Nyx
As I hang up the phone, it takes everything in me not to hurl it across the room at the prick’s head. My hand tightens around it, knuckles white, before I force myself to set it down on my desk. Slowly, I roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt, trying to cage the storm brewing inside me.
“What the fuck did you do?” I say, my voice low and sharp, my eyes never leaving the smug bastard in front of me.
The corner of his mouth curls into a half-smile, one so wicked and taunting it makes my fist itch to beat his face bloody. And the fact that this piece of shit had the audacity to show up dressed like a fucking Prince? It’s a goddamn insult.
Charming, my ass. This less-than-charming motherfucker wants to mark Naomi like a goddamn feral dog.
As if she belongs to him. All because my brother is her bodyguard.
Xayvion was a little occupied, so I had Mark-Anthony, his cousin—and our other bouncer— to haul his ass into my office when Jaxon radioed with the news.
Jaxon doesn’t even realize the petty pissing contest he just walked into. Her family hired him for her security, and now here we are, dealing with this asshole’s fragile ego. And Cavanaugh just pissed all over the line.
“What the fuck happened, Nyx?” Kaios asks, his voice breaking through my simmering thoughts.
I cut Christian a sharp glance. “Would you like to enlighten my brother,” I growl, leaning forward to plant my fist on the desk, “on the shit you just pulled in our establishment?”
It takes every ounce of willpower not to leap across this desk, sink my fist into his smug mouth, and smear his blood across the fucking walls.
“She is mine. Isn’t she?” Christian says, his tone dripping with arrogance, not a shred of remorse anywhere on his face. “I can do whatever I want with my wife.”
My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. “So, your wife told you she wanted to be drugged in a public setting? Around men who could’ve done God knows what to her? After all she’s been through, I’m not sure that’s the truth.” My brow arches, the fury in my voice cutting through the air like a blade.
“It was her idea,” he says casually, straightening his jacket as if we’re discussing the goddamn weather.
“She’s into that kind of thing. Something about a book she read,” he adds, picking at an invisible lint on his shoulder, a chuckle escaping his lips.
“She saw something she liked and wanted to try it. And who am I to deny her deepest fantasies?”
“And her friend?” I snarl, every word dripping venom as I step around my desk.
After confirming with the bartender, who was now racked with guilt, she let us know that Christian paid her double to deliver the drinks and tell Naomi it was from a secret admirer.
Though in her defense, she hadn’t known the drinks had been drugged—and I’m guessing Naomi thought it was from one of us.
“Her friend was supposed to join us. She was consenting as well,” he says, dismissively waving his hand like putting lives at risk is a trivial inconvenience.
It’s almost impressive how men like him exist. But then again, I grew up under the rule of Giuseppe Leone—my father, the man who taught me that the monsters that go bump in the night are child’s play compared to the real psychopaths.
And because of him, I can spot a poser from a mile away.
The cadence of Christian’s voice, the sheen of sweat gathering on his brow… that screams insecurity. Weakness. Men like him don’t strive for peace. It’s always about power, no matter the collateral damage. Even if it’s someone they claim to love.
The doctrine of men like him doesn’t allow for exceptions.
Not for wives, lovers, or friends. Every move is a so-called power play—a game that either lands them on top or buries them in the dirt.
He’s not some apex predator—he’s just a bitch trying to play the part, no matter how twisted he is, I’m sure he doesn't know what brand of nightmare he just slipped into.
It finally clicks for Kaios. He shifts beside me, his eyes darting between us, realization tightening his jaw. Cavanaugh played us, using the pretense of peace—an olive branch—as cover for his twisted little stunt.
I glance at Kaios, watching his gaze flicker with concern. He likes Naomi. It’s written all over his face, even though he’ll never admit it. To him, she’s a job, not a person he’s allowed to care about. But the tension in his shoulders tells a different story.
I thought she’d be just another debutante—one of those girls who likes tattoos and thinks screwing the help is an act of rebellion. The kind of girl that makes my skin crawl.
Until I met her…
And when she flipped Jaxon off on the dance floor, she wasn’t just a spark—she was fucking wildfire. When she dropped into a curtsy, that shit actually made me laugh. Not the hollow laugh I save for pleasantries but a real one, the kind I haven’t had in a long time.
She’s got spirit. Spunk. It’s intriguing. She’s so much more than meets the eye. But she’s a case, so I get my brother’s reservations.
I re-center my thoughts, remembering why we’re here—the reason she’s lying under a doctor’s care, after what went down in my club, and I wonder what kind of man would want to dim that light.
Her man, the one who should’ve protected her, put her in danger instead.
That’s what sets the venom loose in my voice before I can stop it.
“So, you want me to believe Naomi Blaine and her friend consented to being drugged?” My tone drips with mock amusement.
“Because they both wanted it so bad?” A laugh bubbles up, sharp and bitter.
I almost lose myself in it before Kaios’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Fucking liar,” Kaios growls beside me, his tone dark and clipped.
Cavanaugh cocks a brow at him. “Something you want to share with the class, Little Knox?”
His icy gaze stares him down, unwavering. “Yeah. You’re a fucking liar,” he repeats coolly, pushing off the bookcase. His voice rises, and the fury rolling off him is almost palpable. “Naomi isn’t even into that shit.”
Cavanaugh chuckles, the sound grating against my nerves. “Are you here to school me on what my wife likes then?”
“Someone should.”
“Oh?” He chuckles, his eyes glittering with deviousness. “Little Knox, do you have a crush on my wife?”
Kaios bares his teeth. “She’s not your wife.”
“But she will be,” Christian smirks, slouching back in his chair, hands folding over his middle like a king on a throne.
Kaios leans against the edge of my desk, one leg casually draped over the other, his posture deceptively relaxed. Too close to Christian for my liking.
“Is that so?” he says, a flash of something sinister in his eyes. “So, congratulations are in order then? Funny, I didn’t see a ring.”
“I’m proposing this week,” Christian says, the word rushing out of him. Kaios has this way about him that makes people nervous, and then they tend to talk way too much for their own good.
“And what makes you think she’ll say yes?” Kaios’ grin is deadly sharp. “I’ve heard there’s trouble in paradise. Long distance and all.”
I don’t know where he got that information, but I know well enough not to question him in the middle of his tactics. He’s rarely ever wrong, digging up information from sources unknown but never false.
“I don’t know. Must be the way she screams my name when I’m inside her,” Christian says, his smirk widening into something sharper.
For a second, I think this will set Kaios off. But no, my brother grins back. A slow, deliberate pull of his lips that sends a warning through the room.
“And how long has it been since you’ve had the honor?” Kaios tilts his head, leaning closer, voice low and taunting.
Christian glares, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second.
I close my eyes, dragging in a breath. My little brother. His mouth is both his greatest weapon and my biggest headache. Kaios can make anything sound like he’s had this girl—and if he has, Jaxon and I would’ve known because we’d have to stop him from offing Christian on site.
“You’re right, Kaios. I’ve been gone a while, but I’m back now,” Christian admits, standing now, adjusting his suit as if it gives him back his confidence. “And I’m sure once she sees the size of the ring I got her, that won’t be an issue.”
My scowl deepens, and a weight settles in my chest.
As if she could be bought.
The assumption—the gall—sours my stomach, the memory of my father surfacing unbidden.
He’d beaten my mother bloody, then bought her jewels as if forgiveness came wrapped in a light blue box.
Victims cling to hope, to the idea that things might get better, but hope is a dangerous thing in the hands of men like Christian.
My fist clenches, the urge to knock him flat crawling through me.
“You do not come into my establishment and drug women. Ever. I don’t care who it is. Do you fucking understand me?” The words come out sharp, a bark that cuts through the tension.
Both of them stare at me, blinking in silence.
Would I be this angry if it weren’t Naomi?
Would I care as much if Jaxon hadn’t trusted his instincts and waited outside the restroom for her? If he hadn’t, who knows what would’ve happened—or worse, with whom.
Christian shifts his weight, his smugness slipping back into place like armor. “I don’t think I like your tone. Care to fix it?”
Kaios’s voice drops into something lethal. “I don’t think I like your face. Can I rearrange it?”
He steps forward, and I immediately move to block his path. “Kaios,” I warn, voice low. “Think about what the fuck you wanna do right now.”
I can see it—the flicker in his eyes. The Abyss. Or at least that’s what he calls it, a place he goes where nothing and no one can reach him. If he crosses into it now, Christian won’t leave this room. Not alive, anyway.
And we don’t need that kind of heat, not from the Cavanaughs, and certainly not from The Corinthium.