CHAPTER 2
WOLF
I stand in the middle of my office, where the low light just grazes the edges of the furniture. Most of the room is lost in shadows, and that’s how I prefer it. It fits how I feel—flat, muted, like someone turned down the volume inside me. Lifeless. Dull. My days all look the same.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watch my nightclub, Luscious, moving below. Up here, it’s silent. Down there, I imagine it’s all sweat, pounding music, and tension you could slice with a knife. Everyone moves together in chaos. From here, it feels like another world.
Not a world I’m sure I belong to tonight.
I don’t move.
I don’t blink.
I just stare down at the mess in front of me, the lights and motion, letting it blur until it becomes nothing but moving shapes. My face doesn’t shift. My body doesn’t react. At least, not like it used to. Before this stage in my life, I thrived off stuff like this. Now, not so much.
Now, that said, I do want to run this place.
While it might take up a bulk of my time, Luscious is my home.
It’s the warm apple pie on the windowsill, its scent wafting in the breeze.
You know what to expect, and the outcome will be delicious.
I know the outcome of a good night here.
I know what to expect when so much of the world is unknown.
The knowledge that Luscious will be mine is the only reason I’ve stayed here as long as I have. I’ve earned this place. The number of years I’ve spent neck deep in this nightclub is a shoo-in for it to be mine. If not, then I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll fight dirty to get what I’m owed.
Looking down at the chaos now, my face doesn’t shift. My body doesn’t react. I’m a statue planted right in front of these windows, hollowed out and unmoving by the storm that’s raging below me.
I’m so locked in that I don’t hear my office door opening. I don’t even know someone else is in the room with me until someone clears their throat to announce their arrival.
I don’t turn around. “What is it?” My voice comes out monotone. It sounds like it’s been scraped clean of anything resembling emotion.
There’s a beat of hesitation on their part. “Your father is here. He’d like a word,” Ted, my bouncer, says in return.
A sigh slips from between my lips as my body sags on my feet. Of all nights for him to come, it has to be a night when I’m not at my best. I’d think he had this planned if it weren’t for the fact that I do know him, and my father doesn’t care about anything except his bottom line.
Not even me.
“Tell him he can wait until tomorrow. I’m busy.”
Ted doesn’t shift, doesn’t shuffle, doesn’t even soften the blow. “He’s not asking. He said that …”
“Spit it out,” I say harshly.
Ted takes a shaky breath. “He said that you shouldn’t push him right now.”
The words land heavily in my chest. They drag my already-low mood down even further as I think about the conversation about to transpire.
My father only comes to Luscious when it’s important.
He isn’t known for coming here just because he wants to.
If it were up to him, Luscious would close its doors.
He’s not a fan of how I used his money when he told me to invest in a business.
He wanted me to invest in a business he already had his fingers dipped into, so he could have that extra bit of hold on me.
He never expected me to take the seed money and open up this nightclub.
He’s been giving me shit about it ever since.
“Then send him back, I guess,” I retort, then run my fingers over my short, sandy-blonde hair.
I’m exasperated with that man always thinking he can come and go as he pleases.
One of these days … I’ll make sure the old fuck knows who it is that has slowly been dismantling his entire empire brick by brick.
I’ll relish the look of shock on his face.
Thrive on the knowledge that I one-upped him to the point where he lost everything, and I gained it all.
Slowly but surely, I’ll own every single thing he has, and then I’ll rub it in his motherfucking face.
Until then, getting through each day is trying.
I was not lucky in the father department.
My younger years were not something I lived; they were something I survived. My father isn’t the kind of man who teaches lessons and offers guidance. He rules. Everything in his kingdom is absolute.
Every mistake was a personal insult.
Every breath was something earned.
Affection was replaced with control.
Curiosity was punished.
Silence became the safest language.
Silence is what saved me when I was younger.
Many times. I learned early on in life that the world inside his home was unpredictable.
I learned that the only way anyone can be safe living in my father's home is to anticipate danger before it arrives.
While that might be hard, over the years, it has become second nature to me.
And my senses are screaming at me right now.
They’re telling me to run. They’re telling me not to overstep myself in front of him. I need to channel the boy I was living inside my father’s house, rather than the man I’ve become since moving out.
Ted leaves as fast as he entered. The footsteps hit me like a shockwave.
His exit is soft, just a whisper of the door easing shut behind him.
The faint shift of air as his heavy frame leaves me alone with the devil.
It should settle the room, his absence. But it doesn’t.
The room is still dim. The quiet is still muted.
But instead of it returning to normal, everything sharpens around me.
Another set of footsteps enters my office.
Each step is like the crack of a gunshot.
Sharp. Precise. Unhurried in a way that makes my spine fight not to flinch.
The sound ricochets inside my skull. It’s too loud, too close, too familiar.
I nearly wince with every step. The urge twitches at the corner of my eye, but I lock it down with a deep inhale.
I don’t move. I don’t give this man even an inch.
If I do, he’ll be like a shark smelling blood in the water.
I don’t turn around and look at him. I keep my gaze focused on the nightclub’s chaos below. The blur of lights and bodies suddenly feels like they’re a hundred miles away.
My face stays blank, even though my hands are in my hair, practically pulling my short hair out.
My shoulder stays square, even though I want to cower in front of this man.
My breathing stays the same, even though it feels like my throat is too tight to allow it into my lungs.
I stand still, letting the sound of his clipped footsteps hit me again and again.
Each step is a reminder, a warning, that I need not let a single emotion show.
The room feels colder with him in it, my biggest enemy.
He’s wrapped in the shape of a man who terrorized me throughout my formative years.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I turn away from the glass slowly as the words leave me level, flat, emotionless. A practiced tone I’ve perfected throughout the years.
Like always, he doesn’t answer me right away. Instead, he acts like this office is his and he can take his time. He acts as if he owns me and my time, and he can do with it as he sees fit. He doesn’t ask permission. He never has. He simply does what he wants when he wants.
He pulls the stopper out of the decanter. The soft pop of it is like a bomb going off in the room's quiet. It’s even louder than the music below as it pulses through the club.
“What did we discuss two weeks ago?” he asks all nonchalantly.
He pours two fingers of bourbon into a glass with the ease of someone who’s done it a million times. The scent of the bourbon drifts across the room, sharp and warm, but I don’t let it touch me where I stand. A flicker of irritation, dread, and exhaustion rises to the surface from its grave.
I cross my arms over my chest, just as much protection as it is defiance. “You’ll have to remind me. We’ve had a few heart-to-hearts since then.”
His eyes flick up to meet mine, narrowing. “Watch yourself, boy.”
He goes back to his drink, the liquid catching what little light in the room, as he brings it to his lips. He takes a small, testing sip and exhales. A long, weary sigh that sounds like disappointment wrapped in familiarity.
“I am speaking of your inheritance, Wolf.”
I tense up. My eyes bounce between the drink in his hand and his face. I see the moment he knows he has my full, undivided attention, because a sinister smile tugs at the corner of his weathered face.
His words hit harder than they should. I keep my face blank, my posture rigid and steady.
I refuse to give him anything, not even the smallest action.
I let nothing pierce my armor while in front of this man.
So, I stand as still as a stone, meeting his gaze without flinching, even though all I want to do is pull my hair out by the roots.
“I haven’t forgotten about the inheritance,” I reply, keeping my voice smooth and level.
Leaning back against my alcohol case, he brings the drink to his lips once more, looking at me over the rim. His cold, assessing eyes sweep over me from head to toe.
“Are you so sure?” he murmurs as he downs the rest of his drink, relishing the burn as he makes a face. “Ah, you always did enjoy the expensive stuff.”
“Can I help you with something?” I ask by trying to get him out of my office as quickly as possible.
He places the glass down on the case, then makes his way toward the black leather couch sitting against the wall.
He sits right in the middle of it, placing his ankle over his knee.
He settles in and places his arms on the back of the couch, like he’s the king of his world and we’re just living in it.
He levels me with a glare. “Two weeks ago, the stipulations of your inheritance were read.”
I nod. “I am aware.”