Chapter 13 Aniyah
ANIYAH
It had been four days, and I was still pissed, boiling, really. That kind of simmering rage didn’t burn out; it just kept feeding on itself like a cursed fire.
Poor Natalie practically pissed herself when she shyly asked if she could officially date one of the security guards.
I snapped, barking something cruel about not giving a fuck who she screwed.
The moment her eyes welled up, guilt slammed into me like a freight train.
I had to apologize, gritting my teeth through it as I recited the policy and, yes, the fact that relationships had to be reported.
So, technically, she had done the right thing.
But nothing about me was technical anymore. I was all raw instinct and bad decisions, running on fumes and fury.
I was on edge, no, beyond the edge. I’d jumped, and now I was free falling with claws out.
Every time I saw Alic, his face cold and unbreakable like carved marble, his eyes would turn my way, daring me to call out the pain and regret in them.
Then all my emotions would run through me like a raging stampede.
Anger. Pain. Sadness. Betrayal. I’d become a walking hurricane of vengeance in glitter and heels, looking for something to destroy, and unfortunately for him, he’d volunteered as tribute. That was the cost of being a traitor.
At first, I’d given him the ice queen in heels routine, leaving him behind like yesterday’s trash.
Now, I was onto the cold shoulder phase.
I wanted him to feel how insignificant he was, how small he'd become in my world. A part of me hoped he’d slink away with his tail tucked and beg Nova to reassign him, to crawl out of my orbit so I wouldn’t have to keep seeing those regret-stained eyes.
But he didn’t leave. Instead, he’d quietly followed me. Like some goddamn ghost of our past, he was too stubborn to die, too loyal, and that made it worse.
His silence wasn’t weak or broken. It was patient. It was penance, but I didn’t want penance. I wanted retribution.
That was when I decided to let the full brat come out and make his life hell.
I sent him out for food, only to toss it in the garbage and order him to go out again, then reject that too.
Told him to bring the car around, claiming that I didn't want to walk the four blocks to the store, then left anyway, claiming he was taking too long.
Every little chance to chip away at him, I took it.
When that wasn’t enough, I fucked with his work at the club.
I called the IT guy, someone I normally left Van to deal with, and asked if we could scramble the cameras and fuck some shit up.
Not permanently, or course. Just enough to create chaos.
He was surprisingly helpful, giving me no pushback at all when he offered to make a system of timed loop disruptions. I approved it without hesitation.
Even with all of that, Alic didn’t crack.
Van tried to help in his own way. He took me to the thirteenth floor, letting me ride out my fury on his body, his mouth, his hands, his throat. For a while, it worked. My body was satisfied, but my soul? Starving. Aching. Howling for blood.
I didn’t want comfort. I didn’t want calm.
I wanted Alic to fall apart.
I wanted to be the reason he broke, to watch that unshakable composure collapse under the weight of me. I wanted tears, screams, admissions of guilt and longing. I wanted to see the man who hurt me destroyed by his need to stay.
Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, a flicker of reason tried to crawl its way to the surface.
Whispers fluttered around my head, telling me that maybe this was too far.
Maybe the fact that he hadn’t left, hadn’t defended himself, hadn’t once retaliated, meant something, but I shoved that voice down into the black abyss of my heart, burying all those feelings under sheer lace, glitter, and rage.
Steadfast loyalty wasn't the currency I was dealing in. I was looking for soul-crushing devastation.
I glanced at the clock. Showtime was creeping up.
Rising from my desk, I opened my closet, my eyes landing on the white angelic teddy I had picked out last week.
It was delicate, lacy, innocent… the perfect lie.
I’d planned a soft, sensual performance.
Teasing. Tempting. I’d make them want what they could never have then release them to gorge themselves on each other afterward, all while thinking about me.
But now, all my softness was gone. I didn’t want to tease tonight.
I wanted to own. To command. To dominate their attention and control their desire as well as their destruction.
Nothing was happening without my say-so because I was Aniyah fucking Glovefox, the Syndicate Flower, and I would feed you pretty poison until you bled.
My fingers flicked through outfit after outfit until they landed on the one, a piece that radiated shadowed seduction, sharp authority, and dark feminine vibes. It was the kind of ensemble that said, Obey me or be crushed beneath my heel.
I grabbed my phone, dialing the stage crew.
“Marty,” I said, tone razor-sharp, “scrap the setup. We’re changing the scene.”
I could almost hear his soul leave his body.
“Relax,” I added. “All I need is red and purple lighting and the rotating St. Andrew’s cross, center stage. That’s all.”
A pause, then a quiet, “Got it,” followed before I hung up.
Tonight, they were going to feel me. All of me. Not just the glamour and sparkle. Not just the performer, but the raw, venomous, commanding storm underneath.
Tonight, they would understand that I wasn’t just a queen.
I was their reckoning.
*Stepping onto the stage, I felt the thrum of rapid heartbeats all around me, dozens of them pulsing as one, fueled by their want.
The air was thick with it. Swollen with heat, desire, and the aching kind of hunger that crawled under your skin.
Every inhale dragged across the room like a moan, and I bathed in the way their need rolled off them in waves, curling around my body like smoke, desperate to pull me under.
This was the kind of fervor that fed the storm inside me… no, not a storm… a monster. One born of dark cravings and razor wings, ravenous for submission and obedience. This was what I needed. This was what made sense.
Standing before them now, with arms stretching toward me and eyes dark, dilated, dripping with lust, I knew there would be no lip syncing tonight. No crowd play, no seduction wrapped in pretty distractions. I didn’t need a build-up. I didn’t need the tease.
Tonight, I would own.
I owned this town. I owned this club. I owned every single drop of their pleasure and pain. It was mine. All of it.
Wasting no time, I let my gaze sweep across the sea of masked faces, searching for the perfect prop, the right tool, to prove a point they wouldn’t soon forget. My body responded before my brain caught up, tugged by instinct. Chaotic, hungry instinct.
To the left, I saw him. A male with eyes the color of the sky before a summer storm. His white mask had a picture of a collar on his cheek. Something about him whispered of another life. One where I wasn’t the Syndicate boss. One where I was just Aniyah.
The perfect victim for the lesson I was about to carve into them. This woman standing before you, in all her glitz and glamour, was a savage, a young gun that demanded your respect, no matter the cost.
Reaching past the magical barrier that separated me from them, I snatched his hand. Gasps rippled through the crowd as I pulled him onto the stage, and he didn’t resist. Didn’t even speak. He just stared at me like he didn’t know if he’d died or ascended.
I smiled at him, a slow curl of lips that promised both heaven and hell. My fingers wandered down his arms, tracing over warm, sculpted muscle that shifted beneath my touch. Strong, defined, but not excessive, built with purpose. My kind of strength.
“Will you come and play with me?” I purred, letting my lashes lower as I met his dazed eyes. I could see his hesitation, and I pushed harder. “I can make you feel so good tonight.” Running my hand through his silky dark locks. “I promise.”
He silently, slowly nodded, his wide eyes locked on mine like I’d snatched the breath from his lungs. When I stepped back, he followed without hesitation, a puppet under my spell.
Turning him around, I let the audience fade from my mind. There were no lights biting at my back. No music to tempt my body to move to the beat. Just me and this trembling body now caught in my web.
Lifting his hand, I brushed my lips across his knuckles.
He shivered, his lashes fluttering like he couldn’t believe I was real.
I didn’t want to break the moment, so I kept my movements slow, careful, pressing my body against his and savoring the heat between us as I secured one wrist with a soft metallic click, then the other.
He was mine now.
Once he looked up, realizing where he was, he tugged on the chains. “Shhhh,” I cooed. “I can tell you’re going to like this.”
His ragged exhale told me that his body knew it, but his mind was still holding back. “How do you know that?”
Letting a sultry smile lift, I bent towards him, letting him in on a little secret. “It’s my superpower. I can tell exactly what someone craves, just by looking at them.”
I took a few steps back, drinking him in. His breathing hitched, along with a low rumble from his chest that made my pussy clench. My eyes watched as the growing strain in his pants became so taut the outline was impossible to miss.
I licked my lips deliberately, letting my gaze climb over his torso, his taut abs, his strong chest, each inch of him begging to be claimed. I longed to taste him, to drag my tongue between the valleys of muscle and leave him shaking, but that would come later.
Pleasure was a reward only given by me, and only when I decided.
Sliding a sleek black remote from the edge of my corset, I held it up between us, my voice honeyed with a threat.