Velvet and vengeance: stripped by the enemy

Jace's Pov

The stage pulsed beneath my boots, the baseline thudding like a second heartbeat beneath my ribs as i dance.

I didn’t look at the crowd, I didn’t have to cause 

I could feel their eyes glued to my skin like heat, hungry and desperate, the kind of stares that stripped you bare of your entire clothing before you even moved

My arm caught hold of the pole, and I climbed on it, giving the people a show well deserved The moment I turned, my eyes feel on him and I went stiff.

He had just walked into Club Nirvana like a taboo dressed in a suit. Even in such a place like this—where cruel and dirty men wore diamonds, and others paid to forget who they were—he stood out. 

Dressed in black like he was headed to a funeral he planned to enjoy. Off course, he killed people

He didn't blink. Not once. And his eyes? They stayed locked on me.

The moment he had stepped through the doors, my whole body reacted. My heart didn’t skip—it clenched like a fist.

Lucian Moreau. The heir to the Moreau empire. The man I’d sworn to destroy, even if it meant burning myself down with him.

And the bastard didn’t even recognize me. That was good. Not yet.

The music slowed, slipping into something much darker and dirtier. I got down to my knees, hair damp with sweat as strands clung onto my face. I rolled my hips like I was carving a message into the air. 

Let the lights catch on my sweat-slick skin. Let him watch me, Let him remember.

The beat came to a stop. I held the final pose—head back, chest heaving, arms raised in surrender. The crowd roared. Bills fluttered across the stage like confetti. But I wasn’t listening to any of it.

I was watching him, and he was watching too with a smug smile on his face.

Lucian lifted one finger. A silent command, and the club manager came running to him.

Moments later, the club manager appeared backstage, already breathless.

“Mr. Lucian wants a private show,” he said. “Booth Seven. He’s paying triple.” he informed me.

Of course he is.

I took my shirt off the rack and put it on. Ran my hands through my hair that was damp with sweat and checked myself in the mirror before leaving.

Good, because once I walked into that booth, the game would begin.

Lucian sat alone, his bodyguards were outside He had one leg crossed over the other while he drank from his glass of exotic wine.

He looked up the second I stepped in.

“You’re even better up close,” he said with a smile on his face. "You do know how to keep a person waiting."

I slid onto the seat opposite him, stretching one arm along the backrest. “ Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He smirked. “Would it matter if it was?”

I studied him carefully, just like I had done for the past few years. The way he held his glass. The stillness in his frame. Like a man used to being obeyed. Like the world bent to his convenience.  

He was arrogant and Dangerous.

“I don’t drink with strangers,” I said.

“Then let’s fix that. I’m Lucian.” he introduced himself.

“I know.” I said, trying my best not to let the years of hatred burst open.

He paused. That got his attention. “Have we met?” he eyed me suspiciously.

I smiled, slow and sharp. “You’d remember if we had.”

He leaned back, swirling his drink. “You dance like you’re angry.”

“Maybe I am,” I said. “You watch like you’ve got blood on your hands.”

Something flickered in his eyes—just for a second—but it vanished before I could catch it.

I tilted my head, resting my chin on my fist. “So what’s a man like you doing in a place like this?”

“Business.” he answered. "I'm looking for some people."

“Is that what I am to you? Business?”

His eyes raked over me, lingering just long enough to insult. “Not quite.”

The silence between us thickened. He was used to being in control. To being powerful. But I met him inch for inch, smile for smile, every word laced with velvet and venom.

He liked that. I could tell which was good. I had studied him long enough to know what he liked.

Lucian set his drink down. “What’s your last name?”

“I don’t give that out.”

“What do you charge then?”

My smile didn’t reach my eyes. “Pain.”

His expression didn’t change, but the energy shifted. He set the glass down on the table and leaned back in his seat.

 "Dance, that is the reason why I paid triple." he said in a commanding and condescending tone that made my toes curl with anger.

I stood before he could speak again, adjusting my coat. I took slow steps towards him pretending to take off my coat, and when I stood before him, I bent low.

“Enjoy your night,” I said softly. “Try not to choke on the smoke.”

He reached out, catching my wrist—not rough, just enough to make me stop.

I looked down at his hand, then back at him.

“I’m not done,” he said. "You can leave when I tell you to." 

“You don’t get to decide when I’m done,” I whispered. 

And I pulled free from his grip. I didn’t stop walking until the club’s neon glow disappeared behind me. The night swallowed me whole, quiet and cold. I leaned against the alley wall and lit a cigarette, my hands were still shaking.

Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out. The message was from an Unknown Number.

One message that read: He was there the night they died. Don’t forget why you’re here.

I stared at the screen until the letters blurred.

Then I looked back at the club. At the booth where Lucian Moreau still sat, completely unaware.

That face, that name. I wasn’t dancing for pleasure. I was dancing for vengeance.