Author: Faye Pierce

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Chapter One

Jade

“I’m not going,” I don’t even bother lifting my eyes from the series playing on the flat screen TV in my room.

My cousin Julia has been trying to convince me to join the party my Papà decided to throw at our estate, for the last thirty minutes. Even though I’ve made it clear that I find eating sand more appealing than hanging around all the people that came to witness the freak show that’s about to go down. Julia just won’t leave me alone and the temptation to just push her out the window is getting more real by the minute.

“It’ll be fun!” She sits across from me on the coffee table, blocking the TV screen. “Besides, Nolan is hot!”

“Then you marry him,” I get up and walk past her watching her face light up as I approach the door. “Get out.”

“But—”

I open the door for her, but my cousin doesn’t move. Instead, she remains put, not even trying to pretend how much she dislikes me. Or how much she wishes to be the one whom Papà wants to marry off to Nolan Devlin.

“What’s with this circus?” Mamma walks in carrying the same frown I saw on Julia just minutes earlier. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“I am dressed,” I respond dryly.

“A pair of skinny jeans and a top that is a size too small small is not appropriate for this type of party,” Mamma closes the door behind her with a loud click and walks up to my walk-in closet.

“You’re both wasting your time,” I make myself comfortable in the sofa again. “I said I’m not going and I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Yes, you are,” Mamma responds from inside the closet. “And if you don’t get downstairs yourself, your Papà will come here himself. We both know that’s not something you want to happen.”

I sigh. She’s right, even though I hate admitting it and would never do so out loud. Mamma doesn’t need a verbal confirmation that she’s right, she’s already too full of herself as it is.

“Told ya…” Julia mouths and I roll my eyes.

“This is perfect!” Mamma walks out of the closet carrying a puffy white dress a porcelain doll would wear. “Put this on with the silver shoes and come greet your guests.”

Your guest.

The reason why this whole freak show exists in the first place. Even though Papà didn’t explicitly tell me what he’s planning, I’m aware that he’s throwing this party so I can spend time with Nolan Devlin. Or my future fiancé. And I’m not the only one who knows it, I’m willing to bet, even the service staff is aware of the potential engagement between me and Nolan.

“Hurry!” Mamma helps me get up from the sofa, rushing me. “It’s rude to make people wait when you’re the host.”

I sigh, starting to undress myself. “I’m not the host, Papà is.”

“Maybe be more careful with the things you say around Nolan,” Mamma continues. “Men don’t like when a woman is too stubborn and speaks a lot.”

“Oh,” I raise an eyebrow. “You’re both those things and you’re married.”

I see Julia chuckle behind her, but Mamma doesn’t seem very amused with my comeback. Instead, she turns around on her heel, her short hair bouncing as she walks to the door and slams it shut behind her.

Someone else would consider this a win, but I know better. It’s always been like this with my parents and I’ve gotten used to it. But if they think I’m going to willingly walk from one prison into another, they clearly don’t know me enough.

“Your Mamma said to put on the white dress,” Julia’s eyes widen as I walk back into the room wearing a red dress that highlights every curve on my body and might be a little too short for a family party.

“Do you like that white dress?”

Julia nods.

“It’s yours,” I give her a small smile as I lift my long black hair into a high ponytail.

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes go wide, but there’s an undeniable sparkle behind them. “It’s designer!”

“Everything in this house is,” I proceed to apply my makeup and finish it with perfume on my wrists and behind my ears.

“Thank you, Jade!” She squeals, grabbing the dress from the bed. “It’s gorgeous! I’m going to put it on right away. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” I smile, knowing Mamma will be pissed when she sees Julia wearing the dress she picked for me.

The thing about Mamma’s taste is that she likes pretending I’m a literal princess and ever since I can remember, she’s dressed me up in that type of hideous outfits. But that’s not me. It never was.

I might be known as the Moretti Princess, but I’m far from being one.

By the time Julia and I join the crowd downstairs, everyone is a little buzzed and laughing too loudly. The party is outside by the pool with a DJ and an open bar. My Papà is not even bothering to hide how hard he tried to make this an appealing setting for younger people.

I spot Mamma at the far end of the pool, with a drink in one hand. She’s talking to some of our cousins, smiling from ear to ear. Anyone who saw her would assume she adored her cousins, but she’s been talking crap about them the whole day. Her eyes meet mine briefly and I smile. Then she looks over at Julia, her face turning red as she says something to the cousins before walking over to where we’re standing.

“I need to join Papà,” I tell Julia, leaving her to face my mother alone.

“Sure,” Julia responds cheerfully, unaware that she’s about to get the lecture of her life from Mamma.

I know my mother won’t bother me while I’m with Papà and Nolan, so I rush towards their table. As I approach them, I hear Nolan complain about something to the waiter and the young waiter apologizing as if he’s run over Nolan’s whole family with a car.

“Principessa,” Papà’s face lights up as I join them. The party is actually pretty cool, except there are still too many old guests, so the party planner suggested we have a less noisy seated area far from the DJ.

“Papà,” I nod politely, then I turn to Nolan, who’s now on his feet with an extended hand. “Nolan.”

I don’t take his hand. Instead, I walk past him and make myself comfortable on the free chair. Papà side-eyes me, but I put on my most polite face and decide to ignore him.

“You look nice tonight,” Nolan smiles, checking me out from head to toe, his eyes staring a little longer than necessary on my bare legs. I instantly feel like I want to cover myself.

“You’re late,” Papà tries to joke. “The guests were already starting to wonder if you’d come to your own party.”

“I was delayed, my apologies,” I respond, my voice cold and put together.

“Right,” Papà nods but I know he’s only being polite because of Nolan’s, and that he’s more than aware I wasn’t really busy. “Well, Nolan here was just telling me about the Devlin club expansion.”

“Fascinating.” I’m not surprised in the slightest that Nolan took advantage of his time alone with my Papà to convince him that the Devlin family would be an amazing ally. I might not know the guy that well, but he has a self-centered prick written all over him.

“That’s right,” Nolan jumps in quickly. “We’re working on opening two more clubs in New Orleans, and then expanding to different cities. The business is going incredibly well, it would be a shame not to.”

Before I can say anything else, we’re interrupted by the waiter carrying Nolan’s drink. Nolan turns in his seat, almost knocking over the tray from the waiter’s hand, making the poor guy almost jump out of his skin.

“It took you long enough!” Nolan snaps, grabbing his drink. He takes a sip, making a disgusted face before adding. “It’s too warm, bring another.”

“Thank you.” The three men turn to me when I speak. I get up and walk over to the waiter, helping him clean the spill on the tray caused by Nolan. “You’re doing great tonight.”

“Why don’t you two move to the dance floor?” Papà cuts in, and when I turn around I see Nolan’s face has turned red. He is fuming. It takes all of the willpower I have in me to not burst into laughter.

“I’m not in the mood for dancing,” I respond, but Nolan is already on his feet, his hand on my waist as he’s pulling me towards the dance floor.

“Come on,” Once we’re far enough from my Papà, he stops turning to face me. “You’ll have fun with me.”

“Pass,” I grab one of the drinks from the tray as another waiter passes us by. I thank the waiter and take a sip before even realizing what it is and regret it immediately once the strong vodka burns my throat.

“Your Dad wants us to spend time together,” Nolan continues. “Don’t you want to make him happy? And me?”

“We are spending time together right now,” I take another sip of my drink.

“So you don’t want to dance,” His jaw tightens and I’m almost entertained at how clueless he is. “Fine.”

With that, Nolan turns around and calls out the waiter closest to us. My heart drops when I realize it’s the same poor guy he was yelling at just a few minutes earlier.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” he instructs the waiter as his hand finds my lower back, discretely pulling my body closer to him. We’re surrounded by other guests chatting and having fun, some of them probably gossiping about us, but I feel lonelier than ever. A part of me wants to scream and ask for help, and another part of me wants to just run through that gate and never look back.

But where could I even go. There is no place on earth where Papà wouldn’t be able to find me, and now I’d have to hide from the Devlin’s as well.

I try to squirm away from him, but his grip on me tightens, so I take another sip.

“Your drink, sir.” The waiter returns just in time, making me wonder what would happen if I signaled him I’m in danger.

You know what would happen.

I sigh. I don’t want to drag any innocent people into my drama. But I also don’t have any idea how am I going to get away from all of this.

“At least it’s cold this time,” Nolan grabs the drink, his grip around me loosening as he takes a sip.

I smile politely at the waiter, hoping it’ll make him feel at least a little better considering how awfully he’s been treated. Though I doubt he’ll feel better until he finishes tonight’s party and gets far, far away from the Moretti estate.

I can’t help but feel a little jealous.

“I can make him disappear in five minutes,” Nolan whispers into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. Then he pulls away just a little to look at my face, but his hand never leaves my back. “But I won’t. Us Devlins don’t use our power like that.”

“Right,” I push his hand away, pretending to be interested in the snack bar a few feet from us. Nolan follows me, still talking about how great the Devlins are and what he can do for my father. I tune him off somewhere around the port talk.

“Watch yourself,” Nolan says, his tone smooth but sharp with irritation.

I turn to find one of the waitresses on the ground, an empty silver tray clattering beside her. She’s pale and trembling as she manages to say a weak: “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” I ask quietly, reaching out to help her up.

Nolan doesn’t look at the girl, casually brushing a speck of dusk off his sleeve. “Careless,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “A mistake like that in front of the guests reflects poorly on your father’s house, Jade.”

“She tripped, Nolan,” I give the waitress a calm, reassuring nod as she gets to her feet. “The estate will survive.”

I don’t apologize for her, nor do I waste energy arguing with a man who mistakes cruelty for refinement. The waitress nods with a small smile on her face, and quickly hurries inside.

“Jade,” A familiar, cold voice cuts through the noise. “Inside, now.”

I know it’s pointless to argue with Papà when his temper flares, so I follow him into the kitchen. The loud music and the chatter outside fade behind the heavy glass doors, leaving us in the tense, isolated quiet of the dark kitchen.

“You need to stop that,” Papà says, turning to face me.

“Stop what?” I keep my tone level, trying to avoid provoking him. “I handled a scene before it escalated.”

“You did everything in your power to undermine Nolan in front of the guests,” he points a sharp finger at me as he speaks.

“Nolan undermines himself by acting so arrogantly,” I reply calmly, looking him dead in the eye. “He lacks the composure required to lead, Papà.”

“Enough!” Papà’s voice snaps, but I don’t flinch or look away.

“I’m not going to marry him, Papà.”

“We need him, Jade,” Papà says, forcing his voice into a lower, heavier register. “We need a strong alliance right now.”

“No,” I shake my head. “He’s the one who needs us and he’s going to use our firepower and territory in his war with the Kavanaghs.”

“He knows the Morettis don’t want to get involved in his war.”

“Well, whether we want to or not, if you force me to marry him, he won’t care. We will become involved whether you want it or not.”

Papà stays silent, taking my words in as his sharp eyes study my face. I continue. “He’s using our leverage to survive his own blood feud. And offering me up as the collateral.”

“I won’t force you to marry him,” Papà says, knowing the risk of pushing me. But I know better than to start jumping up and down and celebrate. I know there must be a trap hidden in his generosity.

“But?”

“If you refuse to marry Nolan, you need to bring me an alternative alliance that carries equal weight.”

“And if I don’t?” I ask even though I already know the answer.

“If you don’t, the decision is taken out of your hands.”

With that, Papà turns around, leaving me alone to process his words. I follow him outside but make a turn, heading to the bar instead of returning to Nolan or looking for my cousin.

My family has a way of making me feel like I’m gasping for air in a room full of oxygen. A lot like being underwater without knowing how to swim.

“A mojito, please.”

“Is hiding at the bar how you make your guests feel welcome?” A voice comes up from behind me but I don’t turn to look at him. It’s probably one of the pretentious pricks that follow Nolan everywhere and lick his ass.

“You can leave if you don’t like it.”

“Can I?” The guy comes up to my side and climbs onto the free stool next to mine. “I’ll make sure to mention to your father that you’re still lacking a few hospitality classes.”

“You know,” I sigh, picking up the mojito that the bartender left in front of me. “I’ve been told that I have anger issues, too. So maybe you don’t want to sit so close to me.”

That’s entirely false, but I’m so over tonight that I don’t care anymore.

“Is that so?” His voice comes out amused and I make the mistake to turn around and look him in the eyes, which are pale green and sparkling with mischief.

Unlike Nolan, there is not a trace of insecurity, or any type of emotion for a matter of fact, behind those eyes. Yet they are nowhere near to being cold. The way he stares at me almost makes me curious.

Who’s this guy?

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him at the numerous parties my family has attended or hosted for the last couple of years. And he doesn’t look like an ass-kisser to be one of Nolan’s guys.

“Yes,” I respond, my grip on the glass tightening but my face remaining indifferent.

“I guess I should have come prepared then,” he smirks, playing with the drink in his hand. I can’t help but notice how polished he looks with his wavy light brown hair slicked back and an expensive suit.

Definitely not an ass-kisser.

“Worried you’d ruin your overpriced suit?” I raise an eyebrow, eyeing him from head to toe and regretting it almost immediately when my eyes meet his and I see the knowing look on his face.

“Ouch,” he places a hand over his chest in a dramatic, sarcastic motion. “That almost hurt. I’ll have to teach you a few things about insulting people.”

The way he says those words makes everything inside of me twist in a strange way I’ve never experienced before. Heat pools in my face and I force myself to look away, hoping he doesn’t catch my reaction.

“And another thing.” He pauses to take a sip of whiskey, making me wait until he finishes his thought. “You also need to learn how to be more careful when you’re having a private conversation with someone. I heard your father offering you a choice earlier…”

I almost drop the glass from my hand when I turn my whole body to face him, a little too quickly. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to eavesdrop on conversations that are none of your business?”

“The thing is,” he copies my movement from earlier, turning to face me so our knees touch in the tight space. A brief glance to my thighs is enough for the blush in my cheeks to return. “Your problem became of interest to me the moment your Papà announced that you need to find another man.”

“Geez, it’s so nice to hear that someone finds my problems entertaining!” I snap back, aware of the fabric of his pants gently grazing my exposed skin whenever one of us moves.

“If you shut up and hear me out,” His voice remains incredibly leveled and controlled, even while we argue, and a part of me doesn’t know how to act around someone like him. I’m used to being around men like Papà and my uncles, who shout a lot.

“What? You’ll magically turn into some knight in shining armor?” I laugh.

“I can.”

“How?” My heartbeat accelerates at the way he looks up at me from his glass and my knees are still burning from his touch.

Who’s this man?

“Marry me instead.”

Chapter Two

Jade

“You’re crazy.” Uncontrollable laughter escapes me. “I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t know Nolan either,” he says, offering a small, confident smile that forces me to break eye contact just to hold onto my train of thought.

“Not a good example,” I shake my head. “As I’m not going to marry Nolan.”

The mere thought of him makes my skin crawl. The way he corners me when no one is watching, the lingering, possessive touch of his hands on my waist or lower back… He’s constantly taking liberties he hasn’t earned and the boundary pushing is a dangerous warning of what life under his thumb would become. Aside from being incredibly distasteful.

“I repeat,” I look him directly in the eyes as I speak again. “You’re crazy. No one in their right mind proposes marriage a few minutes after meeting someone.”

“Look at it like this.” He leans his elbow on the counter, leaving the drink on its solid surface. “It’d be a mutual beneficial agreement, since I also need a bride. From the outside, it’d look like it’s a real marriage, our families and everyone would believe that we’re together…”

“That sounds a lot like how a real marriage works.”

“But in private,” he shakes his head. “We’d both know that it’s just a deal.”

“Meaning what exactly?” I raise my eyebrow, intrigued by his offer, but not wanting to get myself into bigger trouble than I already am. Though it’s tough to imagine anything worse than marrying Nolan at the moment.

I study him for a second, trying to figure out what the catch is, because there has to be one. Men don’t just walk up to a stranger at a party and offer her an escape route out of pure kindness. Especially not when they look this calm about it.

“And what exactly do you get out of this?”

His eyes flicker over my face, almost as if he was expecting me to ask him that. “A wife.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting for now.”

I narrow my eyes at him, not sure if I want to stare at him or hit him with a chair. There’s something deeply irritating about the way he says things. He never sounds rushed, or nervous, or even slightly worried that I might tell him to go to hell. It’s like he already knows where this conversation is going.

“You always talk to women like this?” I raise my eyebrow.

The corner of his mouth lifts as he speaks. “Only the ones who ask too many questions.”

Before I get to say anything else or ask another question, he proceeds to lay out his plan for our fake marriage, almost as if he thought this through long before he overheard my conversation with Papà. “We don’t share a room, we don’t pretend to be in love at home, and we don’t interfere in each other’s lives.”

“It sounds a little too good to be true,” I admit. “Why do you need a wife? And can’t you get a real one?”

I just can’t seem to be able to wrap my head around it. He might be one of the most good-looking guys I have ever seen, and he’s clearly bright. Maybe a little prone to risking his life, but the way he speaks shows he’s an educated, intelligent man. So why would a man like this need a fake wife?

“I can, but I prefer to focus on business,” he smirks. “Once you agree, you’ll have my full resources at your disposal, and that means financial security, complete protection, and everything you could possibly want. We can discuss all the details after you agree.”

I tilt my head, studying him, still unable to put my finger on what exactly it is about him that makes me react to his proximity. I’m supposed to get up from this chair and run after getting a marriage proposal from a guy I’ve never seen before, so why can’t I run away from him? What is it about him keeping me interested in hearing more about this proposal?

“So you want me to agree first and ask questions later?”

“I want you to understand that whatever this is, it doesn’t have to become complicated,” he responds, almost making me laugh. A marriage proposal from a stranger is already the definition of complicated.

“You know, normal people at least introduce themselves to one another before deciding to spend the rest of their lives together.”

“I don’t have time for normal,” he returns his focus to the glass but doesn’t take a sip. The action itself makes me stop smiling. Even though I’ve never had normal as an option in my life either, I’m not used to someone mentioning it out loud. It’s an unspoken rule, we don’t live a normal life but we never speak about normal either.

“I…” I sigh, for the first time allowing myself to show him vulnerability. “I need time to think about it.”

The questions keep piling up in my head, making it hard for me to think clearly. I’m aware of the risk I’m running if I fail to find another option for Papà and I’m confident that marrying Nolan would make my life a living hell. But how can I know that this stranger is safer than Nolan? I might have a strong dislike for the first, but right now this deal comes with the risk of trading one dangerous man for another.

“There’s a problem with that,” he leans in closer to make sure no one else hears us, even though there is not a single soul around us. Everyone is on the dancefloor or seating area. “You don’t have time to think about it because Nolan is already preparing to ask your father for your hand officially.”

Why does he look completely unbothered proposing to a stranger?

“How do you know that?”

“I overheard it,” he shrugs. “And I know that if you wait, your father will make the decision for you.”

“You have a terrible habit of eavesdropping,” I say, but as I turn around to look at Nolan, I see him standing next to my father talking to each other as if the agreement is already settled between them. As if he… owns me. Shivers run down my spine and I return my attention to the mysterious knight in shining armor. “Okay. Let’s get married.”

The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them and for a second, I find myself just staring at him, almost waiting for the panic to kick in. Instead, there’s only a strange sense of relief. It makes no sense at all, I’m sitting beside a man whose name I don’t even know, agreeing to marry him because the alternative is worse.

If that’s not proof enough of how badly I don’t want to marry Nolan, I don’t know what is.

The stranger’s face lights up at my words and even in the low lights, I notice the way they reflect in them as a smile spreads across his face. “You made the right decision.”

We shake hands, making the deal official, and for some reason my heart decides to skip a beat the moment our skin touches. It’s strange how just a handshake or the brushing of the knees with a complete stranger can affect me like this when Nolan’s hand on my back earlier made me want to take a bath in acid.

This hand is warm, his grip firm without being too tight, and for one ridiculous second, I forget that we’re surrounded by people and just pretending to be in love. But then I remember this is a deal. A very strange, very dangerous deal, but still a deal.

I might have just made the dumbest decision of my life, or the best one, the jury is still out on that one, but the thought of not having to marry Nolan washes over me with relief.

I don’t even know what kind of family he comes from.

“Shall we dance?” The knight in shining armor elegantly steps down from the stool, offering me his hand.

I smile, taking his hand as I climb off the stool. If we’re going to do this, we need everyone to believe our marriage is real and that we’re into each other. This is the perfect way to ease everyone in.

God, he’s tall.

I have to tilt my head back to look at him, and he catches the movement with an amused expression that makes me wonder if he can read every thought on my face.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head slowly.

“You’re smiling?”

“I’m aware,” his grin widens.

I roll my eyes and let him lead me toward the dance floor. As we do, I feel the heavy stares on us but I don’t turn my head to meet their eyes. His hands find my waist in a delicate, slow movement, and he pulls me close to him, almost as if he’s being deliberate about not crossing any lines.

I tense for a half a second, instinctively expecting the same possessive grip Nolan used earlier, but it never comes. His hands stay exactly where they are, steady and careful, giving me enough space to sway my body to the music. Which somehow makes it worse because now I’m aware of every inch between us.

And to my surprise, he’s a great dancer. Somehow, he manages to look like he belongs everywhere he goes and I’m starting to wonder if he’s going to disappear when the clock strikes midnight. I wouldn’t even put turning into a pumpkin past him.

The eyes of everyone at the party are burning a hole into the back of my head, and I could swear that it suddenly became quieter. Or maybe that’s the deafening beat of my heart making everything else go silent. I’ve never been this close to a man before, and I’ve never imagined my first slow dance to be with a complete stranger I just agreed to marry.

I don’t even know his name.

But oh well, it’s either him or Nolan and there is no way I’m getting married to Nolan. I’d rather eat sand for breakfast every day for the rest of my life.

“Relax,” he murmurs.

“I am relaxed,” I respond a little too quickly, realizing how that contradicts the actual words coming out of my mouth.

His eyebrow lifts. “You’re holding your breath.”

“You’re very observant,” I immediately let it out, annoyed that he noticed.

“It’s useful,” The corners of his lips turn upward just a little.

“For what?”

“Most things.” He looks down at me as he speaks and the way his eyes fall to my lips makes me suddenly become hyper aware that I should have applied lipstick.

I hate that he makes me think about this type of things and I hate how well he’s pretending right now.

“Your almost ex-fiancé is staring,” The knight in shining armor whispers in my ear, and it takes me a second longer than I’d like to admit for the words to get through to me and process them.

He even smells nice.

When I look in the direction of Papà and Nolan, I realize Nolan’s face is green with fury. I almost expect his clothes to rip and him to turn into Hulk, and my blood freezes when my eyes meet his.

“Do you two know each other?” I ask. Nolan is weird and annoying but his expression doesn’t appear to be someone who’s just upset to see the girl he wanted to marry dance with someone else.

“Yeah, kinda,” he replies.

“That’s incredibly vague,” I hold myself back from rolling my eyes, more than aware of all the eyes that are on us.

“It is.”

“What did you drag me into?” The unease spreads through me as the scene in front of my eyes begins to resemble one you’d catch in a random documentary about wild animals. “What’s happening here?”

He pulls away just enough to look me in the eyes as he speaks. “My name is Malachi Kavanagh…”

No way!

My smile disappears.

The Kavanaghs are one of the most powerful families in the city, but even more important, they and the Devlins are sworn enemies. Which means I accidentally got myself between two guys that already want to rip each other’s heads off, and I gave Nolan the perfect excuse to do it.

My stomach twists as everything about him starts making a little more sense. The confidence and the way he walked up to me like he already had all of this planned and knew exactly what he wanted.

“I refuse to take part in this game,” I try stepping away from Malachi without making a scene. “You’re not going to use me to provoke Nolan, or drag my family into your war.”

His eyes lift from mine and he looks in Nolan’s direction, his arm never leaving my waist. I feel panic washing over me at how serious all of this is. Papà is going to be furious.

“So that’s why you chose me,” I say.

“I chose you because you needed a way out,” his eyes are full of determination as he speaks.

“And you suddenly woke up one day and decided you wanted to save me?” I lower my voice while trying to maintain a neutral expression. “It’s just a coincidence that by marrying me you get to give Nolan a blow?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds worse than it is,” his voice remains steady as if we’re discussing popcorn flavors. “It’s a deal between two people who happen to have a common enemy.”

“What you did is called coercion,” I continue. “You should have given me all the facts before manipulating me into agreeing.”

“I see you know enough about law and how the world should work,” he smiles, unbothered. “But there’s no turning back now, we struck a deal.”

“How can there be no turning back when literally no one knows about our deal?” I ask, my eyes challenging him. “And all we have is a verbal agreement?”

“Because the moment you said yes, I became your choice.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I stare at him.

“It does to Nolan,” he answers.

When I look toward Nolan again, I realize he’s still watching us. And so is Papà, and probably half of the damn party. Malachi’s hand remains at my waist and I almost feel bothered by how completely comfortable he looks standing in the middle of a situation that is making me want to run out of my own house.

“You’re crazy,” I whisper.

Malachi smiles. “You already said that.”

“And I meant it both times.”

I try stepping back once again but before I make it anywhere, Malachi grabs my face and I feel his lips on mine. The sensation is overwhelming, taking over all of my senses, and I barely notice the sound of the gun firing from Nolan’s direction.

Fuck.

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Chapter One

Milana

The cell smells like piss and regret.

“First time?”

I look up at the sound of the voice. The blonde woman is watching me, legs crossed like she’s completely at home here.

I hesitate. “Is it that obvious?”

She snorts. “You’ve checked that door more times in five minutes than I’ve checked my ex-husband’s messages in a year.”

A reluctant laugh slips out before I can stop it.

I’m still pressed into the corner of the cold concrete bench, arms wrapped around myself. It doesn’t help. The chill seeps straight through my jacket, through the thin fabric of my dress, and settles deep in my bones.

“Relax,” the brunette adds from the opposite bench, not even looking up. “You’ll be out soon enough if it’s your first time.”

I let out a breath. This is not how my night was supposed to end. A few hours ago, I’d been laughing with Sarah about finally letting loose after a brutal week of lectures and assignments. Then everything went wrong.

“What are you in for?” the brunette asks suddenly.

I glance at her. Smudged eyeliner, bored eyes, like this place is just another stop in her routine.

“I broke a bottle over a guy’s head,” I say. “He was trying to drag my friend into the bathroom at a club.”

That gets their attention.

The blonde leans forward slightly. “Good on you, love. Some men need to be taught.”

I shrug, even though my stomach tightens at the memory. “He didn’t understand no.”

No means no. It should be simple.

It wasn’t simple for him.

It still isn’t simple for people like him.

The brunette finally looks at me properly. “American?”

I nod.

“Tourist?” the blonde asks.

I manage a small, dry smile. “Student. Criminal law, actually. Irony’s not lost on me.”

I shift on the bench, trying to get comfortable, and shrug off my blazer because my legs are getting cold. I drape it over my legs.

The blonde’s eyes widen a little when she sees my dress properly. “Bloody hell, that dress is nice. Real nice. Designer?”

I glance down at the expensive fabric clinging to my skin and shrug one shoulder. “Something like that.”

She whistles low. “I’d kill for a dress like that.”

I look down at the dress again. When I’d thrown it on tonight, I hadn’t thought much of it. It was just another dress. One of many hanging in my closet.

“You can only afford a dress like that in your dreams,” the brunette says, laughing.

“Unfortunately, I’m broke in my dreams too,” she responds, and they both burst into laughter.

As they laugh, I watch them. To me, this dress is ordinary. To her, it’s something worth dreaming about. I can’t remember the last time I looked at a piece of clothing and wished for it.

Maybe because I’ve never had to. The realization leaves a strange taste in my mouth. There are so many things I’ve always considered normal that someone else might see as a luxury.

“You don’t look like the type who ends up in here,” the blonde says when she finally stops laughing.

A tired laugh escapes me. “Yeah, well… tonight proved otherwise.”

She smiles. “Well, I think you did the right thing. Men who can’t take no for an answer deserve a bottle to the skull. Or worse.”

The brunette nods, lighting a cigarette she somehow smuggled in. “Aren’t all men like that, though? Is there actually any bloke out there who hears ‘no’ and fucking listens?”

I look at them, saying nothing. My mind drifts to my brothers, Artyom and Mikhail. To Calina’s husband, Maxim, who looks at my sister like she hung the moon and stars. I know what evil men look like. I grew up with one for a father.

But I also know there are men who respect a woman’s choice, who dote on their wives, who protect instead of destroy. I don’t say any of that. It would sound naive in here, privileged.

Instead, I just watch them, the cheap, worn dresses, the smudged makeup, the exhaustion etched into their faces, and wonder what their lives have been like. There’s a kind of weariness that doesn’t come from one bad night. It comes from a pattern.

They look like hookers. The thought slips in before I can stop it. Only God knows the type of men they’ve been exposed to. Did they stop saying no at some point because it stopped changing anything?

Why are they here? Did they try to defend themselves like I did Sarah? I’m about to ask what they’re in for when heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

“Milana Morozov!” the guard barks, rattling the bars. “Bail’s paid. You’re free to go.”

Relief floods me so fast my knees almost buckle. I push to my feet, smoothing my dress and shrugging my blazer back on properly. “Thank you,” I tell the women, offering them a genuine smile. “Take care of yourselves, okay? I hope you get out soon, too.”

The blonde waves lazily. “Stay out of trouble, rich girl.”

I step out of the cell, my heart heavier as I think about the women and the hand life has dealt them. I shrug off the thought, remembering Mikhail’s words: “You can’t help everyone, Milana.”

Sarah must have come through. She was probably panicking the whole time. I collect my purse, phone, and the rest of my things, signing whatever forms they shove at me without really reading them.

The station lights feel too bright after the dim cell. I push through the front doors into the cool Manchester night, scanning the street for my roommate’s familiar face.

No Sarah.

Strange. I turn in a slow circle, heels clicking on the pavement, but the sidewalk is mostly empty except for a couple of late-night stragglers. I pull out my phone to call her, and my stomach drops when I see dozens of missed calls from my brothers. Mostly from Mikhail.

Shit.

My brothers hate it when they can’t reach me. It was one of the few conditions they all agreed to when I begged to study in England: I stay available. Twenty-four seven. No excuses.

When I got the admission to study at the University of Manchester, my brothers refused at first. Said it was too far. Too unsafe. Too many things that could go wrong with me that far from home.

In the end, they only agreed after a lot of persuasion from me and my elder sister Calina, and even then, it came with conditions. I come home for every break and holiday. I answer their calls. Always. No excuses.

My brothers mean well. I know they do. I love them for it. But their protection often feels like a cage––choking, overbearing. Sometimes they act like I’m something fragile that will break if they look away for too long.

Manchester has given me space to breathe. To be Milana without the constant Morozov weight pressing down on me. Room to exist without someone watching every step I take or deciding what’s safe before I’ve even had a chance to think for myself. Room to make my own mistakes… like smashing a glass over an asshole’s head.

Trying to come up with an excuse for why I missed their calls, I decide to call Mikhail back first. I would rather deal with him than Artyom. He answers on the first ring.

“Milana.” His voice is low, sharp, the kind of calm that means he’s furious. “What the fuck?!”

I wince at the harshness in his voice. “Good to hear from you, too, brother.”

He ignores my sass. “What the hell were you thinking? First, you’re at a damn club in the middle of the night, and then you get yourself arrested?”

Shit. How did he find out about that? “I… uh, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? Go on then, tell me what it is. Explain to me why you were in a club when you were supposed to be in your room, either reading or sleeping.”

I roll my eyes. Listening to my brother, one would think he’s a saint. It’s not like I went to a strip club. “Last I checked, there’s no law against going to clubs, besides it’s the weekend.”

“But there’s one against smashing bottles on a man’s head! When did you become violent?”

“He asked for it. Did Sarah tell you what he did? Surely you didn’t expect me to do nothing.”

He lets out a long, exhausted breath on the other end. ‘You’re supposed to be the good sister! The quiet one. The one who doesn’t end up needing bail at two in the morning. What exactly has gotten into you in Manchester?”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. I keep walking slowly down the street, hoping to get a cab, phone pressed to my ear, letting his lecture wash over me like background noise.

Calina’s the outspoken one, the firecracker who says exactly what she thinks. Me? I’ve always been quieter. Reserved. People, my family included, sometimes mistake that for timidity or weakness. And I let them.

He keeps going, barely pausing for breath. “This is not why you’re in England. You’re supposed to be studying, not out causing trouble. Right now you should be in your bed, safe, not sitting in some freezing cell like a common criminal—”

I tune him out, focusing instead on the cold night air biting at my bare legs. The expensive dress feels even more ridiculous out here. After a solid minute of him ranting, I yawn loudly into the phone.

“Mikhail… are you done? Because I’d really like to go home and get some of that rest you mentioned.”

He makes a frustrated sound. “Done? No, I’m not done. Stop acting like this is nothing! Do you realize the gravity of what you did? What would have happened to you if I didn’t have someone to come bail you out?”

“Stop shouting,” I drawl. “It’s not like I killed the guy. He deserved it. I know you’ve killed men for less.”

I’m no stranger to what goes on in the Bratva. My brothers torture and kill men they feel deserve it all the time. I just happen to have borrowed a little leaf from their book tonight.

Mikhail groans, the sound long and pained. “God, what am I going to do with you?”

A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips. “How did you know I was behind bars, anyway? Talking about bailing me out like you’ve got a whole extraction team on standby.”

“Sarah called me,” he says, still irritated. “Crying, completely hysterical.”

I roll my eyes again, harder this time. Sarah. We’ve had this conversation before. She needs to stop running straight to my brothers every time something goes sideways. I love her, but she panics too easily.

“Thankfully,” Mikhail continues, “I already had someone in England who could handle it quickly. He’s there to take you home, to the States.”

My steps slow. “Take me home? Why?”

The connection starts breaking up badly, his voice cutting in and out. “—Ilya… sent him… bail… dorm…”

“Mikhail.”

I walk a little further down the street, lifting the phone and turning in a slow circle, trying to catch better signal. “Mikhail? Hello? I didn’t catch that—why am I going home? Who did you send?”

Static fills the line again, and then the call drops completely. I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen, muttering a curse under my breath as I keep walking, trying to find even a bar of signal.

My heel catches awkwardly on the curb, and I stumble forward, almost face-planting right in front of a sleek, expensive-looking sports car parked at the curb. Black, low-slung, the kind of machine that looks like it costs more than most people’s houses. Its headlights are narrowed like eyes in the dark, as if it’s watching me.

But the car isn’t what holds my attention.

Leaning against the driver’s side is a man. A very tall man. Broad shoulders that stretch the fabric of his dark tactical jacket, powerful arms crossed over a wide chest, legs casually crossed at the ankles. Dark hair, sharp, hard features, and an aura of pure danger.

If someone had asked me to describe the perfect “tall, dark, and handsome man ” he would be it. The kind of man who makes the air feel thinner.

Our eyes meet.

His gaze is intense, piercing, like he’s looking straight through my skin and into every secret I’ve ever kept. From where I stand, I can’t quite make out the true color of his eyes. For a second, it steals my breath. Heat crawls up my neck.

I should maybe say something polite, turn around, and go find whoever my brother actually sent. But his stare pins me in place, and my brain seems to have lost any connection to my mouth.

He speaks first, voice low and rough. “Was the prison cell so comfortable you didn’t want to leave anymore?”

I blink, momentarily stunned. “Huh?”

He uncrosses his arms slowly. “I’ve been waiting. You were bailed out a while ago. What took you so long? Having a beauty treatment in there or something?”

The sarcasm snaps me out of my daze. I straighten my spine, tilting my head as I study him. “Wait… excuse me. Who are you?”

He pushes off the car with lazy confidence and walks around to the passenger side. The door opens with a soft click. “Ilya,” he says simply, as if that explains everything. “Your brothers sent me to get you. I’m the one who bailed you out.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. This is him? The person Mikhail was talking about on the phone? I glance at the low-slung sports car, then back at the mountain of a man standing beside it.

“We should get going. Get in.”

I’m supposed to climb into that tiny space with him? This walking weapon who looks like he could snap someone in half without breaking a sweat… and who somehow makes my pulse race just by existing?

I’m not easily stunned. I grew up around plenty of Bratva men, and I’ve seen more than enough good-looking ones. None of them ever fazed me. But right now, my brain feels a little short-circuited.

Chapter Two

Milana

Ilya holds the door open, one dark eyebrow lifting. “Chop chop, princess, get into the car. We don’t have all night.”

I pause at his tone. “Shouldn’t you talk to me with more respect?” I don’t know who this man thinks he is. Good looking or not, his attitude is beginning to piss me off. “I don’t like your tone.”

“Well, too bad I don’t give two fucks about your feelings. Get your ass into the car, we need to get moving.”

I consider telling him to go fuck himself, but it’s late, and I need a ride back to my dorm. Besides, Mikhail will lose his mind if he finds out I ditched the man he sent to get me. I’ve already given him and Artyom enough reasons to be pissed off tonight.

I let out a huff and make my way toward the door he’s holding open. The scent hits me the second I walk past him, leather and something woodsy, dark and masculine, like smoke and cedar wrapped around pure danger.

I catch myself inhaling deeper before I can stop it, my body reacting on instinct. Heat flares low in my belly. What the hell am I doing? I’ve never responded to a man like this. Not once. Not ever. To make things worse, he’s a stranger my brother sent, and I’m already acting like some breathless schoolgirl.

I mentally slap myself and slide into the passenger seat, the cool leather kissing the backs of my thighs. Just before I’m fully settled, he leans down slightly, one hand still on the door.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

I pause, looking up at him. “Welcome for what?”

He closes the door with a solid click and rounds the car, folding his massive frame into the driver’s seat. The interior suddenly feels even smaller, his presence filling every inch of space.

“For getting you out of jail,” he says, voice low and edged. “Most people have the manners to say something when someone keeps them from spending the night in a cell.”

I buckle my seatbelt, smoothing my dress down as far as it will go, which isn’t far. “I guess I don’t have manners then.”

“No doubt about that.”

Okay, this guy is beginning to really get on my nerves. “First of all, I wouldn’t have spent the night there. Sarah, my roommate, would’ve come through eventually. Second, I don’t need to thank you. My brother sent you. He’s the one who arranged this, right? You’re getting paid to do it. So why are you acting like you swooped in out of the goodness of your heart?”

Something flashes in his eyes, anger, for a split second, before he masks it behind that cold, controlled expression. He starts the engine, the powerful rumble vibrating through the seats.

“And where is this roommate of yours? Because I don’t see her anywhere.” He makes a show of looking out the window.

Asshole.

“You know, for someone whose job is driving people around, you sure talk a lot.”

He seems amused. “That’s interesting,” he mutters, giving me a slow, deliberate once-over that makes my skin prickle. “You’re not as quiet as I was sold.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, princess, from what I heard, you were supposed to be the calm, obedient sibling. The quiet one who doesn’t cause trouble. But it seems you’ve grown a spine in England.”

His words light a spark of irritation in my chest.

I hate this. I hate when people assume that because I’m calm and quiet, I have no spine. That I’m soft. Breakable. There are things I’ve done, things I can do, that would make loud-mouthed people with “more spine” piss themselves. Just because I don’t scream and throw tantrums doesn’t mean I’m weak.

“Calm and quiet doesn’t mean spineless,” I snap, turning in my seat to face him fully. “It doesn’t mean I’m weak, and it sure as hell doesn’t give you permission to talk down to me. So, how about you do the job my brother is paying you for and drive?” I lift a brow, letting my voice drop into something deceptively sweet. “You were the one complaining about how long I was taking. Yet here you are, more interested in running your mouth than actually getting us out of here.”

Ilya’s jaw tightens. He looks like he wants to say something cutting, something that would probably hurt me, but he changes his mind at the last second. Instead, his voice drops lower. “Watch your tone, Milana.”

The way he says my name, deep, rough, like it rolls off his tongue with too much familiarity, sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I want to hear it again.

Immediately. I shove the thought away, reminding myself I’m supposed to be annoyed with this arrogant stranger who’s already decided exactly who I am.

I choose to ignore him instead, and busy myself digging through my purse, checking that everything’s there, when I realize my cardholder is missing.

“Stop,” I say quickly. “I need to go back inside. My cardholder wasn’t with the rest of my things.”

Ilya glances at me, one hand still on the wheel. “What?”

“My card holder, it’s still at the station, and I need to get it.” I reach for the door handle.

He lets out a frustrated groan. “Stay in the car,” he orders, voice brooking no argument. “I’ll get it. You’ve walked around enough in that ridiculous dress already.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “My wardrobe is none of your business.” What the hell is his problem?

He groans again, a deep, frustrated sound that does strange things to my insides, and gets out. But as he does, an idea hits me. I slip out after him before he can close the door.

“Wait,” I call.

He turns, scowling. “What now? What else did you forget?”

“I need you to give something to someone inside.” I don’t wait for his reaction. I shrug off my blazer, then reach behind me and unzip the dress in one smooth motion. The cool night air hits my skin as the silky fabric pools at my feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ilya hisses, eyes widening in genuine shock. “Have you lost your senses? Stop!”

I ignore him, step out of the dress and quickly pull my blazer back on, buttoning it enough to cover my breasts, backside, and the lace underneath. It barely does the job.

“Could you ask one of the officers to give this to the blonde woman who was in the cell with me? She liked it.”

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. For a split second, his gaze drops, dark, intense, before fury snaps back into place. His expression goes blank, then stormy. “Put your dress back on. Now.”

“No.”

“Milana. Put the damn dress back on,” he growls.

“No.” I hold it out to him.

He looks like he’s one second away from shoving me back into the dress himself. “Why the hell do you want to give your dress to a stranger you just met in a jail cell?”

I shrug one shoulder, completely unbothered. “She liked it. And I have plenty more. Now will you please take it to her?” I hold the silky fabric out to him. “The sooner you do it, the sooner we can leave. And don’t forget my card holder.”

He snatches the dress from my hand, muttering curses under his breath as he stalks toward the station doors. I catch a few colorful Russian words that make my lips twitch.

I lean against the car, arms crossed over my blazer, a small, satisfied smile curling my mouth.

A shiver races down my spine, a reminder that I’m practically naked under this blazer. I tug the hem down hard, trying to make it cover more, but it’s useless.

The tailored jacket is short on a good day; now, standing on a Manchester street in nothing but lace panties and heels, it barely skims the tops of my thighs. The night air bites at my exposed skin, raising goosebumps everywhere. Brilliant move, Milana.

I quickly slide back into the passenger seat and pull the door shut, seeking shelter from the cold.

A minute later, Ilya returns, his long strides eating up the pavement. He yanks the driver’s door open, tosses my card holder into my lap without ceremony, and growls, “Here.”

Before I can say anything, he drops into the seat, slams the door, and starts the engine. The car purrs to life with a low, aggressive rumble.

I clutch the card holder, irritation flaring again. “You need to be nicer to me.”

He kicks the car into gear and turns those intense eyes on me, the look so sharp it steals my breath for a second. “Why the hell would I be nice to you?”

“Who pays the piper dictates the tune,” I fire back, lifting my chin.

Something dangerous flickers across his face. He gives me a slow, deadly glare that makes the air in the car feel heavier. “First of all, I’m no one’s puppet. I work for no one. Don’t misjudge this situation, I’m helping you, not the other way around.

“I could leave you half-naked on this street right now, drive off, and there would be zero repercussions. You’re at my mercy, princess. So, if you want to get home in one piece, shut that smart mouth and keep it shut.”

I’m stunned. No one, I mean no one, talks to me like this. Not with my last name. My mouth falls open to snap something back, but he reaches over and cranks the music up so loud the bass vibrates through my bones. The sound drowns out everything I wanted to say.

Fine. He’s not worth my energy.

I turn my face to the window, watching the city lights blur past, jaw clenched. The AC is on, cold air pouring over my bare legs and making me shiver. I cross my arms tighter over my blazer, painfully aware of how little I’m wearing.

Why do I do this? Why do I make impulsive decisions without thinking them through? Giving away my dress to a stranger in a cell felt right in the moment. Generous, even. Now I’m sitting here freezing, half-naked, next to a man who clearly enjoys putting me in my place.

His jacket is huge. It would swallow me whole and carry that intoxicating leather-and-woodsy scent. For one weak second, I consider asking for it.

But no. I refuse to beg this arrogant, controlling stranger for anything.

I stay perfectly still, teeth gritted against the cold, staring out into the night.

The music is giving me a headache. After a few more minutes of the bass pounding through the car like it’s trying to burst my eardrums, I reach over and switch it off. I brace for some sharp comment or him turning it right back up, but he doesn’t react at all.

The car falls into heavy silence, broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the sound of tires on wet pavement.

I shift in my seat, tugging my blazer down again. “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice steady. “Why did my brother send you all the way here to get me?”

I expect him to ignore me or snap something rude, but he surprises me by answering.

“There’s a war brewing back home,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “Michael, Adrian Volkov’s son, is out for revenge. He blames your family for his father’s death, and he’s getting desperate. Your brothers don’t want to leave you exposed out here alone.”

I nod slowly. I know bits and pieces about the Volkov situation. Enough to understand it’s serious.

Adrian Volkov was the vice president of Patheon, an exclusive society reserved for the world’s elite.

Two years ago, after Calina married Maxim, he was invited to join Patheon. Adrian despised him from the start. He had been adopted as a teenager, not the real bloodline, and yet had become the new Pakhan. So Adrian had tried everything to destroy Maxim and prevent him from joining the society, even orchestrating an attempt on my sister’s life just to get to him.

It was with my help that Calina discovered Adrian had been working with one of Maxim’s most trusted men to betray him. Maxim got Adrian kicked out of the society. Adrian declared war on him. And with my brothers’ help, Maxim had killed Adrian. Now his son wants revenge.

Ilya continues without looking at me. “I’m taking you to your dorm so you can pack a few things. Then we’re heading straight to the private jet and back to the States.”

“What about my classes?” The words are out before I can think better of them.

He glances at me like I’m a child throwing a tantrum over nothing. “Whatever classes you have, take them online. It’s no longer safe for you to be here alone in England. You need to be back where we can keep you protected.”

The fight drains out of me a little. I know better than to argue when my brothers have already made a decision like this.

I study his profile for a moment, the hard line of his jaw, the way his hands grip the wheel, and I find myself wanting to trace the veins on his hands. I quickly clear my throat. “So… do you do this often?”

“If you mean rescuing spoiled brats from their own bad decisions, no.”

I bristle instantly. “I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“Oh really?” His tone drips with skepticism.

“Yes, really. You know nothing about me.”

He turns his head slightly, and his gaze drops––slow, deliberate, heated, sliding over my bare legs, the hem of my blazer barely covering anything, the way I’m sitting in this ridiculous excuse for clothing.

The look is so intense it feels like a physical touch, dragging heat across my skin and making my breath catch. My thighs press together involuntarily.

“If you say so,” he drawls, voice lower now, rougher. “But I know everything I need to know.”

“Well, fuck you!”

The words fly out before I can stop them. I rarely curse. Almost never, but this man drags out the worst in me.

Ilya doesn’t even flinch. He glances back at the road, his voice low and laced with dark amusement. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that offer.”

Then his entire demeanor shifts. He checks the rearview mirror, and a sharp Russian curse slips from his lips.

“We’re being followed.”

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Chapter One

Riley

“Did you hear about the girl that went missing last week?” The conversation I overheard earlier in the subway keeps playing in my head, as if I hadn’t been second-guessing my decision already.

“Wasn’t she a stripper? It’s pretty common for night workers to go missing.” Her friend sounded as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for a stripper to disappear without a trace.

“I guess so… But it’s still scary.”

And it is scary. I happen to agree with the stranger on the subway. Yet here I am, waiting in a room with my friend Mia and six other girls, to audition for a stripper at the Gentlemen’s club Eden. The most elite club in the city.

“Riley, are you still worried? You look a little pale,” Mia hands me a bottle of water from her bag and I immediately take a sip.

“I just can’t stop thinking about that conversation from earlier,” I return the bottle to her, feeling a little better.

“Hey,” Mia gently places her hand over mine and when our eyes meet, I see how determined she is to go through with this. “We’re not doing that. We’re not that girl, you have nothing to worry about.”

I look over at the staff at the other side of the room. They keep leaving and entering in a rush, non-stop talking with someone over their walkie-talkies. “This place makes me nervous, and the auditions being late doesn’t help.”

I glance at my wristwatch. 10:37 PM. With my exam being tomorrow, I need to get back home and study. If the audition doesn’t start in the next few minutes, I’m screwed.

“That’s all normal,” Mia smiles. “I imagine it must be complicated to run an audition for such a big night club, and things tend to happen, like tech failure and stuff. Just try to remember why we’re doing this.”

She’s right. My course isn’t going to pay for itself, I really need this job. Maybe even more than I’m willing to admit. Besides, Mia managed to get us these auditions and I’m beyond grateful to her. I know she wouldn’t have brought us to audition in some hell hole.

“I guess you’re right.” I look myself in the mirror behind Mia. My dark blonde hair is in a neat high ponytail, allowing the golden straps of the stage costume to show on my fair skin. “And it pays way better than being a waitress.”

My only free time is at night; therefore I never had many options to choose from in the first place. A few nights ago, I went to a different club to interview for a waitress, but the pay was painfully low. After that Mia came with the news about the audition and the thought initially scared me. But I ended up agreeing to try it out.

My job as an intern at the hospital is unpaid, and I’m studying to be a paramedic. I can make use of any penny I can earn and the life I aspire to build requires sacrifices. Besides, I have a clear idea of what I’m willing to sacrifice and working as a stripper falls into the first category.

“God, you’re so gorgeous, you’ll drive everyone crazy,” Mia laughs, noticing that I’ve been checking myself out.

“As long as they just look and no one tries touching,” I try to make it sound like a joke, but on that long list of things I’m not willing to sacrifice for the money is my body. “If even one dude tries to lay a finger on me, I won’t even stop to think before quitting.”

“For that to happen, first you need to get hired, and only then can you kick everyone’s ass the moment they even look at you wrong,” Mia winks at me. “But jokes aside, that’s why I chose this place. Their reputation is solid and they really go above and beyond to protect the girls.”

What stands out the most from what I managed to find about Eden from a short googling session, is their “no touching” rule. They do offer private dances to their clients, but only with security present and even then, men are not allowed to touch the strippers. To make things even better, there isn’t a single corner in the club without cameras.

I notice the audition manager when she walks back into the room. “Excuse me, I really need to use the restroom. May I go quickly?”

“Of course,” she responds without ever lifting her head from the tablet. “Just go to the one near the private offices. The one here is broken.”

I take mental notes of her instructions and thank the audition manager and walk outside into a long, dark yet classy, hall.

“Turn left and then the second passage on the right,” the place looks like a labyrinth after my first turn and I have to remind myself of the directions. “It’s at the very end of the hallway. Fifth door.”

On my last turn, a few steps into the hall, the air gets a lot colder, as if someone has left the windows open in the middle of winter. I shake, immediately regretting not having taken my jacket.

Wait, didn’t she say the fifth door?

The fifth door is far from being the last door in the incredibly long dark corridor. If anything it looks like it’s somewhere in the middle. I still try opening it, hoping that I’ve somehow managed to come to the right place, trying not to think about the fact that I’ve probably gotten lost, but it’s locked.

I hate this.

Now I’m really regretting leaving my jacket behind. The place is eerie despite the expensive furniture and the fancy wallpaper. And with the lights off it makes me feel like I’ve walked into a horror movie rather than an elite club.

There is a murmur coming from one of the rooms down the corridor and I decide to follow the sound, hoping someone will help me find the restroom. The further I walk down the hallway, the darker it gets, with the only light coming from the room where the voice is coming from. I notice the voice is incredibly low.

The closer I get, the louder the voice becomes and I can now understand what the guy is saying. “I’m going to ask one more time,” the voice is cold, almost cruel. “Who is taking the girls?”

The room is barely lit, but I spot a tall, painfully gorgeous figure standing in front of another man in chains. The chained man is unrecognizable beneath the blood and sweat covering his body. His head hangs low, dark curls plastered to his forehead, chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths.

My eyes drift to the long metal rod in the handsome man’s hands. For a second, my brain refuses to understand what I’m looking at. The low lighting turns everything soft around the edges, making it appear unreal, until he suddenly swings it what I now think is a polished steel baton.

A loud thud echoes through the room as metal crashes against flesh.

I flinch so hard, I barely manage to keep my balance and avoid falling.

The sound the chained man releases is unlike anything I have ever heard. Completely broken and raw, dragged violently from deep inside of him, it’s the kind of sound that makes my stomach twist before my mind can even process it.

The man in chains jerks against the restraints, the metal rattling over his head, but he doesn’t say a word. I wonder if he was trained to endure torture. I remember once watching a documentary about Navy SEALs and how they all underwent a program called SERE. I don’t remember what the name stands for but it was a special training teaching them how to get through a not so friendly interrogation. Though the guy looks nothing like a Navy SEAL, and I’m pretty sure that this isn’t a military operation.

I notice the blood spatters everywhere around him, and I have to fight the urge to throw up.

The worst part is probably that the man torturing him doesn’t look affected by any of it.

His expression remains calm, almost as if he’s bored. I wonder how someone can be so beautiful yet monstrous all at once.

As he raises the steel baton again, my heart drops and I gasp.

“Oh shit…”

The words barely leave my mouth before he turns around and our eyes meet. I see my whole life flash before my eyes.

For a short heartbeat, he just stares at me from across the room. The look on his face is cold, terrifyingly calm, and that somehow manages to scare me more.

“Oh shit, shit, shit!”

I sprint down the hallway, my heart beating so fast, I’m worried it might jump out of my chest.

He’s at least 6’4 and being a petite who doesn’t do cardio, I don’t manage to get far before he catches up to me without even breaking a sweat. His hand lands on my shoulder and before I know it, I’m pinned against the wall, his tall figure towering me.

Up close, he’s even worse. Beautiful in a way that feels unfair. Dark hair and sharp jaw. Eyes so green, an emerald would be jealous of them.

But there is blood splattered across his collar.

Yet, his smell invites me in, a mix of smoke and expensive cologne, dangerously clean beneath all the chaos.

“Oh shit…” I release a breathless whisper, as his gaze drags over my face painfully slowly.

All the years of self-defense classes kick in and before I can lose my nerve, I drive my knee upward as hard as I can.

He curses sharply, his body folding just enough for me to bolt.

I don’t even know how, but I manage to return to the dressing room backstage, bumping into some of the staff members at the door.

“Finally!” Mia walks up to me. “They’ve been calling us, we need to go on stage like right now!”

“No, we need to leave this place immediately! Something’s off!”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I don’t know,” I struggle to catch my breath. “But if we stay, we’re going to get in trouble and it’s the last thing we need.”

Mia nods, taking my hand as we, both step out into the corridor. However, the moment we step out of the room, a staff member grabs my arm.

“Your turn,” she says, coldly, dragging me in the opposite direction of where I came from just minutes before. I try to get out of her grip, but no luck.

Behind me, Mia is being dragged by another staff member. “I’m sorry…” She mouths as we are both lined up with the other girls on a small stage.

The lights are bright and my heart is still racing from earlier. I can’t even think straight.

“Whatever it is that scared you, try not to think about it,” Mia whispers next to me.

Maybe she’s right, I should just focus on doing what I came here for in the first place. Maybe I should forget about the handsome guy and the chained man and just dance the best I can and get hired. That’s why I came here in the first place, to get a stable income.

My attention goes to the man sitting on the couch on the right, but the stage lights are too strong for me to notice any of his features. I assume he’s the one we’ll have to impress in order to get hired.

Why did I ever think I could do this?

I wipe the sweat off my hands on the tiny skirt, hoping the guy won’t notice how out of it I am.

As we’re being introduced, I notice another figure joining the first guy, but he’s walking strange.

Are they looking for me?

“And now, we present to you the future of Eden!”

The music starts.

Chapter Two

Ezekiel

My brother has been waiting for me to start the auditions and when I finally join him on the couch, I have to sit down slowly, like a fucking 80-year with bad knees. Any wrong or sudden move results in a sharp reminder of the kick.

Wait until I have a word with you.

I’m still fuming after the encounter I had with that girl earlier. Not only did she wander somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and witness me beating that guy senseless, but she also dared to kick me in the balls. No one kicks Ezekiel Kavanagh in the balls without paying for it.

“Is everything okay?” Malachi says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Did the questioning go wrong?”

“It got us nowhere,” I try to make myself comfortable by spreading my legs and leaning forward but it doesn’t do much to ease the discomfort. “The guy doesn’t have a clue about who hired him. He doesn’t even know anyone above him.”

“So he just followed orders like a dog?” Malachi doesn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice.

“Yeah, apparently he was in it for some easy cash,” I nod. “But don’t think I’m going to let him off so easily.”

“Never thought you would.” My brother, knowing me a little too well, hands me a cigarette and lights it up for me. “What the hell happened to you? You look like a car ran you over.”

Instead of answering, I give him a warning look and he backs off immediately. Malachi might be my advisor and strategist, as well as the second hand of the Kavanagh family, but he knows his place. Not even he gets to cross the line with me.

It’s one of the advantages of being the head of the Kavanagh family. Ever since I took over, the fear and the respect people have been showing me has been nothing short of amusing.

Nonetheless, every now and then, the thought of what life would look like if I hadn’t been born a Kavanagh slips in. Or if my parents were still alive and the crown hadn’t landed on my head.

But it’s useless.

The dead stay dead and there’s nothing anything can do about it. Being the head of one of the most feared Irish-American crime families in the city means that the city knows my name. And not just that, people fear me and they bend over backwards to please me. They show me respect and no one dares to even look at me in the wrong way. I have people doing the dirty work for me, even though I don’t hesitate to get my hands dirty when necessary. And right now, all I’m able to think about is how I made a mistake and allowed that girl to humiliate me.

The music starts and the first girl starts dancing. Objectively, she’s very good looking and knows her way around the pole. Her act ends quickly and the next one comes on stage immediately. Malachi writes something down in his notes.

I should be focusing on the performance and evaluating each girl alongside Malachi, but my head is in a different place entirely. It doesn’t help that the girls are far from the standard that we’re looking for, making it even harder for me to focus on their dance.

“They’re missing the spark,” I say and my brother nods.

“I liked the first one,” Malachi shares his notes with me and I see that he’s been scribbling down ratings for each girl and their performance. “But she doesn’t have the stage presence we’re looking for here.”

“I agree,” I lean back on the couch, regretting it immediately when the pain spreads through my crotch. The worst part isn’t even the pain. I’m no stranger to pain. What makes my blood boil is that every twinge is a direct insult and a reminder that she caught me off guard for half a second. That half a second was already half a second too long.

The other girls continue their performance, but not a single one of them stands out.

I make a mental note to have a chat with the person in charge of casting. Eden is an elite club; we don’t do mediocre. Whether it’s strippers or drinks, we only offer the best to our customers.

After some time, my mind goes to the incident from earlier again.

“There was someone in the corridor,” I tell Malachi and he leans in closer to hear me over the music blasting from the speakers. “She saw me, but she ran away before I could catch her.”

“Did you recognize her?” Malachi stops looking at the dancers and turns his entire focus on me.

“No,” I shake my head. “But we need to find her and see how much she saw. I gave an order earlier to keep the club under lockdown and not let anyone in or out.”

Before I came to join my brother and judge the auditions, I had a conversation with the head of security, instructing him to lock all the entrances and prepare the camera footage for me to check after the auditions. I’m not going to let anyone set foot out of Eden until I find the girl.

And maybe make her pay.

“Do you think she works for the Devlins?”

“It’s possible,” I nod. She could easily be a spy for the Devlin family, or anyone else foolish enough to try and go up against us. We all know what happens to those who try to challenge the Kavanaghs. “But whoever she is and whoever she might work for, she’s not going anywhere until I speak to her.”

A lot of people came to the club today because we are also holding interviews for service at the club. That’s what makes me uneasy, the girl could be just anyone. Even if I go through all the names, it might take a while until I find her. And if she’s smart enough, she w be terrified right now. But that’ll also make things harder for me and more difficult to find her.

“I can’t believe this!” My brother throws his notes on the couch a little too aggressively, making the girl closest to us look in our direction. He lowers his voice when he realizes that people are watching. “Wasn’t there supposed to be a security guard making sure no one walks down the corridor?”

“There was,” I crush my cigarette into the ashtray. “But there was another incident, so he was missing from his post to take care of it.”

“We will have to have a serious conversation with the staff here,” he picks up his notes again, and starts scribbling, though I doubt he’s writing evaluations right now judging by how pissed he is.

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree. “The incident is not a valid excuse. He’ll still get the punishment he deserves.”

“You have enough on your plate, I can take care of it,” Malachi suggests and I nod. If there’s anyone I trust with something like this, it’s the oldest of my younger brothers. He is the most strategic and organized one.

Another girl catches my attention briefly, but her short pixie cut and the polished looks still don’t make her seem like she’s on the level of Eden.

“Where are Cain, Elijah and Levi?”

“They’re in the private room,” Malachi explains. “Waiting for us to finish here so we can discuss everything.”

“Good,” At least something is still going according to the plan.

Eden is the crown jewel of the Kavanagh empire, though you would never guess it from the velvet ropes and the neon façade. To the outside world, it’s just an elite playground, but to my family, it’s the lifeblood of our operation. This is where the city’s most dangerous and powerful men come to shed their skin. They come to drown themselves in top-shelf liquor, buy expensive, temporary pleasure, and lose fortunes at tables hidden far from the public view.

More importantly, it’s where the real machinery moves. Behind closed doors, deals are signed, and millions of dollars in dirty, blood-soaked cash are quietly funneled through our legitimate books. It is, without a question, the most seamless, valuable laundering machine we own, all while being disguised beautifully as a den of sin.

But lately, Eden has started spiraling out of control. Tonight’s pathetic lineup of auditions is undeniable proof of that downward trend. People are scared to work here because of the many rumors going around. A large number of girls suddenly quit, while others have disappeared. And that’s something we cannot allow to keep happening.

Even though Malachi may be handling strategy and the family’s higher-level operations now, I still feel responsible for the club and this has been keeping me up at night. I’m under the assumption that someone is trying to weaken the club and my gut is never wrong, so whoever that is, when I find them, they will regret the day they were born.

“We need to find a solution quickly,” Malachi says, more as a broadcast of his thoughts than a continuation of our conversation. “If we don’t, we’re screwed.”

He’s right about that and I agree with him. While from the outside it might look like no big deal to just open another club, we will be losing a lot more than just the income.

That’s why I’m here tonight, overseeing the new round of auditions, which is not something I usually participate in. Even though officially I run things from my family’s main office building downtown, with Eden being our most profitable front, I spend a lot of time at the club. But my job is taking care of the money, not watch the girls audition for a stripper. Still, I can’t let things slip out of my hands. Not when so much is on the line. And if that means personally taking care of every little thing in this place, I will do it without hesitation.

Really wanting to catch the son of the bitch that’s been trying to bury me and my family is a great motivator.

“Cain has been getting really impatient,” Malachi continues. “You know how obsessive he can get, and with all of this, he’s becoming more and more anxious about catching this person.”

“I can’t say I don’t relate to that feeling,” I pour myself a glass of whiskey before briefly glancing at the current dancer on stage. She looks like another replica of every single girl that auditioned before her and I immediately lose interest. “But we can’t lose our heads with this. We have to play it smart.”

The hazel eyes staring straight into mine in that hallway earlier flash before my eyes and I take another sip of whiskey to calm myself down. I might not be able to catch whoever is trying to take us down tonight, but what I will make sure of is that I will take care of her.

“Agree,” I notice Malachi is still scribbling something down in his notes, evaluating the girls. His ability to multitask never fails to impress me.

He always thinks several moves ahead. Malachi doesn’t get distracted by minor inconveniences and his strategic mind has always been one of his strong suits. I would dare to call him a cold-blooded, psychologically ruthless genius, and even if we weren’t blood related, I would want someone like him to be my right hand. I do not envy those standing on the opposite side of him.

Just as I’m about to say something else, the music changes to a sensual song, one that I really like, and both Malachi and I look up at the girl dancing. She’s a little stiff at first, as if she doesn’t feel comfortable being here, but once her body starts moving to the rhythm, something takes over her and I can see her immerse herself in the dance, the song taking control of her body. It takes me a minute, but I recognize her as soon as I take a closer look, even with the lights dimmed.

Her features appear softer as she’s dancing, and I notice that her body is incredibly strong. She’s on the shorter side, but the taller girls who came before her pale in comparison to her natural talent and charisma.

My balls are what is making me eager to get her into my office and have a word or two with her. They aren’t so willing to forgive her for that kick earlier just because of her pretty face and hot body.

Her beauty is nothing like the practiced glamour of the girls in Eden, and it’s what makes her stand out even more. Suddenly my pants feel tight and I try looking away, but the way her hips move to the beat keeps me captivated, making me even more eager to be alone with her and question her to find out what she knows.

Our eyes meet briefly but I know she doesn’t recognize me under the stage lights. She continues moving to the slow beat, her blonde hair catching the red neon lights, making her look almost ethereal.

I grin, taking another sip of whiskey.

She thinks she escaped me, but she has no idea she walked straight into my cage.

“This one,” I tell Malachi when she finishes her dance. She’s the last girl to audition and we are supposed to take some time and discuss the decision before announcing it. “I want this one. What’s her name?”

“Riley Monroe,” He responds after taking a quick look at his notes. “But we need to hire two girls, so we still need to share our evaluations and…”

“Did she come with a friend?”

My brother checks his notes once again before speaking. “Yes, someone named Mia Bennett.”

“We need to hire both of them immediately,” I put my drink down. “You can let the other girls go home and inform the security that there is no need for a lockdown anymore.” But I will still take a look at that security footage and see what Riley has been up to since the moment she sat foot inside.

“All right,” Without questioning my orders, Malachi gets up from the couch and steps up on the stage, announcing who the two selected girls are. “We want to thank all of you for auditioning tonight and we hope you had a great time. Thank you!”

I watch the look on her face turn from neutral and composed into a complete terror as she recognizes me when I get up and join my brother on the stage. I grin, taking the microphone from him. “Riley Monroe, please head to the manager’s office to take care of all the paperwork and documentation. As for Mia Bennett, everything will be taken care of right here.”

My eyes never leave hers as I step down from the stage, and oddly enough she doesn’t break eye contact. I can still see the terror behind her eyes, that same fear that made her kick me in the balls earlier. Yet she remains composed and professional, making me wonder if she’s used to wearing a mask even when her entire world is crumbling.

I can’t wait to know more about you, Riley.

“What’s all of this about?” Malachi asks as I move past him, heading to the office.

“It’s her, Mal,” I turn around to face him as I put my hand on my brother’s shoulder. “The girl who saw me beating up that guy.”

My brother’s face turns pale. He doesn’t say anything, instead he nods, his eyes finding her. I can see him thinking and I recognize that look in his eyes. I would be willing to bet I have that same look.

“We need to find out how much she saw, who she really is and whether she’s just an unlucky girl who happened to witness something that she shouldn’t have,” I glance at her one more time. “Or if she’s another problem I have to bury.”

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