Venom

Moonlight Desires, a popular club frequented by MC from all the packs, was alive with activity. The loud noises from the building testified to the wild revelry that unfolded there every night. Two sleek black SUVs pulled up in front of the club, and a guard quickly stepped forward, opening the door. A polished leather boot touched the ground, followed by a tall, handsome man in his early thirties.

He exuded an air of authority, his expression unreadable, and a blunt dangled casually from his lips. Surrounded by loyal men, he moved toward the entrance without uttering a word. The rest of his men stayed stationed at the vehicle, heads on a swivel, watching the street for any enemies.

The bouncer at the door nodded with respect and held the entrance open, but the man didn’t so much as glance in his direction as he stepped inside, flanked by his two closest men. His name was Xavier DeSantos—better known as "Venom." As Alpha of the pack and President of the notorious MC, The Reapers,Venom was used to commanding both respect and fear, his pack reigning supreme among the underworld's elite.  

Inside, the club was a cacophony of loud music, the scent of spilled liquor, and the haze of cigarette smoke. Partygoers indulged in every type of pleasure—some openly, others in secret back rooms. Tattoos and piercings covered the dangerous-looking crowd.  

Venom headed straight for the VIP lounge, the haunt of senior mafia figures. Staff and bartenders bowed their heads as he passed, careful not to make eye contact. He didn’t notice as he crossed the club, his attention focused solely on completing his business and getting out of this place.  

As he opened the door to the private room, Venom stood still, his blank gaze fixed on Pedro, trying to control his disgust. The man, his erstwhile contact, lounged on a couch, surrounded by three naked women—one with her mouth around his cock while the other two kissed and fondled him shamelessly. Strippers danced in the background, but Pedro’s attention was entirely self-centered.  

“Just as I expected—Dominus Marco sent you. Why can't he come himself?” Pedro asked, smirking as he finally acknowledged Venom.  

"Can we start with the reason I’m here?" Venom asked calmly, his voice carrying a blend of charm and menace.  

"You’re exactly as I’ve heard. Dominus Marco must be really proud," Pedro replied. The Dominus was the only person Venom respected in the world. He was like a father to him.  

"You have one minute left. I have other things to do." Venom checked his watch. He despised small talk, and Pedro’s chatter—his obvious attempt to ingratiate himself—was already irritating him.  

"Okay, okay, calm down, Venom." Pedro raised his hands in supplication. Venom’s sharp glare stopped him mid-sentence.  

"I mean... Venom," Pedro corrected himself quickly. No one dared to call him by his real name. Everyone called him Venom.  

"One minute remaining," Venom warned.  

Pedro signaled one of his guards, who approached with a small briefcase. He opened the case with a small click to reveal several layers of neatly packed drugs.  

"Check it," Venom barked. One of his men stepped forward, inspecting the contents and giving a nod of approval.  

"I thought we trusted each other now. I wouldn’t dare sell you fake goods," Pedro said smoothly. A briefcase was dropped in front of him. He smiled upon seeing it stuffed with cash.  

"Why don’t we hang out sometime?" Pedro asked casually, but Venom was already walking out, ignoring him entirely.  

"That kid," Pedro muttered angrily, taking a drag from his pipe. Moments later, one of his guards approached.  

"The job's done, boss," the guard reported.  

Pedro chuckled darkly. "Let’s see how Marco manages without his precious backbone." His smile turned into a frown as he discarded the pipe. The three girls returned to the room, and soon Pedro was immersed in his idea of fun, eager to see the chaos his plan would unleash.  

"The hell," Reaper muttered, his eyes widening at the sight of their guards sprawled lifeless on the ground.  

"The car tires are blown too. Who did this?" Butcher asked, scanning their surroundings.  

"Boss, I think it’s a setup. You need to leave now," Reaper urged, tension evident in his voice.  

"You two, take the bag and go," Venom ordered, calm but firm.  

"But, boss—"  

"Do as I say," Venom cut him off sharply.  

"Yes, boss." They bowed and started running toward their vehicle. Before they could reach it, the car exploded, engulfing the area in smoke.  

Through the haze, they saw armed men emerging from the club.  

"Let’s go! The boss will handle himself," Butcher said, dragging Reaper away.  

"Bastardo," Venom hissed under his breath, pulling himself to his feet. His body was battered, blood seeping from his wounds. He had to shift to heal himself, but he didn't have time for that now. For now, he had to stay alive. Hiding behind a nearby car, he watched as the men searched for him.  

When the moment was right, he dashed out. Gunfire erupted as they gave chase. Venom gritted his teeth, pain searing through him from the explosion’s impact.  

"Fuck," he groaned as a bullet pierced his shoulder. Spinning around, he fired rapidly, dropping five men before sprinting again.  

Bullets tore into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Through sheer willpower, he rolled and fired, killing nine more assailants. Despite his injuries, he drew on his shifter strength and managed to stand and continue running.  

The remaining six pursued him relentlessly. Ducking into a narrow alley, Venom waited as they passed him. Once the coast was clear, he stumbled forward, leaving a trail of blood behind. His strength waned, but he knew stopping meant death.  

Reaching for his phone to call for help, he realized it was gone—likely lost during his desperate escape.  

"Godsdamnit!" Venom cursed, dragging himself away with labored breaths. Blood trickled down his shoulder, and the wound on his back wouldn't stop bleeding. His steps were uneven, and it was clear he wouldn't last much longer.  

The haunting image of his parents and younger brother flashed in his mind—their lifeless bodies sprawled before him, helplessly out of his reach. He had been just ten years old then, too young and powerless to do anything but hide like a coward as his family was slaughtered in front of him.  

"I will not die today," he whispered, his voice trembling with determination. He clenched his fists, each step fueled by the searing rage in his heart. He had a mission to fulfill—a promise to himself that those responsible for his family's death would pay. If he gave up now, they would continue living their lives peacefully, untouched by the horror they'd inflicted.  

"I won't let that happen," Venom muttered through gritted teeth, forcing his legs to keep moving. "I can't die. Not yet."  

Meanwhile, across the city...