5

The boutique was a necessary evil.

My sister’s birthday was approaching, and Isabella had sent a precise list of demands—something shimmering, expensive, and impossible for anyone but me to acquire. I rarely handled such trivial errands myself, but today the walls of my penthouse had felt too confining. The image of her from Friday night still burned behind my eyes: Kate Martins on that pathetic stage, curves moving with raw, unpolished innocence that made every other woman in the Velvet Shadow look like cheap imitations.

I had poured a briefcase of cash over her like a coronation. A message, My men had been watching her since the car nearly clipped her on the street days earlier. One glimpse of those wide, defiant eyes and that body built for sin, and the hunt began.

“Find her,” I had ordered Marco the moment I stepped back into the SUV. “Every detail. Name, debts, who she fucks, what she eats for breakfast. I want it by morning.”

They delivered. Kate Martins. Twenty-one. Scholarship stripped. Mother dying of cancer. Little brother to feed. A sweet, clueless boyfriend named Noah who worked in a bakery and had never touched her properly. Perfect. Fragile. Mine to break and remake.

The boutique’s soft lighting and delicate perfumes did nothing to calm the predator pacing beneath my skin. I stood near the accessories, phone to my ear discussing a shipment of guns coming in from the docks, when the air shifted.

She emerged from the changing room like a vision dragged from my darkest fantasies.

The silver dress clung to her like liquid mercury. It accentuated every lush curve—full breasts straining against the deep neckline, hips flaring out, those long legs ending in heels that made her ass a goddamn invitation. Cleavage on full display. The hem barely covering what I wanted to devour. She looked expensive. Fuckable. Mine.

My cock hardened instantly. The call forgotten, I ended it mid-sentence, eyes locked on her. She froze, recognition flashing across her face. Good. She felt it too—that pull from the street, from the club, from the moment my gaze had marked her.

I moved before I could stop myself, stalking toward her with deliberate steps. She backed away until her spine hit the wall, trapped like the little stray cat she was. Up close, she smelled like vanilla and fear-sweat, intoxicating.

“What’s your name, little cat?” My voice came out rougher than intended.

“Kate.” Her breath hitched as she looked up at me. Those lips parted, full and trembling. Fuck, I wanted them wrapped around me.

“Good.” I leaned in, unable to resist. My nose brushed the sensitive skin of her neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of her—warm, feminine, untouched in all the ways that mattered—drew a low groan from my chest. “Mmhnn.”

Her shiver fed the beast in me. “What do you want?”

“I want to fuck you here.” Blunt. Honest. I had no patience for games with something I already owned.

Her gasp was music. Shock widened those pretty eyes. When she shoved at my chest and tried to flee, I caught her arm, pulling her back flush against me. “Don’t act innocent, stray cat. Not when you’re looking this tempting in that dress. Name your price.”

The slap came fast—her palm cracking across my jaw with surprising force. Heat bloomed on my skin, but it wasn’t anger that surged through me. It was pure, vicious delight.

I smirked, slow and evil, tasting the sting on my lip. My men would have died for less, but this girl? She had fire. Fire I would enjoy extinguishing and rekindling under me, night after night.

She ran, the short dress riding up her thighs as she disappeared between the racks. I didn’t chase. Not yet. Let her think she’d escaped. I touched my jaw where her hand had struck, the smirk deepening into something darker.

Now I just want to capture her and bend her.

The thought consumed me as I straightened my shirt. No more games. No more watching from shadows. Kate Martins had debts that could crush her. A family hanging by a thread.

A boyfriend who couldn’t protect her. And a body that responded to my gaze even as her mouth spat defiance.

I wanted her broken open for me. On her knees in my penthouse, that smart mouth full of my cock while she learned exactly who owned her. I wanted her riding me, crying my name, realizing that safety and pleasure and power all came from one source: me. I would erase her debts, secure her mother’s care, shield her brother—and in return, she would surrender every inch of herself. No more clumsy stage dances for leering strangers. No more innocent bakery kisses.

She would be my queen in the underworld. My personal little stripper. Bent, molded, addicted to the darkness only I could give her.

Marco appeared at my side, silent as always. “Boss?”

“Double the watch on her,” I ordered, voice low. “Her apartment. The club. The bakery boyfriend. If she so much as breathes near another man, I want to know. And prepare the penthouse. She’ll be moving in soon.”

He nodded without question. My empire ran on blood and loyalty, but this obsession ran deeper. Kate wasn’t just another conquest. She was the spark in a life of calculated violence.

The one thing that made the king want to possess completely.

I glanced toward the exit where she’d fled, imagining her flushed cheeks and racing heart. She’d feel me everywhere now. In every shadow. Every expensive gift that would start arriving anonymously. Every whisper of protection that eliminated her problems one by one.

The slap was cute. Adorable, even. But soon she’d be begging with that same hand—clawing at my back while I buried myself so deep inside her she forgot her own name.

I adjusted my cufflinks, the watch gleaming under the boutique lights, and stepped out into the afternoon sun. My driver had the door open before I reached the curb.

“Home,” I said. But my mind was already in the future—Kate spread across my silk sheets, silver dress torn away, eyes wide with a perfect mix of fear and desperate want.

She had no idea what was coming.