Chapter 2
Loki
The scent of sandalwood and candle wax clung to the air like memory, warm, grounding, and unmistakably Midgard.
Even now, before the crowds, the club pulsed with low, anticipatory energy.
Dim lighting cast the Viking murals in amber light, their carved warriors watching in silence as the soft bass thrummed through the floor like the slow heartbeat of something ancient and waking.
Investing in Midgard, and the other clubs that followed, had been the brainchild of Thor as he was known at Midgard, Erik outside of the club.
He was the only one of us not from money, new, or old.
On a whim, he’d hosted a BDSM party in college to help pay for his expenses, as accepting a loan from us was off the table for him.
What had started as an almost joke in college, as none of us had expected that first night to turn into four years of success and enough money for Erik to start Midgard, had morphed into a sexy club based on Nordic mythology and bravado.
Seven of us, intoxicated by freedom and fantasies of leather and power dynamics, decided to build something permanent.
Against all odds, it worked. The money was good.
The prestige, better. But the part I hadn’t expected, the part that stuck, was how it kept us tethered, even as life pulled us in different directions.
My career was private. Despite the closeness of the group, they had no clue what I did outside of what they called my private playboy ways.
There were questions, unspoken, when I’d offered to use my private plane to transport some of the group on a mission to the Middle East. I’d made the mistake of saying it was untraceable to me, therefore them.
My statement had raised eyebrows all around.
Respect kept them silent and my secret remained secret, so far.
I adjusted the cuffs of my black button-down, letting my gaze sweep across the vast hall.
Dungeon monitors moved with quiet efficiency, prepping stations and equipment.
The first wave of guests wouldn’t arrive for at least an hour which offered plenty of time to settle into my role. Familiar. Controlled.
Behind the bar, Rafe was setting up glassware and prepping the premium stock.
Something about the crispness of his movements suggested a busy night ahead.
I probably should’ve asked what the hell was happening before I agreed to work, but I hadn’t.
Habit had taken over, and lately, I’d leaned too heavily on routine.
I wasn’t expecting company.
A sharp flash of silver caught the corner of my eye—tailored, expensive, and smugly still as the man wearing it. I paused mid-stride.
Nikos.
Greek-born bastard of charm and secrets, standing at the bar like he owned it. His charcoal three-piece suit hugged his frame like a second skin, every inch of him polished and dangerous. The last I’d heard, he was elbows-deep in some Italian political scandal and loving every moment of it.
I crossed the room, each step smooth and intentional.
Who did he sweet talk to get into the club an hour before opening?
I didn’t like that he was here as his presence, like the plane, would raise that questionable eyebrow that I had no intention of addressing.
The few people setting up for the evening moved aside as I stalked toward my smirking friend at the back.
“I thought you were in Milan,” I said, letting the words slice through the quiet hum. “Seducing diplomats and ruining wine tastings.”
Nikos turned with the kind of smile that made women lean closer and men double-check their wallets. “Jared,“ he said, lifting a tumbler of something aged and expensive. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
“In this building,” I corrected, slipping onto the barstool beside him, “I’m Master Loki.”
He raised his glass in mock solemnity. “Ah yes, the great and terrible god of mischief. So serious tonight.”
I offered a chuckle. It came easily. Too easily. But it didn’t land where it used to—in that place in my chest where real amusement lived.
“I’ve promised to behave,” I said, reaching for a glass and filling it with still water and a sliver of lime.
Nikos gave me a look. “You? Behaving? Now that’s a plot twist.”
Had something changed?
Yes. Everything.
I was tired, not in the physical sense, but in the bone-deep way that came from too many lies and too little honesty.
My body still did what it was trained to do: walk with purpose, dominate with a glance, read people like scripture.
But the charm I wore like a second skin had begun to fray.
And the cracks, once invisible, now spidered just beneath the surface.
“Just experimenting,” I said casually. “Turns out, watching your closest friends fall in love one after another really messes with your sense of fun.”
Nikos arched a brow, amused. “You? Jealous?”
“Hardly,” I said, taking a sip of my water. “I’m an emotional fortress wrapped in Armani.”
He snorted. “That line must kill in therapy.”
I laughed again, this time letting it rumble a little deeper. Still shallow, surface-level at best. But Nikos didn’t press.
Not that he had to.
Because beneath the wit and the polished control, the truth gnawed at me. Erik and Raia. Noah and his sweet little firecracker, Shelby. Gabriel and his brilliant assistant, Rose. Colin and Lincoln had Zara. Chaos and love somehow stitched together into something real for those three.
One by one, my friends were finding something true. Something raw. Something worth choosing.
And me?
I peeled people open for a living. I pushed, prodded, seduced, and dominated until they spilled the softest parts of themselves at my feet. And then I walked away, careful to never offer anything in return.
Because if they saw all of me… well, I wasn’t sure anyone had the stomach for it.
“Besides,” I murmured, swirling the ice in my glass, “we make our living breaking people open. Doesn’t mean we stay whole ourselves.”
Nikos studied me for a beat, expression unreadable. Then he leaned in slightly. “Maybe it’s time you stopped playing the god of mischief and let someone actually see you.”
A thin crack echoed from my glass as the ice snapped.
I smiled, sharp and clean. “Careful. You’re veering dangerously close to therapy.”
He grinned. “You’d tie your therapist to a St. Andrew’s cross.”
“Only if they billed me hourly.”
We clinked glasses, his filled with something smoky and potent, mine with restraint, and let the moment settle.
Then I straightened slightly, pulling the conversation back where it belonged. “Enough of the heavy stuff. What are you doing here, Nikos? I have a shift tonight, and if you need something, it’ll have to wait.”
He tilted his glass, letting the amber swirl.
“Actually… you’re not working tonight.”
I paused. Slowly turned to face him. “What do you mean I’m not working?”
He grinned. Too easily. “I might have called in a favor and told your friends I wanted to set you up with someone.”
My pulse didn’t change. My breath didn’t stutter. But inside, my mind went very, very still.
“Explain.”
Because Nikos didn’t do matchmaking. Not for love. Not for fun. If he’d made a move like this, it wasn’t a game. It was a job, and one I didn’t appreciate being sprung on me last minute. Him being here at all made me very unhappy.
Nikos didn’t answer right away.
He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a thin, matte-black envelope, and slid it across the bar toward me like he was offering me a contract with the devil.
“You know Ivan Morozov?”
I didn’t touch the envelope. Just stared at it.
“I know of him. Russian. Wealthy. Connected. The kind of man who attracts rumors and leaves very little behind to prove them. His wife died a few years ago. Never sat right with me, but nobody’s ever managed to pin anything on him.”
I leaned back slightly, gaze narrowing. “Why are we talking about him?”
Nikos smiled the way he did when the punchline hadn’t landed yet.
“He has a daughter.”
Of course he did. They always did. Princesses in glass towers, locked away until their fathers needed a new pawn to play.
“Tell me you’re joking.” My tone was flat. Because if this was another one of Nikos’s twisted little Romeo ops, he was barking up the wrong sadist.
He arched a brow. “You’re the one they call Master Loki. Dark, dangerous, seductive. I figured it was finally your turn to weaponize that charm.”
“I infiltrate boardrooms and billionaires, not hearts. You’re the Romeo. I’m the hammer they never see coming. You know I don’t do romance, in or out of the job.”
“She’s not expecting romance,” he said mildly. “Her father moved her to the U.S. to keep her away from her ‘bad habits’.”
That earned a dry laugh. “Let me guess. Daddy’s little ice princess discovered she doesn’t like cages.”
“Something like that.” He looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Apparently, she’s developed a fondness for sex clubs.”
I stared at him, deadpan. “So he brought her here? To the U.S.? The only country with more registered kink events than Starbucks locations?”
“His oversight,” Nikos said smoothly, “is our opportunity. I sent her an anonymous event flyer for tonight’s match-play showcase. She signed up within the hour.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. Loudly.
I only played with experienced submissives for a reason. My kind of domination wasn’t something you eased into. It was sharp, psychological, deep. I didn’t dabble, and I didn’t play with people who did.
“A rebellious, sheltered flower,” Nikos continued, voice light and infuriating, “will fall all over herself for the dark, mysterious Loki. She’s practically built for it.”
“This is a bad idea,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.
There were too many ways this could go sideways. Too many people here knew who I really was, or at least, who I was supposed to be. And I wasn’t built for this kind of emotional finesse. I didn’t seduce for trust. I didn’t manipulate the innocent. I didn’t do long term.