Chapter Three

Lucian's POV

The club was alive again, buzzing with lights and noise like it had never slept. Same place, same beat—but tonight, I wasn’t only here for business, I had come for him.

"Mr Moreau." The club manager was already by my side before I even got a chance to sit. "You're here today?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" I shot him a glare, and he chuckled awkwardly.

"It isn't so Sir, I'm just glad that you're—" I lifted up my hand a way of telling him that I wasn't interested in his talks.

“Clear the VIP,” I told the manager as I tilted my head to the side to have a look at him. “Now.”

He didn’t argue. No one did, not with me. A few high rollers were escorted out, protesting until they saw my face. Then they quickly shut up, and went their wat. The name Moreau had that effect.

I sank into the plush booth, far enough from the stage to watch without being seen. A wine glass in hand, jacket off, tension buried just under my skin.

Then he came out—Jace, the man who'd tormented me in my dreams last night.

Every step he took on that stage was calculated, but effortless and he was confident. Far too dangerous, but I was a man who wined and dined with danger.

 His black leather pants clung to him like a second skin, his bare chest shining under the red lights. Tattoos peeked out from his ribs and shoulder, teasing the eye.

He moved like fire. And I—well, I burned with desire.

Did he know I was here? Of course he did. Jace always knew when I was watching. And he hated it. It was very glaring.

He looked my way, eyes cold, sharp enough to cut through glass. But that didn’t stop him from dancing. Didn’t stop me from watching him either.

I shouldn’t want him. Not like this, I should be focusing on the task at hand, but wanting him wasn’t something I could control.

When he came to the edge of the stage, I stood, moving closer. He didn’t flinch nor did he move back. Just stared, like he couldn’t decide whether to slap me or spit in my face.

“You cleared out VIP just to stare at me?” His voice dripped with disdain. "How nice." He rolled his eyes.

“I wanted the room, and the person in it which is you.” I gave a slow smile. 

“I’m not one of your toys.” He pointed out.

“No,” I said, reaching up to touch his jaw. “You’re the one thing I can’t buy.”

He went still under my fingers, but the fury in his eyes only deepened. His skin was hot, flushed from the dance—or maybe from the proximity.

I leaned in, brushing his lips with my thumb. "What is it?" My eyes settled on his lips. "What is it about you that makes you so irresistible? I leaned in, close enough to kiss him.

Then my phone buzzed repeatedly in my pocket. I ignored him, but it kept ringing which filled me with the urge to put a bullet in the caller's head.

He pulled back with a scoff. “Guess the empire’s calling.”

I took out the phone and glanced at the screen.

It was an Anonymous Text: Vinco & Mateo. They're in Club Nirvana. The Back room to be precise. They're talking to someone again. Selling you out. Thought you should know.

My jaw clenched. Those snitches, did they think it'd go in forever and I wouldn't catch them?

“Trouble?” Jace asked with a smirk.

I didn’t answer. My mood flipped, fast and hard. I turned, heart thudding—not from him this time, but from something darker.

Betrayal and anger.

"Seems like our fun will have to end." I rose up to my feet, felt inside my coat for my gun and I walked out.

They were exactly where the message said—tucked away in the corner booth, drinking and laughing like they didn’t owe me everything.

I approached, calm on the outside, fire in my chest.

“Enjoying yourselves?” I asked.

Vinco nearly dropped his drink. Mateo paled with fear.

“Lucian, we didn’t know you were—” A slap from me was enough to put the words right back in his mouth.

“Cut the shit.”

I slid into the booth across from them, gun already in hand beneath the table.

“You’ve been talking. To people you shouldn’t be talking to.” I gritted my teeth in anger.

Mateo held up his hands. “We didn’t have a choice. The Feds—they cornered us. Said they had evidence that'd send us to prison.”

“There’s always a choice,” I said coldly. “You just picked the wrong one.”

Vinco shifted, too quickly thinking his distraction had worked. I saw the flash of a weapon before it was too late.

I fired twice. Blood sprayed the back wall and Vinco slumped forward, lifeless.

Mateo bolted for the door.  I chased him through the club, shoving past stunned dancers and staff. Somewhere behind me, someone screamed. Lights flickered. The music kept pounding.

My shoulder burned—I’d been grazed. Bullet or debris, I wasn’t sure. Didn’t care, I had to catch the bastard.

Mateo crashed through the back door into the alley. I followed, rage propelling me past the pain.

“Stop!” he shouted, pointing his gun.

I didn’t hesitate in pulling the trigger.

He fell back against a stack of crates, blood soaking his shirt. I approached, shoulder throbbing, gun still raised.

He coughed, choking on blood. “Please...”

“Who were you talking to?” I demanded.

His lips trembled. “We... weren’t supposed to say... Just messengers...”

I pressed my boot to his chest. “Name. Now!"

A moment of silence. Then—

“Al.......” he struggled to get the words out.

“What did you just say?” I crouched low by his head, trying to hear what he was saying but he was gone.

"Mateo! I shook him violently. He was dead. How nice, the only name I had got out was Al. What was I supposed to do with that?

I stood there in the dark, gun still warm in my hand, blood dripping from my arm, and that name echoing louder than any gunshot.

"What could Al mean?"