibration that steadies my pulse and sharpens my focus. I stop in front of him, hands loose at my sides, and tilt my head slightly.
"We both know that means nothing to me. But you, Kane, you crossed my path in the worst possible way."
His brows furrow, confusion twisting his swollen features. He shifts against the restraints, the chair creaking under his weight.
"What are you talking about? I don’t know you. I haven’t done anything to you."
I lean in closer, close enough to smell the fear seeping from his pores, sour and thick.
My voice drops low, calm, almost conversational. "Jasmine Boothe. You remember her? The woman you beat. The one you hunted like an animal through this city. The one you put a price on."
His eyes widen, a flicker of understanding breaking through the haze of pain. He swallows hard, his throat working visibly.
"Jasmine? That bitch stole from me. From the Serpents. She ran off with money that wasn’t hers. I was just trying to get it back."
I straighten up, letting the silence stretch until it presses against him like a weight. The lie hangs in the air, flimsy and obvious, but I want the truth. I need it, not for mercy, but to feed the fire burning low in my gut.
"Tell me everything. The real story. Or I will make this last longer than you can imagine."
He hesitates, his gaze darting to the door as if salvation might burst through it. But he knows better. Everyone in this city knows what happens when you end up in a room like this with a man like me.
Hell, I’m not even the worst of my own brothers.
His shoulders slump, defeat carving lines into his face.
"Fine. It wasn’t her. She didn’t steal anything.
I... I fucked up. I was playing both sides.
Working enforcement for the Serpents, but I owed money to the Drakov’s.
Big money. From a bad deal gone south. So I skimmed from the Serpents' take, used it to pay Drakov off. When the Serpents noticed the shortfall, I needed a scapegoat. Jasmine was convenient. Living with me, trusting me. I figured I could pin it on her, say she ran with the cash. They would go easier on a woman. But she wouldn’t go along with it. Fought me. So I lost my temper."
The words sink in, confirming what I already knew but igniting something fiercer inside me. He never saw her as anything real, just a mark, a disposable piece in his pathetic game of survival.
My fists clench at my sides, but I keep my expression blank, my breathing even.
"She was nothing to you. A tool. And when she wouldn’t bend for you, you tried to break her instead."
Kane nods weakly, desperation creeping into his voice.
"Yeah, that is it. She was just there. Easy to blame. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Please, Korolyov. I’ll leave her alone. Whatever you want. Just let me go, and I’ll disappear."
I step back, letting the full weight of my gaze settle on him. The darkness uncoils fully now, filling my veins with ice and purpose. I pull a knife from my jacket pocket, the blade glinting under the harsh light as I twirl it casually between my fingers.
"Disappear? No. You do not get that mercy. You put a price on her head. You made her run until she had nothing left. And now, she is mine. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe from scum like you."
His breath comes in short gasps, panic flooding his eyes as I approach. "No, wait. Please. I’ll call it off. Tell everyone she’s innocent. Anything!"
I grab his chin, forcing his head up, the knife pressing lightly against his throat just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
"Too late. You made your choices. Now I make mine." The blade sinks deeper, precise and unyielding, carving through flesh and sinew as his screams fill the room. I work methodically, drawing it out, making sure every cut sends a message that will echo long after he is gone.
His body jerks against the restraints, blood pooling on the floor, but I don’t stop until the light fades from his eyes and he slumps lifeless in the chair.
I wipe the blade clean on his shirt and sheath it, stepping back to survey the ruin. My pulse remains steady, the darkness satisfied for now, retreating but not vanishing. It lingers, a reminder of what I’ll do for her. Always.
Damian enters quietly, his face impassive as he takes in the scene. "All done, Boss?"
I nod, turning to him with a voice like steel.
"Clean this up. And spread the word. Make sure every crew, every boss, every lowlife in this city knows Jasmine Boothe is under my protection now. If anyone comes for her, if anyone even whispers her name with intent, they will end up just like Kane. Dead. Forgotten. An example or a statistic. I don’t care which. ”