Your Price, Slut?

~Nyra

The second I pushed through the doors the bass punched me straight in the ribs, loud enough to rattle my teeth.

Smoke, sweat, cheap vodka, and wolf, all of it hit me like a wall. Red strobes sliced the dark, turning every face into a devil for half a second before the light moved on.

I barely made it three steps inside before some drunk asshole in a ripped shirt slid up behind me, hands already on my hips like he’d paid for the cover charge to own me.

His crotch ground against my ass to the beat. Bold. I’ll give him that.

I twisted just enough to smile up at him, sweet as poison, then drove my elbow into his solar plexus. Not hard enough to kill, just hard enough for him to remember oxygen is a privilege.

He folded like wet paper, wheezing. I stepped over him and kept walking.

I found a stool at the corner of the bar where I could keep the whole room in sight and ordered a double whiskey, neat, and let the burn scrape the taste of betrayal out of my throat.

That’s when I realized Lira was gone.

One minute she was glued to my shadow, clutching that stupid little purse like it was a shield, next minute, nothing. Vanished.

Either she got swallowed by the crowd or some wolf with fast hands decided tonight was his lucky night. I didn't really care which. The girl's a big girl. She’s got a blade and a mean right hook when she needs it.

I knocked the whiskey back, slammed the glass down hard enough the bartender flinched, and leaned my back against the bar so nobody could sneak up on me again.

The whole damn place was a hunting ground. Eyes everywhere, gold, amber, straight up red, tracking me like I was fresh meat wearing a neon sign that said BITE HERE.

Let them look.

I rolled my neck, cracked my knuckles, and smiled with too many teeth.

If any of them wanted to test the Blood Moon’s finest warrior tonight, I was more than happy to give lessons.

Free of charge.

I’m sitting there long enough that the ice in my glass melts into nothing, and finally one of them grows a pair of wing enough to approach me.

He’s tall, inked to the throat, face carved like every other pretty wolf who thinks a jawline and a few scars make him special. Handsome the way a storm looks handsome.

He leans in, all swagger, mouth already forming whatever line he practiced in the mirror.

I don’t let him finish.

I tilt my head, give him the lazy once over, and say, real quiet so only he hears.

“Listen, ink boy, I got a problem. Once I let a man inside me, one is never enough. I keep going till the sun comes up or they tap out, whichever bleeds first. Best record so far? Four of them. Four cocks, one pussy, all of them panting like dogs in heat, thinking they’d ruin me.”

I let that sit between us for a second, watch his pupils blow wide.

“Four grown wolves,” I repeat, dragging the word wolves across my tongue like a blade, “and I still left that bed bored.”

I stand up slow, trail one finger down the center of his chest, stop just above his belt.

“So unless you brought backup, baby… don’t waste my night.”

His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

I smile, all teeth, and walk away.

Still empty.

Still fucking starving.

He leans in closer, all cocky grin and gold chain, and says, “Name your price, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

I laugh once, low. “Fuck off.”

His smile doesn’t even flicker. “I own this club, little girl. No one tells me no.”

The second the words leave his gang slides out of the shadows like they rehearsed it. Six of them. Big. Hungry. Already shifting their weight like they’re about to teach me manners.

I don’t look at them. I just tap the bar.

“Another whiskey,” I tell the bartender. “And leave the bottle.”

One of the goons grabs my wrist, thick fingers crushing down. “Didn’t you hear? Boss is talking and you…”

I move before he finishes the sentence.

The butcher knife I palmed off the bar rail, meant for cutting meat sings once through the air.

One clean cut. His hand hits the floor with a wet slap before the scream even leaves his throat.

Blood sprays hot across my cheek.

I hate wasting blood in foreign territory, but some lessons need teaching.

The scream finally rips out of him, raw and beautiful.

Two more attacked.

I step inside the first one’s reach, drive my fist through his chest like it’s made of wet paper. Feel the heart thump once against my knuckles before I rip it free.

The second guy gets the knife straight up under the chin, through the tongue, into the brain. He drops without a sound.

The rest froze.

I stand there in the middle of them, heart in one hand, knife in the other, blood dripping off my elbows like I just showered in it.

The music’s still thumping. Nobody in the crowd even blinks. This is Bloodfang land. They’ve seen worse.

I look at the boss.

His face is white now, smile long gone.

I wipe the heart on my thigh, slow, deliberate, then flick the knife clean with a twist of my wrist.

“Still feeling like the price?” I ask, voice soft.

He takes one step back. Then another.

Smart man.

I pick up the fresh glass the bartender slid over without being careful not to bleed in it and take a sip.

Now I’m really fucking angry.

And the night just got interesting.

“Who the fuck is raising hell in my house?”

That voice rolled through the room like thunder cracking open a mountain. Deep, lazy, absolute.

Every head in the place dropped on instinct. Knees hit the floor. Glasses stopped halfway to mouths. Even the music dipped, like the DJ himself was scared to breathe too loud.

Then he stepped into the light.

Black shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled high, tattoos licking up his forearms like living flame. Those crimson ringed gold eyes swept the room once and everything in it bowed lower.

Except me.

He looked straight at me, blood still dripping from my fingers, two dead wolves at my feet, and the corner of his mouth curved, slow, filthy, amused.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice velvet over steel.

I laughed.

“I’ll tell you my name the same second I’m sliding a knife across your throat.”

One of his guards started, “Get on your knees, don't you know this is…”

He lifted two fingers. The guard’s mouth snapped shut like he’d been choke leashed.

He never broke eye contact with me.

“Everybody out.”

Not a request. Not even loud. Just an order. Who the fuck is he? Is he the Alpha? No, he can't be.

The room emptied faster than if the roof caught fire. Boots scrambling, drinks abandoned, girls yanked off laps. In ten seconds the only heartbeats left were mine, his, and one more, frantic, wet, coming from the back corner.

A low, desperate moan.

I turned.

There was Lira, bent over a sticky table, skirt flipped up, some random wolf pounding into her ass so hard the table legs screeched across the floor with every thrust.

Her mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled back eyes, drool shining on her chin.

I almost laughed.

This girl really never fucking disappoints. I should have brought her twin sister.

I picked up a broken tumbler off the floor, and flicked it sidearm.

It spun once and buried itself in the wood an inch from Lira’s hand.

She yelped, the guy froze mid thrust, and both of them scrambled for clothes like I’d just lit the table on fire.

They bolted past us, half naked, shoes in hands, and disappeared through the side door.

This man forming aura hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even blinked.

Now it was just us.

Just me, him, the blood on my hands, and the silence thick enough to choke on.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was the first interesting thing he’d seen in years.

“The door's locked,” he said softly. “Nobody’s coming.”

I smiled, all teeth and ruin.

“Good. I hate interruptions.”

He stepped over the bodies like they’re spilled drinks, eyes raking down the scrap of red clinging to my skin.

“Walking in here dressed like a paid whore,” he says, voice low, filthy, “means you came hunting cock. Lucky you, mine’s aching. Name your price, little killer.”

I tilt my head, lick a drop of someone else’s blood off my bottom lip.

“Last man who asked me that price is still choking on it. Along with two of his friends lying dead. You’re big, but it’d still only take me half a heartbeat to tear your head off and use it as a shot glass.”

He laughs, dark, delicious, and shrugs off his shirt. It hits the floor like surrender. Then he took his fur cap off too.

Ink covers every inch of him, old runes, skulls, a crowned wolves, and right in the middle of his forehead, the mark of the Reaper Saints. Real outlaw blood.

Not just pack royalty. This man eats wolves for breakfast. He's in a biker association.

He still doesn’t scare me.

I roll my shoulders. “Kneel,” I tell him. “Apologize for your dogs putting hands on me.”

Instead he pulls a matte black pistol and a jagged combat knife from his waistband and tosses both at my feet.

“Pick one or both,” he says. “I will fight you bare handed. If I put you down, you don’t get to name a price anymore. I will strip that dress off with my teeth, bend you over that bar, and fuck you till the only word you remember is my name. Till you’re clawing the wood, begging, crying, broken on my cock like a good little slut.”

His words hit low in my belly, hot and sharp, perfect.

For one single heartbeat I actually pictured it, letting him win. Letting those brutal hands pin me, letting him split me open and find out if anything in this world can finally make me shatter.

I smile, slow, and toe the weapons aside.

“Deal,” I say.

Then I crack my neck and step into the circle of blood already on the floor.

“Come break me.”

“Show me if you’re worth surrendering to.”