Chapter 004 Mine Again
I stepped through the heavy doors of The Eyrie just past ten, the bass line hitting me in the chest like a suppressed round. Limestone walls, blacked-out windows, valet stand lit in blood-red neon. Upscale enough to keep the riffraff out, dirty enough to remind everyone why they came.
The hostess wore a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Name?”
“Mike Rodgers. Friend of Mr. Corbin.”
She checked her tablet, nodded once, and led me past the velvet rope. My wolf paced behind my ribs, hackles half-raised. He smelled her before I saw her—jasmine, warm skin, and something electric that belonged only to Sloane. It punched the air out of my lungs.
I took the seat they gave me—back corner booth, good sight lines to the stage, exits mapped in three seconds flat. Glock on my right hip under the jacket. Jammer in my left pocket. Forged corporate cards and a fat stack of hundreds in the inner pocket. Breach had the outside covered. Everything was green.
Then the lights dropped.
The DJ killed the house lights. A single spot hit the pole.
Sloane walked out.
Fuck.
She’d changed. Lean muscle where there’d been soft curves, hips fuller, hair longer—straight blonde sheet down to her waist. But the way she moved was the same. Fluid. Predatory in its own quiet way. She owned that stage without trying.
My wolf snarled, loud enough I felt it in my teeth.
Men leaned forward. Bills appeared. Phones lifted. I memorized faces, builds, the ones who licked their lips too long. The ones who’d die first if it came to that.
She hooked a leg high, spun slow, dropped into a split that made my stomach knot. Left knee trembled—just a flicker—but I saw it. Old injury. Scarred. My hands closed into fists on the brass rail.
She unhooked the bralette. Let it fall. Crowd roared. More money rained. She crawled forward on all fours, back arched, breasts heavy, eyes scanning the dark like she was hunting something.
They found me.
For one second our stares locked. Gold flared in her irises—wolf answering wolf—then vanished. Her chin lifted a fraction. A challenge. A question.
My pulse slammed against my eardrums.
She finished the set inverted, legs split wide, hair brushing the stage. Dropped into the final split. Lights strobed. Cash carpeted the floor. Then black.
I didn’t move for a full minute. Just breathed through my mouth so her scent didn’t shred what was left of my control.
A server slid another whiskey in front of me. I hadn’t ordered it. Didn’t touch it.
Two suits at the next table were still talking about her.
“Bet that knee gives out if you fold her hard enough.”
“Bet you could break her if you had enough time.”
I turned my head slow. Both of them shut up when they saw my face. Smart.
My phone vibrated once. Breach.
VIP ready. Infinity Suite. Midnight.
I waited another forty minutes. Watched Sloane work the floor in a tiny black cocktail dress, tray balanced, smile painted on. Manager—greasy hair, cheap cologne—put his hand on her lower back too long guiding her through the crowd. She stiffened. He squeezed. She kept walking.
My wolf wanted blood.
I kept my ass in the seat.
At 12:03 the hostess came back. “Mr. Rodgers? This way.”
Up the private stairs. Bouncer at the top gave me a once-over, stepped aside. Hallway dim, mirrors everywhere. Door at the end marked Infinity.
Inside was all black velvet and low amber light. Plush sectional, low table, mirrored ceiling. One camera in the corner—red light went dark the second I thumbed the jammer.
Door opened again.
Sloane stepped in. Heels, same black dress, hair loose. She didn’t look at me right away. Professional mask locked in place.
“Evening, sir. Champagne?”
“Close the door.”
She did. Click of the lock sounded loud.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her chin. Eyes met mine. No recognition yet. Just caution.
“Take off your dress.”
Her fingers went to the zipper without hesitation. Slow pull down her spine. Fabric slid off her shoulders, pooled at her feet. Black lace bra and thong. Scars I didn’t know—thin white lines across her ribs. Bruises fading yellow on her hips.
“Dance for me.”
She moved. Hips rolling to the low music leaking through the walls. Hands up her sides, over her breasts, into her hair. Eyes on me the whole time. Testing. Waiting for the cruelty.
I stayed seated. Let the rage simmer.
“On your knees. Crawl.”
She dropped. Crawled across the carpet slow, back arched, ass high. Stopped between my spread thighs. Hands on my knees.
I unbuckled my belt. Pulled myself out. Already hard. Aching.
“Now use your mouth and worship it like it’s the alpha cock you always dreamed of.”
She leaned in. Tongue first—slow lick up the underside. Then took me deep. No warm-up. No hesitation. Throat opened and swallowed me down until her nose pressed against my stomach.
I groaned. Couldn’t help it.
My hand tangled in her hair—not gentle. Guided her rhythm. Harder. Deeper. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes but she didn’t pull back. Took everything I gave.
Her scent flooded the room—jasmine and wet heat and mate. My wolf roared.
I felt her tremble. Heard the soft moan around my cock. She was close. Just from this.
I pulled her off with a fist in her hair. “You come only when I say.”
She gasped, lips swollen, eyes glassy. Nodded.
I dragged her up by the hair, bent her over the arm of the sectional. Ripped the thong aside. Two fingers inside her—drenched. She cried out, pushed back.
I replaced fingers with cock in one thrust.
She came instantly. Hard. Walls clamping down, body shaking, a broken sound tearing out of her throat.
I followed right after, buried deep, growling her name like a curse.
We stayed locked like that. Breathing ragged. Sweat cooling.
Then she whispered, voice cracked open, “Jade?”
Everything stopped.
I pulled out slow, turned her around. Her face was wet. Not just from the blowjob. Tears.
“Jade.” Not a question this time.
My wolf whined. High, desperate sound I hadn’t heard from him in years.
I cupped her face. “Sloane.”
She folded into me like her strings got cut. Arms around my neck, face buried against my throat. I held her up—barely. My own legs weren’t steady.
“I never left you,” she said against my skin. Voice small, fierce. “I never rejected the bond. My father—he sold me. To pay his debts. Krueger owns the contract. If I run, he kills me. Or Macy.”
The words hit harder than any bullet I’d ever taken.
I pulled back just enough to see her eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve been a prisoner this whole time?”
She nodded. “Three years.”
Rage boiled up so hot my vision tunneled. My wolf wanted out. Wanted teeth in Krueger’s throat.
I kissed her instead. Hard. Deep. Tasting myself on her tongue, tasting her tears. She kissed back like she was starving.
When we broke apart her lips were swollen, eyes brighter.
“I only came because it was you,” she whispered. “Because you’re my fated mate. No one else has ever—”
I cut her off with another kiss. Softer this time.
“I’m getting you out,” I said against her mouth. “You and Macy. Krueger doesn’t touch you again. Do you trust me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Always.”
The intercom buzzed. Soft chime. Session over.
I helped her clean up with tissues from the table. Zipped her dress. Fixed her hair with shaking hands.
At the door she paused. Looked back.
“Be careful,” she said.
I touched her cheek. “I’m not leaving without you.”
She slipped out.
I stood there a long minute after the door closed. Breathing her scent. Feeling the bond snap tight again—stronger than before.
My wolf settled. Not calm. Focused.
Krueger was a dead man walking.
I just had to make sure Sloane and her sister kept breathing long enough for me to finish the job.