Chapter 20 Vane
VANE
Ineed a fucking drink.
After watching Lia with her friends for another hour, I grab my jacket and head down to the main floor of Purgatory.
The bass pounds through the walls before I even reach the main space, vibrating under my skin like a second heartbeat.
Maybe the noise and alcohol will drown out thoughts of her for a few hours.
Just until midnight tomorrow, when the Hunt begins. When she's finally mine.
The club is packed tonight—bodies writhing on the dance floor, drinks flowing at the bar, and the private rooms fully booked. I nod at the security guard, who steps aside, allowing me through the velvet rope to the VIP section.
My brothers are already there, sprawled across the black leather couches. Xavier nurses a whiskey, his face impassive as always. Landon scrolls through his phone. And Knox is surprisingly alone.
“No stripper tonight?” I drop into the seat across from Knox, signaling the waitress for my usual. “You feeling alright, little brother?”
Knox flips me off without looking up from his drink. “Fuck you. Maybe I'm saving my energy for tomorrow.”
“That's a first,” Xavier remarks dryly. “Usually, you're burning it off with at least two girls by now.”
The waitress delivers my bourbon, and I down half of it in one swallow, welcoming the burn. “Speaking of tomorrow, everyone ready?”
Landon finally puts his phone down. “For the tenth time today, yes. But something feels different this year.” His eyes scan each of us in turn. “All three of you seem... fixated. Not like usual.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” I growl.
“It means,” Landon continues, unperturbed by my tone, “that Knox hasn't touched a woman all week, Xavier's been more brooding than usual—if that's possible—and you've been obsessing over Lia Morgan for weeks.”
Knox laughs. “Weeks? Try fifteen fucking years.”
“Whatever.” I drain my glass, irritated at how accurately Landon has read the situation. “It's just a Hunt. Like any other year.”
It's lies. My brothers' eyes bore into me, seeing right through my bullshit. I drain the rest of my drink and signal for another, needing something to occupy my hands before I put my fist through the wall.
Of course it's fucking different.
Every Hunt before this has been a game—entertaining, sure, sometimes even satisfying for a few months. But this? This is the endgame. The culmination of waiting, watching, and planning. The Hunt is just a formality, a ritual to make official what I've known since freshman year. Lia Morgan is mine.
The contract says a year. One fucking year. As if I'd ever let her go after getting my hands on her again.
I stare into my fresh bourbon, seeing her face reflected in the amber liquid. Running from me after prom. Disappearing on that bus. Spending years in New York, letting other men touch what's mine.
No. When I catch her tomorrow—and I will catch her—it won't be for a year. It will be forever.
She'd have to put a knife through my heart to get away from me again. She'd have to kill me. And even then, I'd find a way to haunt her from the grave.
“Vane.” Xavier's voice cuts through my thoughts. “You good?”
I look up to find all three of them watching me with varying degrees of concern. I must look exactly how I feel—like a predator ravenous for its prey.
“Never better,” I say, forcing my grip on the glass to relax before it shatters in my hand. “Just thinking about tomorrow.”
Xavier leans forward, lowering his voice. “We need to discuss Ilya Orlov.”
The mention of the Russian's name pulls me from thoughts of Lia. Business. Right. I straighten in my seat.
“What's the update?” I ask, setting my bourbon down.
“Nothing yet,” Xavier's jaw tightens. “First shipment is supposed to arrive one week after the Hunt ends. But our contacts in Moscow have been... inconsistent with their reports.”
Knox rolls his eyes. “Meaning the fucker's planning to screw us.”
“We don't know that,” Landon interjects, always the diplomatic one. “But I've set up additional surveillance on his known associates here in Ravenwood. So far, nothing suspicious.”
I run my finger around the rim of my glass, thinking. Ilya Orlov represents our biggest expansion opportunity in years—the chance to increase our supply chain and double our territory. But Russians are notorious for testing new partners.
“What about his financial movements?” I ask.
Xavier nods. “Landon's been tracking them. Nothing irregular there either.”
“I don't trust him,” I say flatly. “Something about the way he negotiated felt off. Too eager to agree to our terms.”
“Because we're offering good money,” Knox points out.
I shake my head. “No. It's something else.”
“I've got eyes on his hotel,” Landon says. “And I've tapped his phone. He's made three calls back to Moscow in the past two days, but they're speaking in code. My Russian contact is working on it.”
“Double the surveillance,” I suggest. “After the Hunt, I want to know every breath that motherfucker takes until our shipment arrives.”
Xavier gives me a measured look. “Already done. But we need to be careful. If he suspects we don't trust him—”
“He'll be insulted,” I finish. “I know. But better insulted than betrayed. We have more to lose if he's playing us.”
Xavier raises his hand, silencing the table. It's a subtle gesture, but one we've all been conditioned to respect since childhood. One raised palm from our eldest brother, and the discussion ends.
“We'll increase surveillance, but discreetly,” Xavier decides, his tone leaving no room for debate. “And we stick to the original plan unless I say otherwise.”
I nod, swallowing my impulse to push for more aggressive measures. That's the thing about our family dynamic—we all have our roles, our strengths, but at the end of the day, Xavier's word is final. Always has been, always will be.
“Understood,” I mutter, not entirely satisfied.
Landon catches my eye, giving me a look that says, let it go. He's always been the peacekeeper between Xavier's calculated stance and my aggressive stance.
“The Hunt takes priority for now,” Xavier continues, setting his empty glass down with finality. “Business with Orlov resumes after. Vane, I need your head in the game, not split between Lia and our Russian problem.”
“My head is exactly where it needs to be,” I counter, bristling slightly at being singled out.
Xavier's steel-gray eyes lock onto mine. “Is it? Because your obsession with Lia Morgan has been a fifteen-year distraction. If I thought it would compromise our operation—”
“It won't,” I cut in, then immediately regret my tone. “It won't be a problem.”
His expression softens marginally. “Good. Because while I've allowed this Hunt arrangement and your... pursuit, if I determine at any point that it jeopardizes what we've built—”
“I know.” I drop my gaze first—the universal sign of deference in our brotherhood. “Your call. Always has been.”
Xavier nods, satisfied with my acknowledgment of his authority. The tension around the table dissolves slightly as Knox signals for another round.
This is how it's always been with us: Xavier leads, we follow. Even in my wildest moments, I've never truly challenged that fundamental truth. The Blackwood empire exists because Xavier built it from nothing, and none of us—not me, not Landon, not Knox—would ever forget that.