18. Zayn
CHAPTER 18
ZAYN
Her hazel eyes, filled with a mix of resentment and something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, burned into me as I pressed the bottle into her hand.
Pulling her closer, I spoke into her ear. “I know you heard me, little Isla.” My smile was hidden as she tried to jerk away from me. “Now, drink the water.”
“No,” she snapped, trying to tug her arm from my hold. I loosened my grip a little—not too much—but she still needed to know who was in control. “I don’t want your water. I’ll get my own.”
I leaned in, my tone low and teasing. “Why? Scared I’ve spiked it so I can fuck you in my office?”
Her mouth fell open in a perfect “O” of shock, and at that moment, I couldn’t help but imagine how my cock would look as it pushed its way into that perfect mouth, claiming what it wanted.
Fuck .
Isla recovered quickly, tequila making her tongue looser than usual. “In your office? I’m surprised. I thought humiliating me in front of everyone was your style.” Angrily, she jerked her arm free of me, stumbling slightly before regaining her balance.
“Still pissed?” I asked, struggling to keep my smile in check as I watched her fight to compose herself. She looked stunning. Elixir was full of beautiful women, but somehow, Isla outshone them all. The moment I’d seen her come up the stairs, her hands nervously smoothing her dress, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from her tonight.
For a heartbeat, she glared at me, eyes flickering with defiance. Then, as if surrendering to the inevitable pull between us, she gave a half smile that didn’t quite reach those stormy hazel eyes. “Yes, I’m a bit pissed,” she muttered, arching an eyebrow. “But you really think spiking water is going to fix that?”
I chuckled at her sharp wit, moving closer, using the crowd as an excuse. “Not fix it,” I murmured, my tone low and teasing, “just reminding you of who’s in charge.” I let my fingers brush hers as I retrieved the bottle, opening it for her. Her skin prickled under my touch, and I saw her wince ever so slightly before she masked it with a snarl. “Don’t get cocky. This isn’t a game.” I handed her the bottle.
“Isn’t it?” she shot back defiantly, and taking the water off me, she took a sip.
Leaning in so she could hear, I spoke in her ear, pulling her body in close. “Every time I see you, I can’t tell if you’re fighting me or…if you secretly want me to win.”
Isla looked up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “You’re impossible, Zayn.”
I tilted my head, watching her carefully. “Am I?” I asked, letting my mouth twist into a smirk. “I think I’m fairly open about what I want.”
Her breath hitched as she met my gaze, the space between us charged with every unspoken word. For a moment, the bustling noise of Elixir faded, leaving only the quiet thrum of our hearts. “And what do you want?” she asked, her voice a mix of challenge and something else…fragility.
You.
Leaning down, I let my lips brush across hers, something dark inside me rumbling with pleasure when she didn’t pull away. “Drink your water, little Isla,” I said as I pulled back. “You’ve had enough tequila tonight.”
“What?” Wide-eyed, she stared up at me, her eyes flicking between mine and my mouth. “You think you can just kiss me and that means you…control me?”
I lowered my head, our faces inches apart, the heat between us undeniable. “Control? No,” I murmured, my tone softening even as I refused to let go of the upper hand. “Simply reminding you to drink water.”
Anger simmered in her gaze, and I could see the war raging within her—a battle between defiance and desire. “You don’t own me.” Isla stepped back, and in doing so, she seemed to regain her sense of self. With a smirk, she held up the bottle. “Thanks for the drink.”
She turned her back on me to walk back to the bar. My arm shot out, snaking around her waist as I pulled her back into my body, loving how soft she felt in my hold. After I swept her hair to the side, my lips skimmed her ear.
“What is your problem?” she hissed, turning her head to look up at me. Her hand dug into my forearm, but she wasn’t fighting my hold.
“My problem is that you think that was a kiss.” I held her closer. “Tell me why I shouldn’t take you to my office and fuck you like you want me to.” My lips were at her pulse, feeling it racing against my tongue as I tasted her skin.
Before she could answer, the sound of a distant cheer and clinking glasses pulled our attention momentarily back to the club’s lively atmosphere. I knew we couldn’t let this play out in front of everyone. With a nip of her sweet flesh and one last lingering kiss on her neck, I stepped back, breaking my hold on her.
Isla turned to look at me, her hand on her neck, her eyes wide and confused.
“Enjoy your evening, Isla.” I looked around us, letting the tension hang in the air. Looking back at her, I saw her eyes, a storm of unresolved emotions, and I knew we both knew this wasn’t the end—not tonight, maybe not ever. “Stick to water.”
I moved away from her, through the crowd, feeling the thrill of the chase rekindle within me. The urge to take her, claim her, pulsed through me.
But not here. Not when she was half drunk. Not when her hold on her control was compromised. No, I wanted that tight little body underneath me, knowing she had given me control willingly and with sober consent.
This little test just now told me that, despite what happened at last week’s gala, the game was far from over—and I wasn’t done playing.
And neither was she.
I climbed the stairs to the VIP booths, slipping into one I knew was empty, and walked over to the glass. My eyes found her easily, and I smiled with smug satisfaction when I saw her finish her water and order another. I thought about my interaction with her and how we left it—an unspoken promise I wasn’t finished with her yet.
Leaning on the bar, I scanned the rest of the club. Busy yet my security team moved effortlessly through the crowds. I watched them do their jobs with cool, calm efficiency. No matter how much I tried to oversee the club, my attention kept flicking back to Isla. Every time I saw her, something shifted, a spark of defiance mixed with a vulnerability that made my carefully constructed walls tremble. I prided myself on my control, yet when it came to her, it felt like a fragile illusion.
I knew she still resented that I fucked her over last week at the gala, but if tonight showed me anything, it was that she might not hold it against me as much as I thought she would.
It wasn’t personal. It was business. She had given me a golden opportunity to make my mark with zero effort from me. What did she think I would do?
The more worrying fact was this pull to her. I wasn’t sure I could simply let her go. We were both playing dangerously, an unspoken contest of wills that left both of us teetering on the edge. I remembered the heat in her eyes and the way her pulse raced under my touch. I masked it with a smirk, but I knew better than to trust that I had it all under control.
I watched her from the booth. She waved off Sienna’s questions, putting on a brave face, but she wore a mask of indifference, pretending she wasn’t affected. I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before she crumbled.
I allowed myself a small smile, half amused, as I watched her hold the bottle of water up as she refused any more alcohol.
Good girl.
I turned as I sensed footsteps approaching, a familiar figure filling the doorway. Rye, the ever-present shadow, looked me over before he rolled his eyes. “You haven’t dragged her into a dark corner and had your wicked way with her?” He looked around the booth. “You losing your touch?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, you fuck Isla,” he quipped, coming to stand beside me.
He grunted when my fist connected with his kidney.
“Savage bastard,” he grumbled. “That delivery arrived about fifteen minutes ago,” he told me, lowering his voice.
I inhaled slowly. Money laundering wasn’t a distant process. It was an art form, a calculated dance between risk and control that I orchestrated from behind the scenes of Elixir.
Every night, cash flowed freely through the doors—cash from cover charges, high-priced “specialty” cocktails, and exclusive VIP bookings. We hosted certain promotional events where the cash intake was intentionally inflated. The excess revenue, which included money from illicit sources, was then mixed seamlessly with the club’s legitimate earnings.
The club’s books showed fake invoices for services like private catering or an exclusive VIP booth reservation that never took place. Like the empty booth I was in tonight, but the “fee” for that would show in the earnings tonight. The phantom transactions made it appear as though the club was generating more income than it actually was, creating a tidy paper trail. Over time, the “dirty” money, diluted among genuine profits, would be deposited into bank accounts without raising suspicion.
It was a system that relied on the club’s cash-based nature, a system that made every overcharged cocktail and “special event” a carefully measured step in a much larger plan. I didn’t just launder their money; I made sure Elixir was a powerhouse of both legitimate business and controlled risk—a dark secret hidden behind a polished, glamourous facade.
The club pulsed around me, alive with promise and peril.
I took a seat in one of the leather VIP booths as the club’s bass vibrated through the floor. The pulsing neon lights played over the sleek surfaces, a constant reminder that appearances were everything.
Rye slid into the booth across from me. “They said there was a little extra.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Is it as we expected?”
Rye’s eyes filled with satisfaction. “Sealed bags, every last bill accounted for. I’ve confirmed it, all clean, and the numbers match exactly.”
A small smile tugged at my lips. “Good. That means tonight’s work paid off.” I leaned back, letting the satisfaction of the club’s success settle in. Every beat, every flash of flight, and every clink of glasses masked the real business coursing through these walls.
“I trust you put it in the safe?”
Rye nodded. “Everything’s locked down.”
I met his gaze and gave a slight nod. “Excellent. Third delivery so far since we opened.” I looked towards the glass partition. “Keeping the events and bookings tight is working better than I thought. But we can’t afford any loose ends.”
Rye didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. We both knew how this worked. We were puppeteers of intricate, high-stake games, and this delivery was just another move on our chessboard.
“Angelo says his boss wants to run party favors through the VIP booths,” Rye told me, his face expressionless. “Nice incentive is being offered for you if you want to consider it,” Rye added.
I rolled my neck on my shoulders. I knew what that meant—drugs—and the implications were as heavy as the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. “What and how much?”
Rye didn’t flinch at my tone. His fingers tapped off the table between us. “It’s a shipment of coke. We’re talking a few kilos, broken up into several orders. They’re offering a fifteen percent bonus on the profits, but you have to oversee the distribution personally.”
I let his words sink in. A fifteen percent bonus on top of our usual fee wasn’t insignificant. More cash meant more risk. My eyes narrowed as I considered the logistics. “And the catch?”
“There’s always risk, Zayn,” Rye said as he leaned back. “Angelo’s boss, well, we both know how connected he is. He’s got distribution channels everywhere. He wants to use the VIP booths exclusively.”
Every move in our business was a calculated risk, but exclusivity meant playing with fire. “I don’t like it.”
“I knew you wouldn’t,” Rye murmured. “They want in next week. Angelo has it all mapped out in a way that minimizes exposure.”
“I don’t give a fuck. It’s still a gamble.”
“You want to talk it through with him before you say no?” Rye asked, his face unreadable.
“I want to know where it’s coming from, the route, the proposed distribution, and the guy they want to send in to do the transactions.” I looked around the empty booth. “We have a lot of booths. I can’t be in them every night; I have other commitments in this club.”
Rye was nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk with Angelo and see if we can accommodate the request.”
I licked my teeth as I thought about it. “Exclusive distribution either cements our hold or alienates us and makes the competition even harder. Before this is a risk worth taking, it needs to be flawless.”
“Understood.” Rye stood.
“And remember, Rye, this goes south, there’s no hiding behind a booth.”
“When have we ever hid?” he asked, his smile self-assured.
A slow smile crept over my lips—a mix of defiance and resolve. “In this business, you’re either at the top or you’re out. In this club, we’re the ones calling the shots.”
“I’ll get the details, but I won’t commit us to anything yet.”
As I watched him leave, I felt the thrill of the game. This wasn’t just about extra profits—it was about expanding my empire. Drugs in the VIP booths were already part of the scene. Controlling their distribution was a step farther than I had taken before. I didn’t partake myself; I was a lover of control and had too much to lose to a chemical mix that messed with that. But I liked money. I didn’t really care if that money came from people who were willing to give up their control. There were some boundaries I wouldn’t cross, but distribution wasn’t one of them, especially when there was a demand and I had a means of controlling the supply
Supply and demand were the heart of any businessman.
Walking over to the glass, I looked at the dance floor and the vibrant club below. Even on the club floor, I knew who the pushers were, and they knew they were only here through my leniency.
Isla was back on the dance floor, her hands in the air as she swayed her hips to the beat. I saw the bottle of water in her hand and liked that she had done what she was told. She didn’t know my guys were watching her. She didn’t know every moment of her and her friends being here was monitored. That was the way it would stay.
Control wasn’t just about the money—it was about knowing every move, every transaction, and every heartbeat of this operation. And tonight, with the customers lost in the music, lost in the party scene, and the pushers playing their roles, I felt that power more acutely than ever.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through a series of live feeds from my crew. Each message confirmed that the floors were secured, the cameras were fixed, and everything was as it should be. Yet, beneath the surface of my satisfaction, a new challenge simmered.
A small smile curled my lips as I relaxed my shoulders, my eyes never leaving Isla on the dance floor. In this game, every move was a statement. Every risk was a chance to consolidate power. And tonight, as I watched Isla move effortlessly among the pulsing crowd, I knew that while she was dancing for the moment I was orchestrating the future.
Every dollar, every whisper of controlled chaos, was mine to command, which was exactly the way it was meant to be.