Chapter 2: The Collector's Item

November 12, 2024 | 2:45 AM | Armored SUV en route to The Olympus Casino

Pain clawed through Damian's ribs with each breath.

The bullet wounds throbbed with each heartbeat, torn muscle and bone screaming for relief he wouldn't allow himself.

But his grey eyes remained fixed on the woman seated across from him, drawn by something stronger than agony.

Even unconscious, Dr. Ava Thorne maintained perfect posture against the SUV's black leather. Her spine straight, shoulders squared, surgeon's hands folded with precise symmetry in her lap.

Hands that had saved his life.

Hands that now belonged to him.

The vehicle's interior reeked of expensive leather and gun oil. Bulletproof glass muffled the distant hum of Vegas traffic, creating a cocoon of silence around them.

Mikhail's voice crackled through the encrypted comm system.

"Pakhan, Marcus's men are searching every Strip casino. They found blood at the ambush site but no body."

Damian's fingers found the radio clipped to his vest, his voice steady despite the fire in his chest.

"Good. Let them search. They'll find nothing."

Through the tinted windows, neon signs blurred past in streaks of red and gold. The city that had tried to kill him tonight, now unaware he was very much alive.

And in possession of something far more valuable than his survival.

His gaze returned to her face, studying each detail with predatory focus.

The elegant curve of her jaw. The way the dashboard light caught in her chestnut hair.

But it was her mouth that held his attention—the shape of it, full and defiant, like it had opinions it hadn’t voiced yet. He wondered what those lips would taste like. Sweet? Sharp? Would they tremble or bite?

She was a masterpiece abandoned in a pawn shop.

A surgeon of her obvious caliber didn't belong in the Fringe, treating gang bangers and street trash. Medical training that precise, that steady under pressure, cost serious money.

Which meant someone had invested heavily in Dr. Ava Thorne.

The question was who. And why she'd thrown it all away to hide in Vegas's forgotten corners.

Puzzles had always fascinated him more than fear.

The SUV hit a pothole, jarring his wounded ribs. She shifted against the seat, and he found himself studying the curve of her neck, the way her breathing remained steady even in unconsciousness.

Something in him wanted to reach out. Touch that smooth skin.

The impulse caught him off guard. He was a man who took what he wanted, when he wanted it. Gentleness was a luxury he'd discarded years ago.

Yet something about her sleeping face made his touch want to turn careful.

"Sir?" Mikhail's voice pulled him back to reality. "Orders for the penthouse?"

Damian keyed the radio, his voice dropping to that tone his men knew never to question.

"Prepare the guest suite. Designer clothes, size six. I want her dressed like she belongs to me when she wakes."

Through the comm, he could hear Mikhail relaying orders to their advance team. Movements synchronized, efficient, absolute.

The same precision that had built his empire from ash and blood.

"And Mikhail? Contact Leo. I need a full background sweep on our guest."

"How deep, sir?"

"Everything. Medical schools, residency programs, family connections. Someone trained those hands. I want to know who and why she's playing in the gutter."

The line crackled with acknowledgment before going silent.

Damian settled back against the seat, his eyes never leaving her face. In the dashboard's green glow, she looked almost ethereal. Beautiful and untouchable.

A sleeping queen who didn't know she'd just been claimed.

He replayed the moment their eyes had locked in the clinic. The way she'd stared him down without flinching, even with six armed men surrounding her.

Most people cowered when they met his gaze. Recognized the predator behind the expensive suits and calculated charm.

She'd looked at him like a problem to solve.

Like an equal.

The memory sent heat spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with blood loss. When was the last time someone had challenged him? Really challenged him, not just the posturing of rivals and enemies.

She'd told him she didn't belong to anyone.

Soon, she'd learn how wrong she was.

The Olympus Casino rose ahead of them, its golden crown blazing against the desert night. Forty-seven floors of glass and steel, testament to the empire Alexei Volkov had built.

The kingdom his adoptive father had chosen him to inherit. The throne he'd returned to reclaim.

Where she would learn exactly what belonging to Damian Volkov meant.

The SUV descended into the casino's private garage, where no cameras recorded and no questions were asked. Mikhail appeared at the passenger door, flanked by two soldiers.

"Medical team is standing by, sir. Penthouse is secure."

Damian nodded, then looked back at his sleeping prize.

Her breathing remained steady, peaceful. The chloroform would keep her under for another hour at least. Long enough to get her settled, to arrange the stage for their next encounter.

When she woke, she'd be surrounded by luxury that made her clinic look like the squalid hole it was. Silk and marble instead of rust and decay.

A gilded cage worthy of a woman who could steady her hands while a Pakhan bled out on her table.

"Handle her carefully," he murmured as Mikhail reached for her. "She's not some street rat. She's valuable."

More valuable than the men carrying her would ever understand.

As they lifted her unconscious form, Damian caught the faint scent of antiseptic still clinging to her clothes. The smell of someone who spent their life fighting death.

Soon, she'd smell like expensive perfume and his possession.

The elevator rose silently toward the penthouse, carrying his prize to her new home.

But choice was an illusion anyway. In his world, power decided everything.

And he had decided she was his.

"Sir?" Mikhail's voice was carefully neutral. "What if she refuses to cooperate?"

Damian's smile was sharp as a blade in the elevator's reflection.

"She's hiding something, Mikhail. Something she doesn't want exposed."

The elevator chimed softly as they reached the top floor.

"I'm going to enjoy discovering every single one. And if she won't give them willingly..."

The doors slid open, revealing the marble foyer of his penthouse fortress.

"Well, I've always preferred the hunt to the surrender."

He stepped into his domain, grey eyes gleaming with cold anticipation.

She just didn't know she was already caught.

The hunt was about to begin.

And Damian Volkov had never lost prey once he'd decided to claim it.