His Stripper Mate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

“Not yet,” I said, stripping off my hoodie along with my latex outfit. “I have to shower. I have the money for Nyx. All of it. A year’s worth.” I shut the bathroom door, blocking out Sasha’s stream of unhinged suggestions for Damien’s slow demise. I stood under the freezing water, scrubbing until my skin was raw and the last of the "Obsidian Whale" was washed down the drain. When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I felt human again. Barely. “I’m going to the clinic,” I told Sasha, who was currently suturing a hole on the couch while muttering about High Pack parasites. “I’m coming with you,” she snapped. “I need to make sure the nurses at Saint Jude’s aren't being incompetent. Last time I was there, I saw a doctor trying to use a tongue depressor as a splint. I almost stabbed him on principle.” I dressed up, grabbed my bag and headed for the door, Sasha trailing behind me with her tactical med-kit. I stepped out into the hallway, and that’s when I saw it. The door to 4A

ZO’s POV The bus ride from the Hollows to the Upper East Side was a slow, rattling transition from grayscale to technicolor. As we crossed the bridge, the crumbling brick and neon-flicker of my neighborhood gave way to glass towers that reached for the throat of the sky and streets so clean you could probably eat off them—if the Blue moon high Pack didn't arrest you for loitering first. Beside me, Sasha was vibrating. Not with excitement, but with a caffeinated, unhinged sort of energy that usually resulted in someone getting a verbal flaying. She was currently chewing on a cinnamon stick with the intensity of a beaver on a deadline, her tactical med-kit resting on her lap like a pet. "I’m telling you, Zo, the math doesn't add up," she said, her voice cutting through the hum of the bus engine. "You rescue a 'consultant' who looks like he fell out of a 'Gentleman’s Quarterly' catalog, he pays for his stitches in silver—silver, Zosia, who even carries that anymore?—and then he hap

Nikolai’s POV I stood in the center of the apartment, my eyes locked on the monitor where the Vane Estate feed was still glitching. The image of the shadow-figure in the north wing had vanished, replaced by a wall of static and a single, repeating line of code in the corner. ‘Nemo me impune lacessit.’ No one provokes me with impunity. Because no one actually does. "They're mocking us," Victor growled, his fingers flying across the keys. "Whoever intercepted the feed is using a localized scrambler. They knew we were watching. Or at least they know someone is watching." "It's not Damien," I said, my voice a low vibration that made the floorboards hum. "Damien doesn't have the intellect for this kind of counter-intel. This is Thorne. Or Evander." "Boss, if Thorne knows you're alive and in the city, he'll move the labs," Victor warned. "He already has," I replied, turning away from the screen. "He’s using the hospital as a front, but the real work is happening elsewhere. Th

ZO’s POV ₊˚⊹ The next morning ₊˚⊹ The aroma of the Blue Label coffee was almost offensive in our tiny kitchen. It smelled like wealth, like privilege, and like a world that usually didn't set foot in Building 4B unless it was to serve an eviction notice. Sasha was currently standing over the cracked French press like it was a sacred altar. She took a deep inhale, her eyes rolling back in her head. “If I die tonight, tell the paramedics I died happy,” she whispered, her voice thick with caffeine-lust. “I’m ninety percent sure Nick sold a kidney for this. Or maybe he’s a high-end drug mule. God, I hope he’s a drug mule. Imagine the samples.” I sat at the table, cradling a mug of the dark, rich brew. The warmth seeped into my fingers, but it couldn't reach the cold void in my chest. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt those enormous arms catching me. I smelled vetiver and pine—scents that were nowhere to be found on Nick now. It brought me to the conclusion that he wasn't the o

She leaned into my space, the scent of her perfume a chemical warfare against my senses. She didn't see Nikolai Vane. She saw the "Vick" she’d tried to seduce three years ago—the quiet, brilliant tech-genius who had stayed late at her father’s office and then "chickened out" when she’d invited him for a "private tutorial" in her bedroom. “Where have you been?” she asked, her voice dropping into a sultry, manipulative register. “I asked my father to track you down, but it was like you’d been scrubbed from the earth.” “I’ve been… around,” I said, fumbling with my glasses again. “Doing reports. Analyzing data. Mostly remote work. Very quiet.” I paused, letting my eyes dart toward her two enforcers. “But Cynthia… Why are you here? This district… it isn't really your… aesthetic. The air quality alone is… well, it’s sub-optimal.” Cynthia’s face hardened, she glanced back at Zosia’s door, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. “I’m here to teach a little bug lesson, Nick,” she spat, th