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39: XAVIER STORM
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2025-05-20 18:14:26
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MISTRESS OF THE GAME 41: MARIE
MARIEThe house smelled of grilled fish and roasted plantains the moment I stepped through the door. That scent—smoky, peppery, homey—hit me like a memory I hadn’t lived. Comfort food. The kind of smell that tricked you into believing the world outside hadn’t tried to ruin you.Henry sat at the wooden dining table, hunched over a chipped white plate. The food was half-finished. A small bowl of pepper sauce sat beside it, thick and red and dangerous. A cold bottle of malt stood open, droplets sweating down its brown neck like it too was weary.He looked up, eyes landing on me with a quiet tiredness. “You can serve yourself if you want some… I need some rest,” he said, voice gravelly like it had scraped against the day.“Thank you,” I murmured.Henry didn’t move right away. He stared at me like he wanted to ask something, like he was holding a question between his teeth. Then he pushed himself to his feet and reached for his plate. His joints cracked faintly. He moved like a man carryin
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 40: XAVIER STORM
XAVIER STORMI sat in the car for a while after the call ended. The city’s lights were starting to flicker on amber and white and cold blue smudges in the distance. I let the silence sink into my bones, let it wrap around the raw nerves that had been exposed all day.The drone search felt like my last card, and for the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was spiraling. If Marie was still in the city, and I believed she was, then she was now contained. Trapped between the woods and the water. She wasn’t invincible, she was that clever. But even clever people got tired. Got sloppy.I started the engine and pulled away from East View. The tires crunched over gravel, my window halfway down to let the wind cut across my face. A part of me expected to see her silhouette in every shadow. Every passing pedestrian could’ve been her, hood up, eyes sharp, disappearing before I could blink.But none of them were her.I drove home. Not the hotel, I needed real life, not the sterile quiet of l
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 39: XAVIER STORM
XAVIER STORMI wasn’t chasing her anymore. I was losing to her.I stayed in the suite long after Jane was gone. Alone, watching the ice in my drink melt, watching my reflection shift in the window glass.Everything was unraveling.This was supposed to be simple: track her down, bring her back, punish her, remind her who she belonged to. But Marie was nothing like the girl I first suspected. She was something else entirely, smoke and mirrors, always slipping just beyond reach.And me? I was chasing shadows. Grabbing ghosts.“Fuck,” I muttered, slamming the side of my fist against the bar.My knuckles throbbed.I called Bull.He answered fast. “Boss.”“Where exactly did Jane say she found the truck?”“Boss, she said that several times to you, are you ok?”“Just fucking answer the question.” I yelled, which was uncalled for, and I knew it.“Close to the Inn of the Marina road.”Else mentioned buying fuel. Everything added up.”“She didn’t lie?”“Nah. I watched her face. Scared, but she w
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 38: XAVIER STORM
XAVIER STORM“If you weren’t Marie… then where the hell is she?”Back at the hotel, I was vibrating with rage.This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I should have had her in the backseat; bruised, breathless, but caught. Instead, Bull was dragging in someone I didn’t even recognize beyond the hoodie and the panic.The girl was limp, unconscious from the chase, tossed over Bull’s shoulder like some wild animal finally cornered.He dropped her on the suite’s polished floor with a grunt.My jaw tightened.“Put her in the chair.”Bull dragged her across the tiles and sat her upright. She was waking up slowly now, groaning, lashes fluttering. Her wrists and ankles were bound with zip ties. Gag still in place. I crouched beside her, breathing in her sweat and street grime, studying every inch of her face.Something was… off.Her nose wasn’t the same.Her mout
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 37: XAVIER STORM
XAVIER STORM“She’s close. I could feel it.”As I dashed out the front door, Else’s voice drifted from somewhere in the hallway.“Going out again?” she called, her tone laced with pity.I didn’t slow down. Didn’t even glance back. This was it, my shot. If I hesitated now, she would vanish again.I yanked open the SUV door and jumped in, slamming it shut with a force that rattled the frame. The engine was already humming, it was left on standby. I shifted into gear and moved out of the compound, tires squealing against the slick concrete.The city blurred past in flashes of gray and gold as I sped toward the Marina. My phone buzzed against the dash, it was Bull’s text. I tapped to open. A location. Coordinates.I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.Quick tap, I opened Google Maps. The red pin pulsed near the East View District, close to the Marina but pushed deeper inla
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 36: XAVIER STORM
XAVIER STORMI didn't sit. Couldn’t. My blood was too hot, my thoughts too fast. I paced the room like a caged animal, barely hearing Bull behind me. The walls felt too tight, the ceiling too low. That woman had taken more than my patience, she had taken the center of my storm.“You think she will reach out to him soon?” I asked, stopping by the glass wall that overlooked the city.“I would bet on it,” Bull said, voice steady. “People run to where or who feels safe.”I nodded, jaw clenched.That was what made her dangerous. She made people feel safe. Even I had felt it once. The softness behind her smart mouth. The vulnerability she tried to bury under fire and defiance. That softness had cost me more than I cared to admit.But I wasn’t going to lose this round. No.I turned. “Have the Sandpiper Inn watched. Someone might still remember her. If they do, pay them. If they lie, pay them more. If t
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 35: XAVIER STORM
XAVIER STORMThe black SUV was already parked by the front steps, tinted glass swallowing the sun light. I grabbed the keys from the hook and slid into the driver’s seat, not waiting for a chauffeur or backup. I didn’t need company. I needed control. The road, the wheel, the destination, I needed to feel like something was still in my hands.The engine came to life with a low growl. I punched the gas.The tires screeched a little too loudly against the concrete driveway, but I didn’t care. The city was busy as usual; traffic, movement, noise. But none of it reached me. I was locked in. Focused. No whiskey in my veins, no woman in my bed, no goddamn James in my ear. Just the mission. Just Marie.The farther I got from the house, the tighter my grip on the wheel became. Every second that ticked by, I thought of her; barefoot, bleeding, escaping through that window like a fucking ghost.She outplayed me.But not for long.I was going to find her. And when I did, I’d make sure she underst
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 34: XAVIER STORM
XAVIER STORMI sat on the edge of the bed, the bottle of whiskey resting in my palm like an old sin I didn’t want to let go of.The glass was cold, half-full, amber liquid catching the muted light leaking through the drawn curtains. I stared at it for a long time. Not blinking. Not breathing. Just… listening to that part of me whispering, One more sip. Just one. Then you’ll think better. Then the ache will stop.It was a lie. I knew it. The kind I’d told myself for years. Whiskey never made anything better. It just made me forget how bad things were, until I woke up the next morning drowning in the same pit with the walls twice as steep.My grip on the bottle tightened, then loosened.I stood.There was a hollow ache in my stomach sharp, raw. A hunger pang cutting through the alcohol haze like a dull knife. The buzz was fading. The fog was lifting. My mind was clearer than it had been since Marie left, and I needed it to stay that way.I walked down the stairs slowly, each step delibe
MISTRESS OF THE GAME 33: ROLAND
ROLANDI hated the fact that I had to call Storm, I wish I did not have to. Storm’s voice was the last thing I wanted in my ear, I was tired of his contempt and commands. Not even a hello. Just, “What?” Then the line went dead after his barking, and commanding. Very typical.I tossed the phone into the cup holder and stared through the windshield, good thing I was already in a car. Downtown was fifteen minutes away from where I was, longer if I hit traffic, and Storm expected me to drop everything like some errand boy. Not that he ever said thank you. Not that he ever treated me with even an ounce of respect.I wasn't his assistant. I was his second. His fixer. His strategist. And yet he talked to me like a dog.But fine. Let him keep barking.I’d play along. For now.Because when my move hit, he wouldn’t even see the board flipping beneath him.The downtown precinct looked like a forgotten relic from the '90s, gray cracked walls, a flickering fluorescent sign above the door, and the
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