Chapter Six

*Ronan*

The air in ‘The Vault’ always smelled the same: expensive tobacco, aged bourbon, and the faint, metallic scent of desperation. It was my favorite smell. It reminded me that in this city, I was the one who held the leash.

I walked through the private corridor of my club, my footsteps muffled by the thick, charcoal carpet. Behind me, Zach, my assistant, was a silent shadow, rattling off the highlights of the just concluded Tokyo merger. 

I didn't listen. My mind was on the quiet hum of the city outside and the weight of the Graves empire on my shoulders. I was forty years old, and I had spent every second of half those years building a fortress that no one could breach.

"The board is concerned about the hospital's recent PR dip, sir," Zach murmured, his voice as neutral as his suit. "Xavier’s latest press conference helped, but—"

I stopped.

A muffled roar of laughter drifted from the Onyx Lounge, one of the private suites reserved for "Gold" members. Usually, I ignored the sounds of the rich playing at being gods. But a name made my ears perk up in interest. My name.

I gestured for Elias to stay back and stepped toward the cracked door, the light from the room spilling across my polished shoes.

Inside, three men were sprawled across leather armchairs. I recognized the one on the right immediately—Marcus Vane. He held a mid-level real estate contract with my firm. He looked pale, clutching his glass like a shield. To his left was a man I didn't know—a blabbermouth with a flushed face and a tie loosened to the point of absurdity. He was swaying, a bottle of Cristal clutched in his hand.

“Ronan Graves is a relic," the drunk man slurred, his voice echoing off the mahogany walls. "A dinosaur in a custom suit. He thinks he’s untouchable because he’s got the name. But names can be erased, Marcus. My crew? We’ve already got the leverage. It won’t take more than a month to knock that bastard off his high horse and take the Graves conglomerate for parts.”

Oh… is that so? 

Amusement strummed through my body. It wasn't the first time that someone was making such a spineless threat. All talk but no show. 

Marcus blanched, his eyes darting toward the door almost as if sensing my presence. He saw me and color drained from his face until he looked like he was about to faint.

The drunk man didn't notice. He was too busy enjoying the sound of his own voice. “And don't get me started on his family. That little brat of his—Aria? I saw her at the gala. She’s getting older. Developing nicely. In a few years, she’ll be the perfect little pawn. Maybe I’ll even take her for a spin myself once we’ve stripped her daddy of his—”

The world went very, very quiet.

I didn't feel anger. Anger is for people who lack control. What I felt was a cold, clinical necessity. It was the feeling of a hunter realizing a stray dog had wandered into his sights.

I stepped into the room.

The click of my heels on the hardwood was the only sound. Marcus stood up so fast he knocked over his drink. “Mr. Graves! I—I was just telling him to shut up, sir. I swear—”

I ignored him and walked straight to the man with the loose tie. He looked up at me, his eyes unfocused, a stupid, drunken smirk on his face. He didn't recognize me. The alcohol had probably turned his brain to mush.

“You have a lot to say,” I said. My voice was calm. Smooth. I slowly removed my cufflinks and deposited them in my pocket. "Please. Continue. You were talking about my daughter."

The man chuckled, leaning back. “Oh, you a fan of the Graves girl too? Careful, buddy. Her dad’s a psycho. But like I said, he’s going down. You want in on the action?”

I smiled. One that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "I am the action."

I reached out. My hand moving faster than his drunken eyes could follow. I grabbed the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his greasy hair, and I slammed his face into the heavy glass coffee table in front of him.

CRACK.

The sound was sickeningly satisfying followed by a spray of crimson that blossomed across the clear surface. The man let out a gargled scream, but I didn't let go. I pulled him back up by his hair and slammed him down again.

The tempered glass gave way, exploding into a thousand crystalline shards. The man’s body slumped over the jagged edges, blood soaking into his white shirt. I didn't stop. I hauled him up and drove my fist into his stomach, then his jaw. I pounded until I felt bone give way under my knuckles.

Exhaling, I raked a hand through my hair. I leaned down, picked up a shard of glass and pressed it against the side of his throat until it nicked the skin. He was barely conscious now, his breath coming in wet, ragged gasps.

“Listen to me very carefully,” I whispered into his ear. "You can talk about my business. You can talk about my downfall. But if you even think the name of my daughters again—if you so much as breathe in their direction—I will not kill you. I will make sure you stay alive long enough to watch me peel your life away, piece by piece, until you beg me for the end.”

I let go. Watching him crumple into the wreckage of the table like a discarded rag.

I stood up and straightened my cuffs. I looked at Marcus, who was trembling so hard he couldn't speak. The other man had somehow managed to slip away in the midst of all this chaos. 

“The contract is void, Marcus,” I said, my voice returning to its usual, icy calm. “Get him out of my club. If I see either of you on my property again, the next table will be made of marble. It’s harder to break.”

I turned and walked out. Zach was waiting, his face expressionless as usual, though he signaled for the cleanup crew with a sharp flick of his wrist.

“Get me a drink in the office,” I said, flexing and shaking out my fingers. “And I don't want to be disturbed.”

*****

Few minutes later, I sat in my upper-floor office, the lights dimmed. One wall was a solid sheet of one-way glass, overlooking the main floor of the club. From here, I was a god watching his subjects. I watched them dance, drink, and pretend they were important.

I took a sip of the 1945 Macallan, the burn of the alcohol matching the dull throb in my knuckles. I was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but a soul-deep weariness of the world.

Suddenly, my desk console buzzed, a red light flickering in the barely lit room.

“Sir,” Zach’s voice came through the intercom. “Security has flagged an unauthorized entry. A woman bypassed the secondary scan at the VIP entrance. She’s on the floor now. Should we have her removed?”

I sighed, leaning back. "Let the security team handle it. I’m not in the mood for—"

I stopped.

My eyes were drawn to a figure moving near the center bar.

She was a strawberry blonde vision in a room full of manufactured beauty. She wore a dress that was a shade of emerald green so deep it was almost black. It hugged her generous curves like a second skin making my mouth water, but she didn't move like the other women in the club. She wasn't performing or trying to get attention.

She was trying to blend in. I could see it in the way her shoulders were tension-tight, the way her eyes—even from this distance—constantly scanned the exits. She was new. She was out of place. She looked like a deer that had accidentally walked into a wolf’s den and was trying to convince everyone she had fangs.

I watched her through the glass. My drink stayed halfway to my lips, forgotten.

I’ve seen beautiful women. I’ve owned them. I’ve discarded them. But there was something about the way this woman moved—a strange mix of elegance and sheer, desperate calculation. She wasn't just here to drink. She was here for a reason.

And I wanted to know why. 

“Zach,” I said, my voice sounding deeper than it had moments ago.

"Sir?"

"Don't remove her. Zoom in the cameras. Every angle."

“Sir?” Zach genuinely shocked and rightfully so too. 

I don’t get fixated on women; I get focused on goals. On acquiring more power. But something

about her has me intrigued enough to want to know more. 

And I will. 

I bit back a groan of annoyance. “Do as you're told, Zach!” I barked. “And connect the feed to the monitors here,” I added, already moving towards the small secret room that housed my own private monitors. 

My veins are being flooded by an adrenalin surge… one that told me it was time to hunt.