The Collector (The Twisted Delusions #1)

Chapter 1

Raven

Cover Girls' annual Halloween Masquerade Party pulsed with excited energy outside the club as Raven approached the entrance, flanked by Stoker like a shadow.

The line of costumed patrons waiting to get in snaked around the corner, glittering with anticipation and envy as he passed.

Heads turned, and conversations faltered; all eyes were locked on him as he bypassed the crowd without hesitation.

He stopped just shy of the velvet rope, standing off to the side with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t need permission.

The doorman hadn’t noticed him yet, even if the crowd had.

Raven caught snippets of murmurs; the hissed complaints were barely audible beneath the music.

The masked masses didn’t dare speak louder; they knew better than to challenge a King.

The sleek black half-mask he wore, etched with intricate silver filigree, was the only nod he gave to the masquerade.

It did little to conceal his identity. There were a few seven-foot-tall men in town, but his muscles and intimidating presence stood out even from a distance.

If his size wasn’t enough to tell people who he was, the tailored Armani suit pressed sharp as a blade, along with the tattoos curling out from beneath his cuffs, served as warning signs—symbols of his allegiance to the Kings.

Finally, the doorman turned to him after waving through a rowdy group of college kids. “It’s a hundred-dollar cover charge tonight, Mr. Cordoba.”

Raven nodded, pulled out his wallet, and peeled off three crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Evan, right?” he asked as he handed the money to him.

The man nodded, the thump of club music spilling out behind him as another guest slipped through the door. “You planning to join any of the bidding events tonight?” Evan asked.

“There’s a possibility,” Raven replied coolly, checking the time on his Rolex. “Any girls inside worth the effort?”

Evan grinned, a gap-toothed smile spreading across his face.

“A few, yeah. But the one you should really check out is Mynx. Man, she has these long legs,” he said, closing his eyes and licking his lips, “and an ass that could make you cry for your mother. I can’t get enough of her.

” He clapped Raven’s shoulder as he passed.

“Just don’t get too comfortable with her.

I plan on making her mine sometime soon.

” He winked and dropped the velvet rope behind Raven, sealing the entrance.

If the girl was even half as hot as Evan claimed, Raven doubted she’d spare him a glance, let alone a minute of her time. The man reeked of a peculiar, sour smell as if hygiene were a myth he’d stopped believing in. Confidence was one thing; delusion marinated in body odor was another.

Inside, the club was thick with partygoers, packed wall to wall.

Raven scanned the crowd as he and Stoker stepped in, the pulse of bass vibrating through the floor.

It had been six months since his last visit, as he preferred to let the tides of the trade shift to new faces and fresh talent before making his rounds again.

Blood Lust's members were particular. Their appetites weren’t easily satisfied, and rarely by places like Cover Girls. They wanted more than flesh; they desired a refined elegance that would capture the world’s attention, hold it enthralled, and inspire envy.

“Anyone I should keep an eye on tonight?” Raven asked, his gaze sweeping the crowd like a blade.

Stoker knew the streets better than he did—lived in them, breathed them.

If there was fresh talent worth watching, Stoker usually had the name first. He was Raven’s filter, his scout; the one who knew which performers might survive Blood Lust's appetites.

“The top performer here is Mynx,” Stoker said, nodding toward the tall banner near the bar. “She also happens to be the daughter of a man who owes your father a million dollars.”

Raven’s gaze followed his. The woman in the photo was confident and sexy as sin—hips cocked, eyes daring.

“There’s a good chance we’ll lock her into a contract soon,” Stoker continued.

“Her father, Thomas, has two weeks to pay Hector back. If he doesn’t, he defaults.

And after that…” He shrugged casually. “There’s no way he can cover what he’ll owe.

He’ll have to find another way to pay. If you think she’s Blood Lust material, we could make a play to secure the deal with him for her when the time comes. ”

His tone was calm, but the implication hit hard. Mynx wasn’t just leverage over her father; she was currency for Raven's. Evan hadn’t exaggerated; she was dangerously beautiful—the kind of performer who would pull in bids from many of their members.

Raven studied the banner, tracing every curve. Her body was a masterpiece, but her eyes held him captive. They had a pull, as if they knew things he wouldn’t mind discovering. Still, that body… the things he could do to it.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Raven said. “Let’s grab a table and see what we can do to get an invitation to hang out with her.”

He led Stoker to a corner table with two seats. Someone else had already claimed the table, but Raven didn’t care. He pushed two half-empty glasses to the edge of the table. It was his table now.

"Hey, that's our table, asshole. Do you want to get the hell up?" one of them, a barely legal, wet-behind-the-ears football player, said, trying hard to appear tough.

Stoker didn't flinch. He grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. "I think you're confused. It used to be your table," Stoker said, his voice low and menacing. "Now it's ours, shit stain."

The kid's friend froze, eyes wide. One glance at Stoker's massive frame holding his buddy midair sent him vanishing into the crowd without a word. Raven chuckled to himself. Can't blame you, kid. Looks like you're the smarter of the two.

The man in Stoker's grip lost control of his bladder. Stoker set him down gently, shaking his head. "Run along, mama's boy," he said. "Before you get more than just scared. Got it?"

The kid didn't need a second warning; he bolted.

Stoker slid into the chair beside Raven, calm as ever. "Now, where were we? Would you like to start with one of the rooms? Spank your favorite dancer, maybe? Or hit it hard and fast with Seven Minutes in Heaven? Just watch the girl perform? How do you want me to set up the night's fun?"

Raven laughed. "Straight to business, huh? Relax. Have a drink. Let's see her on stage first—see if she's even worth the effort."

Stoker nodded and leaned back, raising a hand to get the waitress’s attention across the room. When her eyes met his, she gave a quick nod.

"What can I get you guys?" she asked, clearing the leftover drinks from the table.

Raven watched her as she spoke. Her voice was like honey drizzled over cornbread—slow and warm.

She had a Southern belle vibe, with friendly eyes and a smooth, toothy smile that perfectly complemented her curvy figure. Pretty, but not his type.

"Two Old Fashioneds, on the rocks," Stoker said. "And some intel, Stacy—when’s Mynx hitting the stage?"

She smiled knowingly. "Anything for you, hon.

Everyone wants to see Mynx, and every girl wants to be her.

What a world, huh?" She laughed lightly.

"She's on in about twenty minutes. However, if you're considering placing a bid for her private dance, I suggest placing your bid now.

Her Seven Minutes in Heaven bidding price is climbing fast."

"How high?" Raven asked.

"I'd have to check, but last I heard, it was pushing three grand."

"Then place a bid for me," Raven said, leaning in close and slipping her a crisp hundred-dollar bill. "Ten thousand."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she kept her composure. "Sure thing. Raven Cordoba, right?"

He nodded and sat back.

She turned to fetch their drinks, and Raven knew—after that tip, she wouldn't stray far from their table for the rest of the night.

"So, what's the play I'm hearing about with the Stallions and your father?" Stoker asked while they waited for their drinks.

Raven didn't look at him. "It's a distribution deal—clean route north to Upper Cali into Canada. Keeps Culver staffed with Kings and keeps the product moving."

Stoker raised an eyebrow. "And your father's on board?"

The conversation halted long enough for the waitress to set down their drinks. She smiled and left.

Raven exhaled through his nose, almost laughing.

"If I can get him there, it’ll be an act of God.

He still thinks compromise is weak, even if it’s with another crew from the King family.

But if he signs, the Stallions become our pipeline.

There will be no turf war, no blood—just profit, plain and simple. He’d be stupid not to accept the deal."

Stoker swirled his drink, watching the ice settle. "And if he doesn’t?"

Raven shrugged. "Then we find another way. I knew getting them to sit at the same table would be a stretch, given the rumors I’ve heard about the two. But I figured the money might tip the scale. Either way, I make suggestions. He makes decisions. It’s Capo privilege."

Raven watched the next dancer glide across the stage, her hips swaying with practiced ease.

The redhead was older, with curves still sharp and breasts lifted by a surgeon’s skill—but she didn’t have the edge that Blood Lust demanded.

There was too much hunger in her eyes and not enough luxury in her smile.

Then she locked eyes with Stoker.

He didn’t move or speak; he just let the corners of his mouth tilt upward—barely a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. Raven's gaze flicked between them, recognizing the exchange. He knew that look. Stoker had a new plaything. He looked away and let them share the moment.