9. Chapter 9 #2
Astrid’s head tilts, her gold hoop earrings catching the light. "Maddox, that’s a fortune for a girl who’s been here three months. You’re overcompensating for a girl you barely know—“
"I don't care if she's been here three minutes," I snap, though there’s no bite in it this time. I stand up and smooth the front of my vest, trying to re-centre myself. “It’s my fault she doesn't feel safe in her own house. It’s my money, my club, my responsibility. Just... do it, Astrid. Please."
"Understood," Astrid nods, though she pauses, her dark eyes flickering to the sleeve of my shirt, with something close to pity before sauntering towards the door. I wait for the door to click shut before reaching for the decanter. My hand is less steady than I’d like, the cristal clinking against the grey marble of my Bvlgari watch with a sharp, grating sound.
I pour a double and knock it back, the liquid scorching my throat as I stare at my cuff where a smudge of Rylen’s blood has dried; a rusted brown stain on the white silk, a reminder of my failure to keep him safe.
I deserve the way the scotch claws at my chest. Because out there, Rylen is bleeding, and it’s my fault for trying to conform to rules of a society that doesn't embrace us.
People think the violence I threaten is just a performance, a way to keep the vultures at bay. What they don't understand is that I don't choose to be a monster because I enjoy the darkness; I choose it because the light isn't strong enough to protect the only person I truly love.
If I don't become the thing that scares the shadows, then the shadows will eventually take him from me and I’m never going to let that happen.
To keep Rylen safe—to keep that loyal, beautiful soul from being killed by men like Morrow—I have to be willing to burn everything else to the ground.
If that makes me a monster, then I’ll be the best one this city has ever seen.
I swallow hard against the burn, staring at the mark until my eyes ache, hoping to drown out the echo of his voice in my head so that I can stop desperately trying to discern what it was he whispered. I dismiss the thought with a wave of my hand before dragging it across my weary eyes.
Astrid has barely crossed the threshold before Felicia glides in—her auburn hair tumbling over her delicate shoulders, wearing a slip dress that looks more like liquid than fabric.
She carries herself with the practiced ease of a woman who knows that every eye in this club is here for her.
"I saw Cass," Felicia begins, leaning against the edge of my desk.
"Poor thing looked like she was waiting for the floor to swallow her whole. I told Poppy to take her home."
“And what makes you think you can dismiss my staff before the end of their shift?” I ask, mumbling the words as I cross my arms tightly over my chest. Lecia likes to play boss around here when she knows I’m distracted, something that never fails to aggravate me.
“Oh darling, don’t be like that," she tuts, smiling playfully at me as her fingers tip-toe their way up my arm. "What’s really bothering you?”
“Morrow went after Rylen,” I bark, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat.
I push away from her and start to pace, my Louboutin Oxfords clicking against the hardwood.
"He actually laid his disgusting hands on something of mine.
Can you believe the arrogance? The sheer fucking entitlement it takes to think you can make a move on my head of security in my own club? "
Felicia watches me, a knowing smirk spreading across her painted lips. It’s a look that says she sees through the anger to my panicked heart underneath.
"What?" I demand, stopping to glare at her.
She doesn't answer immediately, and when she does it’s a low hum that harmonizes with the thrum of the club downstairs.
"You take such good care of everyone, Mads. Especially him . It’s almost..
. sweet." She pushes off the desk and closes the distance between us.
"I was thinking. Since Rylen is the one who took the hit for the team.
.. maybe we should give him a proper thank you. Both of us, together."
I narrow my eyes, my pulse still erratic. "What are you talking about?" I balk.
"I’m talking about a threesome, Maddox," she says with a rolling of her eyes, her voice sing-songing like the velvety lure of a siren. I actually let out a dry, harsh laugh. "Rylen? You’ve got to be joking. There is no way in hell he would agree to that. The man detests you."
Felicia scoffs, checking the length of her hair for split ends. " Please . Men trip over their own shadows to get a session with me. Your so-called shield is made of flesh and blood, is he not?"
"Rylen calls you 'Flea,'" I point out, looking her up and down. "He thinks of you as a parasite. He’d sooner escort you from the building than into his bed."
Felicia lets out a breathy laugh, her eyes dazzling with the prospect of a challenge.
“I’ve handled much more difficult men than Rylen Wilson," she states, pride dripping from each syllable. I mean to tell her to leave, but the idea starts to take root. The more drinks Felicia pours, and the more she talks, the more her voice becomes a subtle, convincing whir in the back of my mind; until I convince myself it’s actually a brilliant move.
I picture Rylen—stiff, duty-bound Rylen—forced to let go for once.
I think about his face when he’s flustered, and about how much he’s suffered tonight because of my failures.
Maybe he should get a reward; a distraction to keep his mind from snapping under the pressure I put on him.
Even if it is just a blowjob from someone he doesn't particularly like, it’s still a release he clearly needs.
And the best part? There’s no risk of him catching feelings for Felicia since he can't stand her. It’s perfectly safe. It’s just... a bit of harmless fun really.
"He’d be absolutely horrified," I mutter, a slow, dark smirk finally tugging at my mouth. "He’d be grateful," Felicia counters, her eyes gleaming like a predator’s. "Think of it as a bonus for his loyalty."
I look at the door where he fled. I can still feel the ghost of his breath on my mouth from when he whispered those almost inaudible words—only managing to make out " I want ".
My heart does a strange, painful kick thinking about what that could mean.
If I can't give him the quiet life he deserves, maybe I can give him a night he’ll never forget.
I don’t pick up the receiver immediately, not wanting to fuel Lecia's inflated ego any further—I let the idea settle, watching the way her chest rises and falls with her shallow, excited breathing. She’s leaning in, her eyes hungry for me to pull the trigger, but I keep her in limbo, taking a slow, deliberate sip of my scotch, letting the ice clink in the heavy silence of the room .
I make her wait until the smugness on her face begins to flicker with uncertainty, asserting a truth she too often forgets: Felicia might be the blood domme downstairs, the woman that men pay to make them bleed; but in this office, she’s the one on my leash.
I hold the power here. I decide when the game begins.
Only when I’m satisfied with the tension in the room do I finally reach for the desk phone and punch in Rylen's extension.
My finger drags over my bottom lip in a signal to be quiet as I wait for the line to click over. I can feel Felicia's gaze on me, drilling a heavy and expectant hole into the sideback of my skull.
"Rylen," I say into the receiver, my voice dropping to that low, guttural vibration. "Get back to the club. Now. I need you."