4. Angel
The humiliation that was freezing my blood moments ago suddenly boils over. It’s a physical sensation—a searing, white-hot rush of adrenaline that burns away the tears before they can even fall.
I’m done.
I’m done being the girl who waits. I’m done being the “Angel” who guards a pinky-promise like a holy relic while the man who made it is currently drowning in the attention of women who wouldn’t know a promise if it bit them.
Ghost thinks I’m a child? He thinks I’m some fragile thing that belongs in a tower?
I look at the dark, pulsing heart of Onyx, and for the first time, I don’t feel like a stranger. I feel like a predator.
“Angel, what are you doing?” Grace asks, her voice rising in panic as I turn back toward the entrance of the VIP lounge instead of the exit.
“I’m staying,” I say, my voice dropping an octave. “If he can have his fun, so can I.”
I walk toward the small, discreet station near the lounge entrance where the club’s interaction tags are kept. I’ve done my research. I didn’t just find the location of this place; I scoured every forum and review I could find. I know the rules. I know the colors. I know the etiquette.
There are tags for Doms, for Subs, for Observers, and for those Open to Chat. My fingers hover over the tray. For a split second, I think about grabbing the Observer tag and just lurking in the shadows, but then I remember the brunette’s hand on Ghost’s thigh.
I grab a small, elegant pin. Submissive – Open to Chat.
It’s a lie, mostly. I’ve never submitted to anyone in my life, and I’m about as open as a bank vault, but it’s the bait I need. I pin it to the silk of my dress, right over my heart, the metal cold against my skin.
“Angel, this is insane,” Grace hisses, following me toward the long, backlit bar. “You’ve never even been to a normal club, let alone a dungeon. You’re a virgin, for fuck’s sake! You’re going to get hurt.”
“I’ve spent eighteen years being careful, Grace. Where has it gotten me? I’m eighteen and I’ve never even been kissed because I was saving myself for a man who treats me like a nuisance.”
I climb onto a high leather barstool, the slit in my black dress sliding up to reveal a dangerous amount of thigh. “I’m not waiting anymore.”
The bartender, a man with a harness over a crisp white shirt, slides a coaster in front of me. I don’t even have to order. I haven’t been sitting there for five seconds before the air beside me shifts.
“That’s a very interesting tag for a girl who looks like she could command a room just by breathing,” a deep, smooth voice says.
I turn my head slowly. The man standing there is older than me, probably in his mid-twenties.
He has dark, messy hair and a jawline that looks like it was carved from granite.
He’s wearing a tailored charcoal suit—no tie, top buttons open.
He’s objectively hot. He’s the kind of guy who probably has women falling over themselves at any other bar in the city.
I don’t feel a spark. I don’t feel the magnetic pull that I feel with Ghost. But I feel the weight of his gaze, and for once, it’s not protective. It’s hungry.
I take a breath and glance over my shoulder toward the corner booth. Ghost is still leaning back, the brunette now whispering something into his ear that has his full attention. But my heart stops when my eyes shift slightly to the left.
Bear.
Ghost’s best friend is staring straight at me. His drink is halfway to his mouth, and his eyebrows are shot so high they’ve disappeared into his hairline. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost—pun intended.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a second glance. I turn back to the stranger with a sharp, practiced smile.
“I’m Angel,” I say, my voice sounding more confident than I feel.
“Mason,” he replies, his eyes dropping to the tag on my chest. “And you’re open to chat, Angel? I find that hard to believe. You look like the kind of girl who knows exactly what she wants and doesn’t waste time on small talk.”
“Maybe I’m tired of knowing what I want,” I say, leaning closer so he can smell my perfume. “Maybe I want to try something new.”
Mason grins, a slow, predatory look that sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn’t hesitate. He steps into my space, one hand coming up to rest firmly on my waist.
“I’d love to buy you a drink, Angel. And then, I’d love to see just how submissive you really are.”
I should be scared. I should feel the urge to run.
But I can still feel Bear’s eyes on me, and I know it’s only a matter of seconds before he tells Ghost.
The thought of Ghost seeing me like this—with another man’s hand on me, wearing a tag that invites the very things he thinks I’m too “innocent” for—fills me with a dark, twisted sense of satisfaction.
“I’d love that drink,” I tell Mason.
He signals the bartender, never taking his hand off my waist. Grace is standing a few feet away, her face a mask of pure terror, but I ignore her. Mason leans in, his chest brushing against my shoulder.
“You’re remarkably quiet for someone so open,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
“I’m a better listener,” I counter.
“Is that so?” Mason’s hand slides lower, his fingers gripping the curve of my hip.
I think about Ghost. I think about the fact that I’ve turned down every guy, every flirtatious hang-around or prospect at the clubhouse, every opportunity to experience what it’s like to be desired.
I’ve held onto my virginity like it was a gift I was saving for a specific occasion.
But the occasion never came. The recipient didn’t want it.
I feel stupid. I feel like I’ve wasted years of my life on a fantasy.
“Are you okay, Angel?” Mason asks, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re a million miles away.”
“I’m right here,” I say, turning on the stool so I’m facing him fully. I spread my knees slightly, allowing him to step into the space between my legs.
It’s a bold move, one that makes Mason’s eyes darken instantly. He looks impressed—and dangerous. He steps in, his thighs pressing against mine, the fabric of his expensive suit rough against my skin.
“You’re a dangerous little thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs. He reaches up, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw before settling on the back of my neck. He leans in, his face inches from mine. “I don’t think you’re a submissive at all. I think you’re a brat who needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Then teach me,” I challenge. My heart is screaming, my pulse thudding in my ears so loudly it almost drowns out the music.
This is it. My first kiss. It’s not going to be in a garage smelling of motor oil. It’s not going to be with the man I’ve loved for a decade. It’s going to be with a stranger in a den of iniquity, and I’m going to use it to kill the girl I used to be.
Mason’s eyes lock onto my lips. He tilts his head, his hand tightening on the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. I close my eyes, bracing for the impact, for the taste of a stranger, for the finality of it.
I feel the heat of his breath. I feel his lips just a fraction of an inch from mine.
And then, the world explodes.
There’s a sudden, violent rush of air. A roar of primal, unadulterated fury cuts through the industrial beat of the music.
“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!”
Before Mason’s lips can touch mine, he is violently jerked backward. The hand on my waist is ripped away so fast I nearly fall off the barstool.
I snap my eyes open to see a blur of black denim and raw muscle.
Ghost.
He looks like a demon unleashed from hell. His face is contorted with a rage I’ve never seen—not even when the club was at war. He doesn’t say another word; he just lunges. His fist connects with Mason’s jaw with a sickening crack that echoes over the bass.
Mason stumbles back, hitting a table, but Ghost isn’t done. He’s on him in a second, his large, tattooed hands grabbing Mason by the collar of his expensive suit and slamming him against the brick wall.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Ghost screams, his voice cracking with a desperation that makes my blood run cold. He draws back his fist again, his knuckles already split and bleeding.
“Ghost! Stop!”
Bear is there in an instant, his massive frame slamming into Ghost’s back to tackle him away from the stunned, bleeding Mason.
It takes everything Bear has—and he’s huge—to hold Ghost back.
Ghost is struggling, snarling like a caged animal, his eyes fixed on me with a look of such betrayal and agony that it stops my heart.
“Angel, get out of here! Now!” Bear yells over his shoulder, his boots skidding on the floor as he tries to keep Ghost from lunging again.
Mason is on the floor, clutching his jaw, eyes wide with terror as he looks at the biker who just tried to end his life.
I stand there, frozen, my chest heaving. The Submissive tag is still pinned to my dress, glinting under the red lights. Ghost’s gaze drops to the tag, and the roar in his throat dies into a choked, broken sound.
The silence that follows is the loudest thing in the room.