Chapter 22 - The Devil’s Leverage

The message came at midnight. Raven was alone in Jaxon’s penthouse, curled on the velvet settee in nothing but his discarded button-up shirt. The fire had long since died in the hearth, the city beyond the windows glittering with indifferent light. Her phone buzzed once, no name, just a number she didn’t recognize.

She hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Then she tapped it. A single line of text appeared: We need to talk. Now. Don’t make me come find you.

Her heart seized. She didn’t need to ask who it was. Zane’s voice echoed in her head even before she accepted the call.

“I see you’re enjoying the suite,” came his smooth, cold voice. “Nice view, isn’t it? Almost as breathtaking as the one you got from Jaxon’s safe.”

Her breath hitched. “How did you...”

“I know everything, Raven. I warned you not to dig too deep, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

She stood, legs shaky. The walls felt suddenly smaller. “What do you want?”

A low laugh. “Relax. If I wanted Jaxon to know what you did, he already would. I’m not interested in blowing your cover. Yet.”

She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. “Then why the call?”

“Because I want you to work for me.”

“I’m not for sale.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Zane said, voice sharp and velvet-slick, “I’m not offering money. I’m offering survival, because if you don’t do exactly what I say, I’ll make sure every skeleton in your closet starts dancing.”

Her grip on the phone tightened. “You don’t scare me.”

“Really?” He paused. “Should I forward that photo of your old editor? You remember him, don’t you? The one who died in a hit-and-run just weeks after he spiked your trafficking exposé. I have the raw footage. I have your calls. I have your file from the Herald’s internal affairs. How long do you think Jaxon will keep you in silk sheets when he realizes what you really are?”

She said nothing. She couldn’t.

“And let’s not forget your little brother,” Zane continued, voice dropping. “Poor Elijah. All that grief, all that guilt. I wonder what Jaxon would think if he saw what’s become of his grave.”

Her blood iced. “You didn’t,” she whispered.

“I sent you a picture. Check your messages.”

Raven’s phone buzzed again. She opened it with shaking hands. Her breath left her body in one slow, broken exhale.

It was a grave, Elijah’s. The headstone had been dug up, the earth disturbed, exposed and violated.

“You son of a...”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Zane cut in. “It’s just a reminder. You have three days to give me what I want.”

“What do you want?” Her voice was hollow.

“I want proof. Bank records. Routes. Takedown plans. Anything your dear Don is preparing against me. You’re in the perfect position to get it. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ended. The screen went black.

Raven stared at it, shaking. Her body was ice. Her thoughts, ash. She wanted to scream, but the air felt too thick to breathe.

Footsteps. A door. Then Jaxon’s voice. “You’re still up?”

She spun around too quickly. “Yeah, just... couldn’t sleep.”

Jaxon’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. He was in a dark suit, collar loosened, tie hanging from one hand. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she lied.

He took in the phone still trembling in her grip, the flush in her cheeks. “You look pale.”

“I’m just tired.”

He cupped her chin gently. “You’re lying.”

She blinked up at him. Her walls cracked, but she smiled. “I said I was tired. That’s not a lie.”

Jaxon didn’t press further, but his gaze lingered. He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering a little too long, like he was trying to read her thoughts through skin.

“Come to bed,” he murmured. “You’ve been running on fumes.”

She let him guide her to the bedroom, but sleep never came. Not even when he curled behind her, arm draped over her waist, breath steady against her neck. She lay there long after his breathing evened out, her mind spinning.

The lies were beginning to mount and this one, this betrayal, wasn’t something she could explain away.

The next morning at Club Eden, Raven moved through the halls like a ghost in heels.

She couldn’t shake Zane’s voice, or the image of Elijah’s desecrated grave. Her stomach churned every time her phone buzzed, but she forced a smile, nodded at the dancers, accepted Dante’s compliment on her dress.

Jaxon was in a meeting with city officials upstairs, Dante said. Something about expansion permits. Raven didn’t care. She needed air.

In the dressing room, the scent of hairspray and perfume clung like smoke. Music thudded from the main stage beyond, but everything felt wrong.

Her friend, at the club, was bent over her vanity mirror, smoothing eyeliner with a practiced hand.

“Rough night?” she asked without turning around.

“You could say that.” Raven forced a smile.

A beat of silence. Then her friend straightened, picked something up from her locker. Her hand trembled.

“This was inside,” she said quietly.

Raven frowned. “What?”

She handed her a slip of paper. The handwriting was blocky, smudged. No signature.

Stay out of things that don’t concern you. He can’t protect all of you.

Raven’s breath caught and a chill slid down her spine. She looked into her friend’s eyes, wide with fear. “I’m so sorry,” Raven whispered.

Her friend shook her head. “What did you get us into, Rae?”

But Raven had no answer.

Later, when Jaxon returned to the private lounge, his expression was darker than usual. Dante followed close behind, unusually tense.

“Something’s wrong,” Jaxon muttered.

Raven stood from the velvet booth. “What is it?”

He looked at Dante. “Tell her.”

Dante rubbed the back of his neck. “Zane’s name came up in a call trace on one of the Balkan front companies. The ones tied to the trafficking routes.”

Raven stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jaxon said grimly, “he might not just be skimming off the network. He might be organizing pieces of it.”

Her chest tightened.

“He’s setting me up,” Jaxon added. “Building leverage. I thought he wanted the board. I didn’t realize he wanted everything.”

“And now?” Raven asked.

“Now, he’s putting people in danger,” Jaxon said. “Including you.”

She swallowed. The weight of the warning in her friend’s locker pressed heavily on her chest.

“Let me help,” she said.

“I don’t know if I can trust you with that,” Jaxon said slowly.

Her heart lurched.

“You’re not telling me something. I can feel it.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

His hand slid around her wrist, gently but firmly. “Raven. If you’re in trouble...”

“I’m fine,” she cut in too quickly. “Just… keep me in the loop. Please.”

He nodded, reluctantly, but in his eyes, suspicion bloomed.

That night, Raven stood in the penthouse bathroom staring at herself in the mirror. She’d almost said everything. Almost confessed, but the picture of Elijah’s grave wouldn’t leave her. Zane’s words had sunk deep, :I’m not offering money. I’m offering survival."

Jaxon entered behind her, shirt unbuttoned, hair damp from the shower. “You’ve been quiet,” he said.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired lately.” He stepped closer. “Or is there something else?”

She met his eyes in the mirror. “Would it matter if there was?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Because I need to know what I’m fighting. You, or them.”

She turned, bracing her palms on the counter. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Then prove it.”

Her voice wavered. “You say trust is earned. I’m trying.”

His hand slid up her back, warm and strong. “Then tell me what’s wrong.”

She hesitated, seconds stretching into silence, then her phone buzzed again.

Jaxon’s eyes flicked to it. “Who keeps texting you at night?”

She reached for it too fast. “Work stuff.”

But it was too late. His expression shuttered. He didn’t argue. Didn’t press. Just walked past her, into the bedroom, and shut the door behind him.

She stared after him, her body trembling. The cracks were widening and Zane had the leverage.