Chapter 39
S he’s trembling.
Bent forward against the mirror, wrists bound, legs spread, pussy glistening.
My perfect, wicked little rabbit.
I grip her hips, and I don’t go gentle. My hands are rough on her ass, pulling her open. My tongue strokes up the length of her slit, slow and possessive, like I’m savoring my favorite dessert. She jolts with every flick, every circle, every press of pressure on her swollen clit.
Her moan is desperate—nearly feral.
“F-fuck—Lucian…”
“Say it,” I growl against her pussy, hot breath making her shiver. “Say what you are.”
“I’m—” She breaks off, gasping when I suck hard on her clit, rolling it between my lips before letting go. “I’m your slut. I’m yours—God, please?—”
“Mmm. There’s my girl.”
I flatten my tongue and drag it up, then plunge it into her, fucking her with my mouth until she cries out, thighs shaking. Her body’s on a knife’s edge, hips grinding, searching for friction, for release.
I give it to her.
For a moment.
I press two fingers inside, curling them deep until I find that spongy spot that makes her sing for me. Her breath catches like she’s just been knocked out of orbit.
“That’s it,” I rasp. “Ride it, baby. Let me feel you come all over my fingers like a good little?—”
I stop.
Pull out.
Cold.
She lets out a strangled sound, half-whimper, half-wail. Her hips roll back in desperation, chasing the pressure. “No—no, no, don’t stop, please?—!”
I rise behind her, towering over her small, trembling body as I grip her chin and tilt her face toward the mirror. Her lips are parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and furious.
“Bad girls don’t get to come just because they beg,” I say, low and cruel, dragging my soaked fingers across her lips. “You ran from me. Made me hunt. You don’t get rewards yet, little rabbit. You get lessons. ”
She licks my fingers anyway. Of course she does.
“I’ll be good,” she breathes. “I swear I’ll be good, sir.”
I chuckle darkly, already dropping back down. “You’re going to say that again in about thirty seconds—right before I take it away again. ”
I dive back in.
This time I’m merciless—tongue and fingers working in tandem, dragging her toward the edge in rapid, relentless waves. Her thighs quake. Her moans come in broken sobs. She’s losing herself—completely unraveling in my grip.
And just as I feel her body lock?—
Just as her climax starts to crest?—
The club’s alarm shrieks.
A brutal, blaring sound that echoes off the walls and slices straight through the haze.
Every hair on my body stands on end.
That’s not a club alarm.
That’s not a drill.
That’s a breach.
I freeze.
Sienna jerks, breathless and still straining against the edge. “Wh-what…?”
“Stay here,” I bark, already standing. Rage claws through me like wildfire.
She’s blinking, confused and shaking, still on the cusp of her orgasm.
“Lucian—what’s happening?”
My jaw tightens. I don’t answer. I’m already grabbing my discarded belt, looping it into my hands. Mask still on. My cock still hard and leaking.
My club has been compromised.
And whoever just walked into my house?
They’re going to bleed for interrupting me.
All pretense ends in an instant.
The alarm still echoes, but I’m already winding the belt around my hand, tugging it tight until the leather groans. I reach up and rip off my mask, then hers—her face flushed, pupils wide, breath still heavy with arousal and confusion.
Not anymore.
I take her hand, grip firm but steady, and pull her with me. My strides are fast, decisive. No more games. No more play.
We cut through the mirror maze in seconds—my path memorized long before she ever stepped foot on this floor. A wall panel just past the curved glass stage hides the call box. I slam it open, lift the receiver, and press the override code.
Chaos explodes in my ear.
Gunfire. Screaming. One of my men shouting “They’re inside—six—maybe more—fuck—” before the line goes dead.
But one more word cut through the frey. “DeLuca.”
My blood turns to ice.
Lorenzo is here.
He wouldn’t have come himself. He never does. The bastard doesn’t stain his hands. But he sent his dogs. Armed and ready to make a statement.
He picked the wrong fucking place.
I turn to Sienna but she already knows. I see it in her eyes—the shift from playful to terrified. Her body’s shaking and her lips part like she wants to speak, but no sound comes out.
I take her face between my hands, holding her steady.
“Sienna. Angel.” My voice is calm. Quiet. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”
She nods, chest rising and falling too fast.
“The club is under gunfire. There are men inside, armed, and they’re not here to negotiate. We have to get out. I need you to stay behind me, and no matter what happens— you do not let go of me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispers, but the word barely comes out. Her whole body is tight, vibrating with fear.
I turn, hit a second panel beside the call box. It clicks open to reveal a hidden stash—handguns lined up like art, each one cleaned and loaded. I grab two, checking them fast, efficient. One goes in my waistband. The other stays in my hand.
I glance back at her. “Have you ever seen anyone get shot before?”
She swallows hard. “No.”
“Have you ever seen someone die?”
Her breath catches. “No…”
I nod. “Okay. Baby—listen to me. In order for us to make it out of here, I’m going to kill someone. Probably several someones.”
Her eyes widen, breath hitching again. The reality of what I’ve just said wraps around her like a vice.
“You’re going to see blood,” I say, gentler now, though my tone is firm. “You’re going to see them fall. You’re going to see what it looks like when I do what I was made to do. You okay?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Sienna—look at me.”
I take her chin again, gently but unyielding, tilting her face until her eyes meet mine. Big. Wild. Glassy with unshed tears.
And then I kiss her.
Because there’s nothing else I can do.
Because if I die tonight, I need her to know some part of this was real.
I rest my forehead to hers, both of us closing our eyes. Her breath shudders out against my lips.
“I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she says, voice hoarse but strong this time. “I trust you.”
I exhale hard, letting her answer settle into my chest like a weight.
“Good girl,” I murmur, backing up.
“Stay close. Stay low. And do not run.”
She nods again, trembling fingers brushing the sweat from her brow. Her eyes are wide, but her chin is set. She’s scared—but she’s ready.
I glance back at the security panel, watching the grainy feed. They’re on their way—moving floor by floor, sweeping down from Level Nine. A slow descent with quick intent. They think they’re smart. Think they’re surgical. Coordinated.
But this is my house.
They were hoping for chaos. For blood. For screams echoing through the corridors while I sat in my goddamn throne in The Devil’s Playground, playing host to a hundred masked deviants.
But I cleared the club and they hadn’t counted on that. So now it’s just them… and me.
And her.
Several of my men are down—I can’t tell how bad—but I’ll grieve for them later. If I make it out. Right now, I only care about the breathing, shaking woman behind me.
And I swear on the fucking flames of Hell itself—I will level this place to dust before I let her bleed here.
I check the hall once more, then turn back to her. “Let’s go.”
We move in a crouch, slipping between the dark shadows of Wrath —structures designed to mimic the ruins of abandoned buildings and crumbling alleyways. Concrete pillars, rusted scaffolding, half-buried rebar twisted like vines. This floor was built for primal play —predator and prey.
Tonight? It’s real.
We’re almost to the rear wall when I hear the crunch of boots on metal.
They’re here.
I flatten Sienna against a jagged column, shielding her with my body. “Behind me. Stay small.”
She ducks low, her hands balled tight against her stomach.
Voices echo—sharp, alert. I catch them in the reflections—two men clearing the path ahead.
I pull my gun. One breath. Two.
Pop. Pop.
Both drop.
Not fast enough.
I spin, grabbing her hand and tugging her along until a cluster of metal crates blocks our path. I shove her down behind them just as two more shadows close in with fast footsteps.
I hear the click of a weapon being raised—too close. No time to aim.
I surge forward.
The first man rounds the corner. He barely has time to register me before my fist crushes his throat. He gurgles, stumbles, and I grab the barrel of his rifle, turning it into a lever to slam him face-first into the wall. Bone cracks.
The second one lunges—firing blindly.
I’m already inside his guard. My elbow slams into his temple, dazing him. Then my knee rises fast, brutal, shattering his nose. He swings, desperate—I duck, grab the back of his neck, and drive him down onto my knee. He drops like deadweight.
Two more bodies.
I exhale slowly and turn back to find Sienna staring.
Her hands are over her mouth, but I see the shock in her eyes. The tears pushing forward. She just watched me kill two men—one with my hands, one with rage.
I crouch, cup her cheek.
“You okay?”
Her nod is barely there. But it’s enough.
“We’re almost out.”
A gunshot cracks overhead, loud and sudden. I throw her down and cover her body with mine just as the bullet strikes a hanging light above us. Glass shatters, raining down like crystal hail.
She screams—just once—and I feel it vibrate through me.
I twist, shielding her, then rise on instinct—gun raised—and fire.
One shot.
Clean.
The last man stumbles and falls, crashing backward into the broken scaffolding before his body thuds hard against the concrete floor.
Sienna flinches at the sickening sound.
But we have to fucking go.
I grab her, lift her into my arms and run—glass crunching beneath my boots as I move fast and low across the debris field. She buries her face in my shoulder, and I feel her tears against my neck.
The hidden exit is just ahead—disguised by a rusted steel archway and a false ventilation shaft.
I stop long enough to set her down.
Our hands find each other again.
Fingers locked.
I look at her. “We’re almost out.”
Then we run—side by side—into the shadows of the emergency corridor.
My ears are ringing. Every muscle in my body is on edge, every sense tuned for danger. I reach the stairwell door first and press a hand against it, listening.
Silence.
Stillness.
I wait one more breath, then push it open.
Clear.
I exhale hard, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside with me. The metal door swings closed behind us with a soft thud, and we move—fast.
I take the stairs two at a time, boots pounding against concrete. She's barefoot in nothing but her mesh bodysuit, and I hear the soft slap of her soles with every hurried step, her breathing ragged behind me. Her courage is admirable, but she’s unraveling fast—and who the fuck could blame her?
When we hit the bottom, I don’t stop. I grip the door handle tight, every instinct screaming this is the final moment. Freedom or a bullet.
I throw it open and burst out—gun raised.
Another barrel meets mine.
"Fuck—" we both start, pulling our weapons back when I realize it’s Killian. My head of security. His eyes are wide, gun lowering just as fast.
“Jesus, boss.”
“Where are they?” I demand, scanning behind him.
“Still inside. Five of them. Moving slow. We’ve got eyes.”
“How many of ours?”
Killian’s face tightens.
“Three injured. But they’ll live. No deaths.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
Relief hits like a sledgehammer. The ache in my chest loosens enough to let me breathe.
Killian holds up two security jackets. Sees Sienna behind me, still trembling, lips pale, eyes blown wide from adrenaline and fear.
He tosses me the jackets.
“Get her out of here. We’ve got the rest.”
He looks at her, not unkindly.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Good thing the club was already cleared. If it hadn’t been, this would’ve been a massacre.”
Sienna doesn’t speak. Just gives him the faintest nod. She’s trying to hold it together. But she’s barely tethered.
“Come on,” I murmur, taking her hand again.
We round the corner and I lead her straight to the back lot—dark, empty, silent.
My motorcycle sits parked beneath the floodlight. Two helmets wait.
I tug one free and crouch in front of her, gently sliding it on over her head. My fingers graze her cheeks as I adjust the strap.
“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?”
She shakes her head. Her breath’s shaky. She’s holding on by threads.
Fuck.
I lean closer. “Just hold onto me, okay baby?”
She nods again, slower this time. Trusting.
I rise, fix my own helmet, and swing onto the bike. My hands go to the handlebars and I hold one out behind me.
She climbs on, her legs settling behind mine. Then her arms wrap around my waist—tight. So tight.
She’s fucking terrified and it breaks my heart.
I cover her locked hands with one of mine and squeeze, just once.
Then I start the engine.
And we fly.
Away from the blood, away from the death.
Toward home.