Chapter 8 – Madeline
Vegas was waking up, the bright hum of the Strip rolling to life as the last hints of daylight bled into neon haze. The daytime calm had vanished, replaced by the chaotic rhythm of people seeking their next thrill. But I wasn’t looking for excitement — not tonight.
I just wanted to get home, clear my head, and process the whirlwind of information I’d been gathering about Club V.
I stepped out of the club, the door closing softly behind me as I hit the pavement.
The air was cooler now, with a faint breeze carrying the sounds of distant music and laughter. My heels clicked softly against the sidewalk as I made my way toward the nearest cab stand, weaving around clusters of tourists and street performers.
It wasn’t until I crossed a quieter stretch of sidewalk that I felt it—that prickling sensation at the base of my neck, like I was being watched. I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the sea of faces behind me.
Nothing unusual. Just people going about their night, some laughing, others stumbling, all absorbed in their own little bubbles.
Still, the feeling lingered, making my skin crawl.
I turned back, quickening my pace, my heart thudding louder in my chest with each step. The bustling energy of the Strip suddenly felt oppressive, the noise muffling the instinct that told me I wasn’t alone.
When I reached the shadowed alcove of a side street, a hand shot out, clamping around my arm.
I froze, a sharp gasp escaping me as I whipped around.
A man stood before me, his face obscured by a sleek black mask that caught the glow of a nearby neon sign. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to make his point clear — I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Drop it,” he said, his voice low and distorted, like he was using something to mask it. “Whatever you think you’re doing, stop. Walk away now, while you still can. This isn’t a game.”
My stomach twisted, fear coiling tight and hot in my chest, but I forced myself to straighten, to meet his shadowed gaze with more defiance than I felt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he replied coldly, his hand tightening on my arm for a fraction of a second before releasing me. “You’re digging where you don’t belong, asking questions that don’t need answers.”
My throat felt dry, my mind racing.
Was he from the club? Did Jaxon or Declan send him? Or was this someone else entirely — someone who’d picked up on my investigation from a distance?
“Who are you?” I demanded, trying to sound braver than I felt.
“That’s not the question you should be asking,” he said, his tone sharp. “The question is whether you’re smart enough to take this warning seriously.”
I took a step back, putting space between us, my hand hovering near my purse where I’d tucked away a small can of pepper spray. “What happens if I don’t?”
The man’s laugh was humourless, a low, chilling sound that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “Then you’ll find out just how dangerous curiosity can be. And trust me, it won’t be a lesson you survive.”
The words hit me like ice water, and for a moment, my resolve wavered. But then the image of my father flashed in my mind — his weary eyes, the weight of his fight against a system that didn’t care about justice.
I straightened my shoulders, my jaw tightening. “I don’t scare easily.”
“You should,” he said simply, stepping back into the shadows.
Just like that, he was gone, melting into the business of the Strip as if he’d never been there at all.
I stood frozen, the world around me blurring into a cacophony of noise and light that felt impossibly far away. My breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, the pounding of my heart so loud it drowned out everything else. My hands trembled violently at my sides, the adrenaline crashing through me like a tidal wave as his words played on an endless loop in my mind.
Stop digging.
The cold finality of the threat wrapped around my chest like a vise, squeezing tighter with every breath.
My eyes darted frantically across the crowd, searching for him, for anyone, but he was gone — swallowed up by the chaos of the city, leaving only the echo of his warning.
My knees felt weak, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me until I had to grip the edge of a nearby railing to keep myself upright.
He wasn’t bluffing. The way he’d spoken, the menace in his tone — it wasn’t a scare tactic. It was a promise.
I tried to steady my breathing, but my lungs felt constricted, like I couldn’t pull in enough air.
My fingers brushed against the thin strap of my purse, fumbling for the pepper spray I should’ve reached for earlier. It was there, tucked away where it always was, but in the heat of the moment, I hadn’t thought of it.
People always talk about fight or flight like those are the only options. Either you square up and fight back, or you run like hell. But what they don’t always mention is the other two: freeze and fawn.
I’d frozen. Completely.
In those critical seconds, when the man’s presence loomed too close and his words cut like a blade, my body had gone rigid.
My mind screamed for me to move, to do something , but all I could do was stand there, frozen in place, every muscle locked as if fear itself had become a physical force.
It wasn’t a choice — it never is. It’s a reaction, automatic and uncontrollable. My survival instincts had betrayed me, locking me in a state where I couldn’t fight, couldn’t run, couldn’t even think straight.
He was gone. And if he could approach me so easily once, what was stopping him from doing it again?
Panic clawed at the edges of my mind, each thought more suffocating than the last.
Who was he? How much did he know? And how close was I to stepping into something I couldn’t handle?
This isn’t a game.
The words reverberated through me like a gunshot, each syllable hitting harder than the last.
I wanted to run, to disappear into the crowd and pretend none of this had ever happened, but my legs refused to move. My body was locked in place, paralyzed by the knowledge that someone, somewhere, was watching me. Waiting.
When I finally managed to pull out my phone, my hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it. My thumb hovered over the screen, torn between calling for an Uber or calling the police. But what would I say? That a masked man had threatened me and vanished into thin air? That I didn’t even know who he was or what he wanted, only that he was connected to something I couldn’t walk away from?
The thought of the police dismissing me, of them brushing this off as nothing more than paranoia, was almost as terrifying as the man himself.
I forced myself to order the Uber my hands trembling as I input my current location into the app.
Locking my screen, I clutched the phone tightly, its weight grounding me as I tried to pull myself together.
My steps back toward the main street felt shaky and unsteady, like I was moving through quicksand. Every face in the crowd seemed to blur together, each one a potential threat.
They wanted me to stop. Whoever they were, they were desperate enough to send someone to threaten me in person.
I swallowed hard, my resolve fighting to surface through the fear. I might have been terrified, but I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
When the cab finally pulled up to the curb, I climbed inside, my pulse still racing. I didn’t look back as the driver pulled away, but the man’s voice followed me all the same, echoing in my mind like a ghost I couldn’t shake.
Stop digging.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving a cold, hollow ache in its place. The silence felt oppressive, every creak of the floorboards or groan of the pipes sending a jolt through my already frayed nerves.
The first thing I did was lock the door, bolting it twice and testing the handle to make sure it wouldn’t budge. My hands trembled as I moved to the windows, one by one, checking the locks and drawing the blinds.
The usually comforting and wonderful glow of Vegas outside seeped through the edges, but I ignored it, my focus on securing the space until it felt as safe as it could.
Once I was certain everything was locked up tight, I leaned against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I reached for it with trembling fingers.
Quinn: Hey, just checking in. Did you make it home okay?
I stared at the message for a long moment. Part of me didn’t want to reply, didn’t want to drag Quinn into whatever this was. But the memory of that masked man — his voice, his warning — made my chest tighten all over again.
Me: Yeah, I’m home. Just had a weird moment outside. Nothing major.
The response was immediate.
Quinn: Weird? What kind of weird?
I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Could I even explain it?
Me: Some guy being sketchy. Probably nothing, but it rattled me a little.
Her reply came in faster than I expected.
Quinn: Maddie. Be serious. What happened?
I sighed, rubbing my temples as I tried to decide how much to tell her. Finally, I settled on a version of the truth that wouldn’t completely freak her out.
Me: Someone stopped me not too far from the club. Said some cryptic stuff. I think it was meant to scare me.
The dots indicating she was typing appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared again. Finally, her reply came through.
Quinn: That’s NOT okay. Do you want me to come over? Or call someone? Like Jax? He’s good at this kind of thing.
The mention of Jaxon made me pause, my thoughts flickering to his gruff demeanour, his sharp eyes that always seemed to see more than I wanted him to. The last thing I needed was him showing up here, barking orders and giving me that infuriating look like he already knew I’d bitten off more than I could chew.
Me: I’m fine. I promise. But thanks.
Quinn: At least take his number, just in case. Seriously, he’d probably want you to have it anyway.
I hesitated, staring at the screen as her message sat there, daring me to accept the offer. It wasn’t like I planned on calling him. The thought alone made my skin prickle with annoyance. But another part of me, the part that couldn’t forget the way the masked man’s hand had gripped my arm, whispered that it might not be the worst idea.
Finally, I sighed and typed back.
Me: Okay. Send it over.
Her response was immediate, a string of digits lighting up my screen. I stared at them for a long moment before adding the number to my contacts, labelling it simply as “Jaxon.”
Quinn: Promise me you’ll use it if you need to. He’s grumpy, but he’s solid. He’d help you in a heartbeat.
I didn’t reply, setting my phone down on the table and leaning back against the wall. The apartment felt smaller than usual, the shadows pressing in as I replayed the night’s events in my head.
The warning, the mask, the cold finality in the man’s voice — it all swirled together, making my chest tighten with an ache that was equal parts fear and determination.
Jaxon’s number was there now, a safety net I hadn’t asked for but somehow felt better knowing I had. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever use it, but the fact that it was there, sitting quietly in my phone, made the room feel just a little less suffocating.
For now, though, I had no intention of calling him. Whatever this was, I needed to figure it out on my own.
At least, that’s what I told myself.