All Chapters of VICIOUSLY YOURS : Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

The bass didn't just play in The Vault; it rattled the ice in the crystal lowballs and vibrated through the velvet-lined walls thirty feet beneath the Chicago pavement. The heavy thrum echoed in my teeth, a rhythmic, suffocating heartbeat that matched the frantic, betraying pulse jumping in my throat.I adjusted the edge of my silk lapel, forcing my breath to steady, forcing my posture into an unyielding line as I stepped past the velvet rope into the VIP lounge. Beneath my left arm, the leather folder felt heavier than lead. Inside lay two years of stolen cartel ledgers, four forged offshore routing numbers, and the single document that would either buy my freedom or sign my death warrant.Three hours. It had been exactly three hours since they lowered Clara’s polished mahogany casket into the freezing mud of the family plot. Three hours since my father clinked whiskey glasses with the very men who paved her way into the ground, hiding his complicity behind tailored suits and false,

The heavy oak door of the study didn't fully seal out the sound of the aftermath. Outside, the dull thud of heavy plastic bags, the dragging of dead weight, and the sharp, chemical reek of industrial bleach bled through the seams Julian’s cleanup crew moving with silent, terrifying speed.It was 2:00 AM.I stood near the edge of the mahogany desk, my hands still stinging from the violent recoil of the gun. The pristine collar of my white silk shirt was ruined, stiffening into a dark, rusty crimson where Julian’s blood had dripped onto my skin.Julian didn't sit down. He stood by the small brass sink in the corner of the dim office, peeling off his ruined charcoal jacket and tossing it callously over a leather armchair. His dark shoulder holster sat heavy and menacing against his white dress shirt, the leather worn soft from years of use, framing the massive breadth of his back. Without a word, he turned on the faucet and shoved his broad hands under the icy stream, washing away the gr

The heavy iron gate of the underground garage rattled down behind us, sealing out the Chicago downpour with a resounding, metallic clang.Julian didn't release his grip on my neck until the SUV came to a complete halt in the private subterranean bay. The silence inside the vehicle hung thick and suffocating, still charged with the residue of our brutal collision back at the club and the terrifying weight of the Zurich files resting on the armrest between us.He slid out first, unfolding his massive six-foot-three frame into the dim, clinical fluorescent light of the garage. Before I could move to open my own door, his hand was already pulling it wide. He reached in, wrapping his fingers around my elbow, pulling me out into the cool, concrete-scented air."My estate," Julian murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp near my ear as he guided me toward the private, biometric elevator at the end of the bay. "The penthouse occupies the top three floors. State-of-the-art surveillance, bullet