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<75> No sleep for the wicked?
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2026-11-10 00:03:08
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His Stripper Mate <75> No sleep for the wicked?
Zosia's POV I didn't sleep. I couldn’t. It was past midnight and the estate was too quiet. That deep, valley silence where you could hear the heating hum under the floors and the wind push against the tall windows. Nyx was deep asleep. Sasha's light was off, but I could hear her bed creak every few minutes through the wall. She was awake too. Pacing in her head just like I was. Beside me, Nikolai was breathing slow and even, one heavy arm thrown over my waist, his face buried against my shoulder. Even in sleep he held me like I might disappear. Like if he let go, someone would take me back to Kane Street. I stared at the ceiling and kept seeing that clock in my head. 12:00. 12:09. 12:17. 12:31. Midnight on Kane Street. The old laundromat with the sticky floor and the buzzing lights where I used to wash my stage outfits after triple sets because our apartment machines were always broken. Where I used to sit and fold glitter thongs with bleeding feet while Damien timed me. He was
His Stripper Mate <74> The answer
Damien's POV I pulled my phone out of my pocket so fast I almost dropped it on the sticky tile. My hands were shaking. I hated that they were shaking. The fluorescents were buzzing too loud, the rain was hammering the front glass, and that black keycard with the silver V was still sitting on the folding table staring up at me like it could see straight through my ribs to the envelope I had hidden there. For half a second my heart actually stopped, because I thought—she came. I thought Zosia had finally texted back. That she was outside. That she was late, that she got lost, that he tried to stop her and she came anyway. It wasn't her. Four missed calls from Cynthia. Two texts from Elijah. All in the last eleven minutes. While Victor was in here offering me my life back. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. I swiped Elijah's thread first. Boss, where are you? Rourke just spotted two black SUVs slow-circling the motel lot twice. No plates in front. These aren't cops. Second
His Stripper Mate <73> The devil’s deal
Damien's POVMy blood went cold.It wasn't Zosia.The bell over the glass door was still jingling from the rain and the man who stepped in had to duck slightly to clear the frame. Six-five, shoulders like a vault door, black wool coat dripping water onto the sticky linoleum. Close-cropped dark hair going gray at the temples. A scar running from his left ear down into his collar. Hands in his pockets. Calm. Still. The kind of stillness that doesn't belong to normal Betas.I knew that stillness. I had grown up terrified of it.Victor Volkov.My father's Beta. His enforcer. His right hand. His shadow.The manila envelope tucked against my ribs suddenly felt like it was burning a hole through my jacket."Damien," Victor said.His voice was low, flat, faintly Russian even after twenty years in New York. Not loud. He didn't need to be loud. The old attendant behind the plexiglass took one look at him and suddenly found his static TV very interesting.My hand dropped instinctively toward my
His Stripper Mate <72> Midnight at Kane street
Damien's POVThe laundromat on Kane Street still smelled like hot bleach and other people's poverty.I got there at 11:17, forty-three minutes early, because I couldn't stand another minute in that motel room with Cynthia pacing and Elijah typing and the walls sweating mold. I parked the stolen sedan two blocks down on a side street with no cameras, pulled my hood up, and walked in with a manila envelope tucked against my ribs and a silver knife in my boot.The place hadn't changed in three years, no matter how many times I came here. Same buzzing fluorescents. Same cracked linoleum that stuck to my shoes. Same row of ancient dryers, number six still taped shut with yellowed OUT OF ORDER tape. A box fan rattled in the corner, pushing hot air around. The old Korean attendant was half-asleep behind the plexiglass, snoring into a small TV playing static.I chose the orange plastic chair in the back corner. Back to the wall. Eyes on the glass front door and the big mirror over the foldin
His Stripper Mate <71> The score isn’t settled yet!
Zosia's POVNyx had finally fallen asleep against my shoulder.She was warm for once, really warm, tucked under the thick throw blanket on the sectional with her head lolled against my collarbone and her breathing gone slow and even. No wheezing. No rattling in her chest like she was drowning from the inside. Just... sleep. I kept my hand on her thin back and hummed under my breath, some old Hollow lullaby Mrs Gable used to sing before everything went to hell, because I was afraid if I moved too fast I would break the spell.Then I felt it. The shift in the air.I looked up toward the kitchen and my stomach dropped.Sasha was standing at the sink with a half-rinsed bowl in her hands, frozen solid. Her eyes were locked on my phone where it sat face-up on the counter. It was lit up. Buzzing.Once. Then again.My wolf lifted her head and growled.Sasha had been off since she walked in. I noticed it even through my relief at seeing her home safe. She smelled like cinnamon and Tobias's b
His Stripper Mate <70> The long way home
Sasha’s POV I didn't breathe until I heard the outer steel door of the clinic slam shut. For a full minute I just stood there in the back exam room with my scalpel still palmed against my wrist and my duffel bag half-zipped on the counter, listening. Rourke's heavy boots. The kid's shuffling sneakers. Damien's slower, dragging steps. Then the rattle of the rusted stairwell gate, a muffled curse, and then nothing but the old refrigerator humming and my own heart hammering so loud I was sure they'd hear it through the concrete. Only when the silence stretched too long to be a trick did I let out the breath I'd been holding and lock the inner cabinet with shaking fingers. "Assholes," I muttered to the empty room, but my voice sounded thinner than I wanted it to. I finished shoving the rest of Nyx's herbal stabilizers and the trauma vials into my bag and zipped it hard. My hands were steady—they always were when I was working—but my mind was spinning. Damien Vane cornering me in my
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