Chapter 5

"Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly."

— Charles Addams

CAMELLIA.

Lucien.

Of course his name sounded like an overpriced candle or a perfume ad. Because God forbid he be named Paul or Dave.

“Clear the room.”

Big, brawny, intimidating men with similar tattoos to Lucien’s inked across their bodies and eyes like they’d seen and personally started wars filed out immediately after he spoke without a single complaint.

Lucien stood bare chested in front of me with a stoic expression,like he wasn't the reason an army of man-mountains just tiptoed out like toddlers caught stealing cookies.

I was still torn between being impressed or mildly concerned when he stepped close , so close our noses nearly touched and took a long, dramatic sniff of my hair.

“You used vanilla today,” he murmured.

Okay,Mildly concerned had just become very concerned.

“Good hands,” he said next, brushing his fingers over mine. “Strong fingers”

I struggled to keep my eyes on his face, which was hard considering his warm, toned chest was practically brushing mine.

And for just a second, I genuinely forgot why I was here.

"I just want you to stop with the gifts."

I yanked my hand away from his and took a few steps back, like space would help me breathe again or think straight. Because clearly, I’d forgotten how to do both around him.

He tilted his head, an amused expression taking over his face before he let out a low chuckle,shaking his head slowly before moving over to the couches and sinking into it like I’d just told him a particularly hilarious joke.

I arched a brow, irritation curling beneath my skin at how amused he looked and how unserious he made me seem. What exactly was so funny?

But then again, I was standing in a house full of men who looked like they could bench-press trucks and wrestle bears for fun. It would be weird if their leader wasn't a little unhinged.

"Why?" he finally said, resting one arm on the chair. "They’re limited edition items. And it’s my

way of staking my claim."

Something flickered across his face the moment he said the last words. His jaw clenched, smirk faltered, like the words tasted heavier than he expected. Like he'd broken some silent, sacred rule just by saying them out loud.

But I wasn't exactly here to be studying expressions from weird attractive men.

"You don’t get to barge into my life, get me fired from work, then stalk me with gifts like you’re Cupid on steroids—”

“Ugh,” a voice groaned behind me, dripping with both exhaustion and sarcasm. “Those damn rogues. One of them bit off my finger and I had to return the favor. Fair trade, yeah?”

I spun around.

A tall man strolled in covered in what looked like blood and sweat casually twirling a very real,very severed finger like it was a drumstick. His tank top was soaked, half his hair stuck to his forehead, and he looked way too pleased with himself.

This is what I get for not selling those creepy expensive gifts on eBay. But no, I had to show up like a responsible, confrontational adult.

He paused mid-step, nose twitching like he smelt something odd.His brows furrowed. “Nah that can’t be right.”

He lifted the severed finger, gave it a sniff, and frowned. Then because apparently logic had left the building , he dipped his head, sniffed his armpit, immediately grimaced like he’d offended himself then went right back to sniffing the finger.His eyes swept the room with all the suspicion of a detective in a crime drama, scanning the walls, the couch, even the ceiling fan like the culprit might be taped to it before finally landing on me.

“Ayee,” he grinned, pointing the finger at me like it was a damn microphone. “My boy Rowan was right. They do like expensive things.”

I turned to look at Lucien, expecting him to also be shocked, maybe mildly horrified by the bloody man casually sniffing a finger like it was a wine cork. But nope. His eyes were on me.

Not the strange man. Me. With a soft, worried look plastered on his face like I was the problem here.

Oh, so this was just a normal weekday then?

I was so done with this creepy place. Nope. Not dying here today or tomorrow.If I was going to die, it sure as hell wouldn’t be in a place surrounded by murder vibes and men sculpted like Greek tragedies.

I dashed for the door, ignoring the muffled argument behind me followed by a thud that sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor.

Oh my God. He killed him. He actually killed him and I was next.

The acres of land outside suddenly looked a whole lot bigger, but I ran like my life depended on it because it probably did. Past the porch,Past the thorny bushes,Past two tattooed giants in matching black shirts playing chess on a tree stump. They looked up as I sprinted by, confused expressions on their faces before they resumed their game before their heads snapped toward each other.

The air shifted sharp, electric. Like someone had cracked a whip through the wind, and suddenly, the men jumped to their feet with no hesitation. Just pure, reactive obedience as they scattered like they were given a silent order.

I didn’t stop to process it.

My eyes locked on the gate sweet, glorious, actual freedom and I took off, lungs burning as adrenaline drowned out common sense. Relief swelled in my chest when it came into view.

Just a little more.

One of the guards stepped into view like he’d materialized from shadow, blocking the exit with a look causing my relief to shatter immediately,three strides later.

I didn’t even think, taking a sharp left as my legs carried me toward the nearest structure, what looked like a low wooden cabin with the door flung open like it was waiting for me. I pushed harder, every breath a ragged threat, every step a prayer.

I stumbled inside desperate, breathless, running on fumes and fear but I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight in front of me.

Right there,on a table that looked like it had signed a consent form under duress were two people deep in what could only be described as sin.

The man was buried so deep inside the woman her back bowed like a bowstring, mouth parted in a desperate moan. His fingers dug into her thighs, dragging her back onto him with an animalistic rhythm that made the entire table lurch beneath them. She met every thrust with a roll of her hips that screamed practiced chaos, her breasts bouncing wildly with every hungry snap of his hips.

His eyes glowed molten gold and were feral with every brutal drive into her. Hers rolled back like she was drowning in the high. Their bodies were slick, muscles rippling under sweat-drenched skin, locked in a rhythm that didn’t belong in this world. The slap of skin-on-skin echoed like applause, the table creaking so violently it was a miracle it hadn’t already collapsed.

Blood of Jesus Christ.

My feet refused to move. Like my body had short-circuited, too stunned by the hellscape of moaning chaos in front of me to run, or even blink properly. Every nerve in my body screamed go, but I was rooted to the spot,frozen, overwhelmed, and suddenly very aware of how fast my heart was slamming in my chest.

It wasn’t like I’d never walked in on sex before. My old job had more than its fair share of awkward encounters consisting of drunk couples in VIP rooms, clients with no understanding of “boundaries.” But this? This was something else entirely.

The kind of scene that felt ancient. Feral. Their movements were all claw and hunger with no softness, no rhythm. Just unfiltered chaos. And my brain, bless its traitorous little circuits, just kept watching.

A slow burn ignited low in my belly, betrayal dressed as desire, curling through me with every obscene sound from across the room.

My mouth went dry as my eyes flicked between glowing eyes, arching spines, hands gripping like they could rip through flesh and bone and for a horrifying second, I wondered what kind of inhuman strength that table had to survive what it was enduring.

I needed to leave. I needed to run. I needed to blink and shake this entire moment from my soul—

“This way.”

A hand gripped mine out of nowhere, pulling me away from the live-action porno before my legs even caught up with my brain. I didn’t argue mostly because I couldn’t. My body was fried, my adrenaline was crashing, and the only thing in focus was the broad back of the stranger leading me out of the cabin. Blonde hair, tall frame and a leather jacket. No face,Just movement.

At this point, if he planned to kill me? I’d help him dig the grave.

He dragged me outside the cabin where two of the guards still stood, eyes sharp and steps unmoving.

Well, damn.Now we were both going to die.

“Move,” the man said calmly, shielding me behind him with a casual arm like I wasn’t one sneeze away from a breakdown.

The guards didn’t budge.

Poor Lilah. She wanted new dresses for her birthday but was going to be getting trauma and a sister-shaped funeral.

“I said, move.” His voice dropped an octave. He gently nudged me farther behind him, and like the untrained ragdoll I was, I obeyed.

“We don’t answer to you,” one of them muttered, but the confidence in his voice didn't match the energy on his face.

I hadn’t even had sex yet. Bobby was going to mock me at my funeral.

The man in front of me said something. A low murmur that didn't sound like English but more like the kind of language you hear in prophecy dreams or Latin spellbooks that should be locked in basements. Whatever it was, it worked. The men stepped back immediately, fear scrawled across their faces.

Freedom?

I looked at the man,my unexpected savior for the first time. The shadows shifted just enough to let me catch his face. He was the man from earlier who caught me.

Green eyes and Blonde hair that looked too soft for someone who probably snapped bones for fun. His jaw was sharp, his smirk sharper, and the way he stood relaxed but coiled made it very clear this was not his first time playing the hero.

Of course. Another tall, terrifying man with God-tier genetics.

“Thank you,” I muttered, still trying to wrap my head around everything.

He gave a slow, amused smile, stepping aside like he was holding open the gates of heaven or maybe hell. At this point, who could tell?

“I’d say ‘my pleasure,’ but I haven’t exactly dealt with the consequences of my actions yet.”

“Does my savior have a name?” I asked, more sarcastic than flirty but my body clearly missed the memo, because it had already forgotten we were running for our lives five seconds ago.Now,I was suddenly captivated by the man in front of me.

He leaned back a little, arms folding like he had all the time in the world like this chaos, this heat, this absolute madness didn’t touch him.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, the kind of sound that curled down your spine and made you wonder if your underwear had just evaporated.

His eyes found mine again, calm and unbothered“I usually don't give my name before the damage” he said, voice smooth enough to bottle and sell as sin. Then his lips twitched, that grin turning flirtatious and threatening all at once.

“But Darius to you, love.”