Chapter 23
Damien
On Saturday afternoon, I feel like I’m walking toward my own execution.
The wire itches beneath my clothes. Every breath feels too loud.
Every movement feels wrong. Agent Anthony clipped the transmitter carefully against my ribs an hour ago while another agent threaded the wire discreetly beneath the fabric of my shirt and up my back.
“Minimal movement near the neckline,” Agent Anthony warned while adjusting the receiver. “If Monroe gets suspicious, stay calm and keep him talking.”
Easy for him to say.
I stare at myself in the mirror inside the hotel bathroom, trying not to panic. Black jeans. Dark button-up. Bruises beneath my eyes I can’t fully cover. I look like somebody pretending to be okay.
Atlas stands near the hotel bed, watching silently. He hasn’t stopped hovering since the plan was finalized. Every few minutes he touches me like he’s reassuring himself I’m still here—hand on my shoulder, palm against my back, fingers brushing mine.
I understand why now. He’s terrified. Honestly? So am I.
Atlas steps closer. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
His jaw tightens. “I hate this.”
I manage a weak smile. “You hate everything nowadays.”
“That’s not true.”
“Right, you love pancakes.”
Atlas snorts softly, despite himself.
“And cringey horror movies,” I add.
“Mhm. What else?”
I step closer and hook my fingers through his belt loops. “Me?”
He smiles and kisses my forehead. “Yeah, that’s true.” He takes a beat, like he’s trying to decide what to say. “I don’t want you to face him alone.”
“I’m a big scary hockey player,” I murmur. “I can handle myself.”
Atlas laughs weakly, then reaches up and carefully cups my fac. “Come back to me in one piece.” The seriousness underneath the joke makes my throat tighten.
I lean forward and kiss him softly. “I will.”
Atlas deepens the kiss immediately, like he’s trying to memorize me.
When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine. “I love you,” he whispers.
The words still hit me like a miracle every single time.
“I love you, too.”
A knock sounds at the hotel room door, and all warmth disappears instantly. Agent Anthony steps inside, carrying another folder. “Time to go.”
My stomach twists, and Atlas’s hand slides into mine automatically.
Agent Anthony sets the folder down on the table near the window. “We only need a few things,” he says.
I nod once.
“Monroe must verbally establish coercion connected to game manipulation,” he continues. “Ideally, we want acknowledgment that he threatened third parties in order to influence your athletic performance.” Agent Anthony watches me carefully. “Do not attempt heroics.”
Atlas laughs humorlessly at that.
The agent ignores him. “If Monroe becomes physically aggressive, prioritize survival over evidence collection. Understood?”
I nod, even though hearing the phrase physically aggressive makes Atlas visibly tense beside me.
Agent Anthony continues, “We’ll have surveillance positioned outside the club and inside adjacent properties. The moment we establish enough probable cause for arrest and immediate threat mitigation, we move.”
I swallow hard. “What if he figures it out first?”
The room goes quiet for half a second.
Then Agent Anthony answers honestly. “Then we adapt.”
That’s not comforting. At all. But I appreciate that he doesn’t bullshit me.
Atlas squeezes my hand tighter.
Agent Anthony glances between us. “Vehicle leaves in ten.”
Then he exits the room again. The second the door shuts, Atlas pulls me into him hard enough to steal my breath. I wrap my arms around his waist. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
Then Atlas kisses the top of my head. “Please come back.”
The fear in his voice nearly destroys me.
I pull back enough to look at him properly. “I’m coming back.”
Atlas nods.
But he still looks terrified.
I drive alone; that part was non-negotiable. If Sebastian saw Atlas anywhere near this operation, everything would collapse immediately. So I sit behind the wheel, gripping it hard enough my knuckles ache while unmarked FBI vehicles trail far enough back to avoid suspicion.
The city feels gray today. Cold.
The closer I get to the Velvet Room, the harder it becomes to breathe normally. By the time I park behind the club, my entire body feels wound too tightly. I stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror for one long moment, and then force myself out of the car.
The bass from the club rattles faintly through the walls as I walk inside.
Saturday afternoon means more people than last time.
The place smells like perfume, alcohol, sweat, and cigarette smoke.
Girls move beneath pink lights while men laugh too loudly around the stage.
Everything about this place makes my skin crawl.
One of Sebastian’s bodyguards spots me immediately.
He jerks his chin toward the back hallway. “He’s waiting.”
My pulse spikes, but I force myself to walk normally anyway. The hallway feels too narrow.
Every step drags old memories up from places I usually try not to touch—things that happened behind locked doors, Sebastian smiling while teaching me how obedience worked. By the time I reach the back room, I feel sick. I step inside, and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Sebastian lounges back on a leather couch while a young guy kneels between his legs. The man bobs his head up and down, choking on Sebastian’s dick. The image reminds me too much of the things I used to do for him.
My stomach turns.
Sebastian looks up lazily, smiling when he notices me. “There’s my favorite boy.”
The guy glances back toward me curiously before Sebastian grips his hair.
“Go take a break.”
He rises immediately.
He’s young.
Pretty.
Too thin.
He brushes past me quietly on his way out.
The second the door shuts behind him, the room feels smaller. More dangerous.
Sebastian leans back against the couch comfortably, doing up the zipper, cock still hard in his pants. “Sit down.”
I force myself to move closer. The wire suddenly feels visible, even though I know it isn’t. Every heartbeat sounds deafening in my ears.
Sebastian watches me carefully while I sit across from him.
Then his gaze drags slowly over my body. “You look tired.”
I shrug. “Long week.”
“Missed me?”
No.
God no.
But I force my expression to stay blank.
Sebastian studies me for another moment. Then he reaches out casually and grabs my knee.
Every muscle in my body locks instantly, but I don’t pull away.
Because Agent Anthony said to keep him talking.
Sebastian’s fingers slide slowly higher along my thigh.
Then toward my bicep. He squeezes lightly.
“Hockey’s been good to you.”
My skin crawls violently. Still, I stay still.
Sebastian’s expression changes, moving close to suspicion. “You’re not gonna fight me?”
I force myself to shrug. “What’s the point?”
That answer seems to fascinate him.
Sebastian tilts his head. “The best part was always the fight, sweetness.”
Ice slides down my spine.
He smiles faintly. “It made the reward so much sweeter.”
I feel physically ill, but I keep my face blank.
Pretend submission.
Pretend exhaustion.
Pretend defeat.
Sebastian watches me too carefully, and suddenly his expression sharpens. “Take your clothes off.”
My pulse slams violently against my ribs. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Panic spikes hard through my chest. “No.”
Wrong answer.
Sebastian moves fast. One second he’s sitting, the next he’s shoving me backward onto the couch hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
I hit the cushions with a curse while Sebastian pins me beneath him.
Adrenaline explodes through my body as his hands roughly yank my shirt open. Buttons scatter across the floor.
My heart stops.
The wire?—
The wire?—
Sebastian’s eyes drag over my chest.
They narrow slightly.
For one horrifying second, I think he sees it.
But the transmitter wiring runs beneath the fabric and up my spine instead of across my chest.
Sebastian relaxes slightly, then lowers his mouth to my skin. His fingers undo my jeans, pulling down my briefs to look at the scorpion tattoo.
“Remember when I gave you this?” He runs his thumb over it. “You cried all night about how much it hurt. What a baby.”
His lips drag over it. Revulsion crashes through me, and suddenly I’m in his bed again. I’m crying as he enters me with no preparation. I thought sex was always supposed to hurt. He whispers how good I’m doing. He tells me how perfect I am. But I was just a kid.
Just a kid trying to help his dad.
Back in the present, I stare at the ceiling, trying not to panic while Sebastian kisses slowly up my chest like this is intimate instead of horrifying.
“You know,” he murmurs against my skin, “I don’t actually give a shit about the gambling money. Or your fucking loverboy. Or the girl.”
My pulse spikes. There it is. Keep talking.
I stay silent.
Sebastian grips my jaw harder. “I just wanted my favorite toy back. Losing you was painful for me, sweetness. All your clients missed you so much. I bet you’ll get even more now with these muscles.”
My entire body goes rigid. The wire catches every word.
Good. Good. My stomach turns violently anyway.
Sebastian kisses my throat. “I missed you.”
I shove him off me hard. This time I can’t stop myself.
Sebastian stumbles backward in surprise and smiles. “That’s what I wanted.”
I stand immediately, breathing hard. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Sebastian wipes his mouth lazily with the back of his hand. “You’re the one who let me, sweetness. You sure you’re not hard? I’m sure I can get you to rise to the occasion.”
“I’m done letting you do anything to me.”
Something dark flickers across his face. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun. Cold terror floods my bloodstream.
Sebastian points it casually toward me, like this is nothing. “Take your clothes off.”
I go still.
“Get on your knees,” he says softly. “And let me fuck you properly this time.”
Something inside me finally snaps.