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Amari

Medina Corp

T he elevator doors slide open on the thirty-third floor with a soft chime, and I step out into my domain, my Italian leather shoes quiet against the polished marble.

My staff practically leap out of my path, their heads bowing as I pass.

I straighten my charcoal suit jacket and run my fingers over the short-cropped curls on my head, making sure everything’s pristine.

I stride through the open workspace, nodding to the employees who rise from their stations to acknowledge me.

Men and women, humans and supernaturals, all united under one banner: making Medina Corp the most powerful entity in the state of Michigan.

Some of them have worked for me for generations, their loyalty bought with genuine care and fair compensation.

Others are newer additions, but they’ve already learned what it means to be part of something bigger than themselves.

The morning sun filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, lighting up the sleek workstations.

My employees are attractive, smart, and hardworking.

I don’t sleep with them—that’s a strict rule I’ve never broken—but I can’t help noticing.

The way Sarah’s hips move when she walks, the shape of my human secretary in her pencil skirt.

They know I’m watching, and they put on a show for me. A little extra swing in their walk, a strategic adjustment of their collar, a knowing smile when they catch my eye. It’s all part of the game we play, the dance of power and attraction that keeps the workplace interesting.

But business comes first. Always.

I approach the conference room where my guests await, and Bobby straightens to attention beside the door.

He’s one of my best soldiers, turned in 1974 after the KKK nearly lynched him for being black and proud during the Black Panther movement.

I found him in an alley in Alabama, more dead than alive, and offered him a choice: die as a victim, or live as a predator.

He chose life, and in exchange, pledged his immortality to my cause.

Bobby hasn’t aged a day since 1974—his afro is still perfectly shaped, his beard neatly trimmed, his dark brown eyes burning with the same revolutionary fire that nearly got him killed as a mortal.

He wears a tailored suit now instead of a black beret, but he still carries himself like a soldier ready for war.

“They’re waiting, sir,” he says, his voice marked by decades spent fighting for our people.

I nod once. Bobby and I have an understanding that goes beyond words. He saw what I represent—not just power, but the ability to tear down the systems that oppress our kind. The slow, calculated dismantling of white supremacy, the elevation of those the world would rather forget.

It’s chess, not checkers. One wrong move, and we lose the game entirely.

I fix my cufflinks and signal my lawyers. Time to show these corporate fucks what happens when they threaten what’s mine.

Bobby opens the door with a flourish, and I step into the conference room. The space is a testament to corporate power—a long obsidian table that seats twenty, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Detroit, and leather chairs that probably cost more than most people make in a year.

On one side of the table sits Alexis Blackburn, sister to the late Ron Blackburn.

She’s stunning in a way that makes my dick take notice—caramel skin, exotic features that speak of mixed heritage, and a black suit that hugs her curves like a second skin.

Her blazer is tailored to perfection, the skirt short enough to showcase legs that go on for days.

My eyes drop to her ass as she stands to greet me, and I have to adjust my tie to hide the effect she’s having on me. It’s round, plump, exactly the kind of ass I like to grip while I’m pounding into a woman from behind. She catches me looking and smirks, knowing exactly what she’s doing.

Across from her sit the supernatural board members—a vampire and a witch.

Both traitors to their own kind, selling out for corporate interests.

The vampire looks like he stepped out of a 1950s photograph, all slicked-back hair and arrogance.

The witch wears her power like cheap perfume, too strong and trying too hard.

No shifters this time. They learned their lesson after the last massacre. Smart of them.

The vampire, though—he pisses me off just by existing. Vampires were created by King Amir. They owe their very existence to him, yet here one sits, ready to sell him out for corporate profit. It’s the kind of betrayal that makes my fangs ache.

I walk around the table, letting the tension build. When I reach Alexis, I stop just close enough that she has to look up to meet my eyes.

“Alexis,” I say, my voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I’m so glad you decided to join me.”

She extends her hand, and I take it, bringing it to my lips for a kiss. Her skin is soft, warm, and she smells like expensive perfume and something else—something that makes my stomach turn.

“The prolific Amari Al-Baqar,” she purrs, her voice like honey over broken glass. “You’re quite the legend. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I say, though I’m already cataloging the wrongness in her scent. She smells like a radical—like hatred disguised as civility.

I pull out her chair like a gentleman, then take my seat at the head of the table. My lawyers flank me on either side, ready for battle. The obsidian surface reflects our faces, creating the illusion of a room filled with doppelgangers plotting against each other.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ll be keeping this brief,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “I have business in Wintermoon that requires my immediate attention.”

The vampire across from Alexis slides a manila folder toward her. She opens it, scanning the contents with the practiced eye of someone used to legal documents. I notice how her fingers trace the edges of the papers, how she bites her lower lip in concentration.

The vampire—I don’t bother hiding my contempt when I look at him—clears his throat.

“Mr. Al-Baqar,” he begins, and I already dislike the sound of his voice. “We have some concerns about your operations in Michigan.”

Alexis slides the folder across the table. Vincent catches it before it reaches me, the warlock’s reflexes sharp as ever.

“Your data centers are affecting the local power grid,” Alexis continues. “And your pricing structure is... aggressive. We’ve received complaints that you’re monopolizing the market with artificially low prices. There’s no way you could be making a profit at these rates.”

I relax deeper into my chair, letting my fangs show in a predatory grin. My eyes lock onto the vampire across from me.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice dripping with false curiosity. “What year were you turned?”

He straightens, trying to project authority he doesn’t have. “Bagley of the Aura Coven. 1908.”

I laugh, low and sharp. “1908? Hell, you’re practically a newborn. And already a traitor.”

His face flushes with anger. “The only traitors here are those serving King Amir, keeping our people caged like animals in that sanctuary. We’re not meant to be slaves to humanity—we should be ruling them.”

I lean forward, my smile disappearing. “You know what King Amir says about meddling in human affairs. At your age, you should understand the consequences. You should be serving your own people, not selling them out for corporate profit.”

“I won’t help Amir keep our people in a cage,” Bagley snarls.

I don’t respond to that. While I agree with his assessment about the cage, betrayal is betrayal. And vampires who betray their creator deserve nothing but contempt.

Sarah opens her briefcase and slides a document across the table to Alexis. Her expression is cool, professional, lethal.

“Ms. Blackburn,” Sarah begins, “our client’s pricing structure is perfectly legal and follows all federal regulations. As for the power grid concerns, we’ve already addressed those issues.” She slides another document. “Here are the compliance reports, filed three weeks ago.”

Bagley picks up the document.

“Brookstone and Blackburn Enterprises always seem to be one step behind Medina Corp,” Vincent says with a smug smile. “While you’re busy hunting for violations, we’re already solving problems.”

I chuckle. “It seems your grievances have already been resolved. You simply weren’t aware of them.”

I stand, adjusting my suit jacket, and place my hands flat on the table. The obsidian surface is cool against my palms.

“I’ve got bigger issues with Brookstone and Blackburn Enterprises,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Aside from the absolute betrayal I see sitting before me.”

The room falls silent. Even the city noise from beyond the windows seems muted.

“I know what you’ve been doing to shifters,” I continue.

“To their children. To fated mates. King Amir doesn’t understand how to deal with corporations—they’re a new breed of enemy that formed while he slept.

But I understand. And when I’m finished with my business in Wintermoon, I’ll be dealing with you. ”

Alexis grins, revealing perfect white teeth. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She stands, her supernatural board members rising with her. “Let the games begin.”

She leans forward; her hands planted on the table. “You’re being naive and arrogant if you think you can take down our company. Many have tried. All have failed.”

I grin back, the expression sharp enough to cut glass. I nod to Sarah, who produces another file from her briefcase. The vampire slides it across the table.

Alexis’s eyes widen as she opens it. Her sharp intake of breath tells me everything I need to know.

“The one thing that keeps a corporation strong,” I say, circling the table like a predator, “is loyalty. The majority of my employees have been with me for generations. I provide humans with something corporations can’t seem to give anymore—security.”

I stop behind Alexis’s chair, close enough to smell her perfume mixed with fear-sweat. “I pay my people what they’re worth. Proper benefits. Down payments on first homes and cars. Real paid time off. Bonuses that actually mean something. And you know what? My profits have never been better.”

I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Corporate greed, lining the pockets of shareholders—that’s not a priority here. You should be learning from my success, not trying to tear it down.”

I straighten, my voice reaching every corner of the room. “But what you’re doing is wrong, and I won’t stand for it. Amir wants to coexist peacefully with humanity. But not me. I’d paint this city red with blood if I sat in the royal chair.”

I smile, and it’s not a pleasant expression. “But I know war won’t fix this. Destroying you from the inside will.”

The file Sarah provided is a thing of beauty—evidence of turncoat employees, financial irregularities, safety violations. All obtained through the simple expedient of treating people like human beings.

“You should invest in better staff,” I continue, “or at least pay them correctly. Your employees are so easily swayed it’s pathetic.

I shouldn’t be able to get them to turn on you just by offering to pay some medical bills.

For such a powerful corporation, you’ve got too many cracks in your foundation. ”

Alexis hisses, her composure finally cracking. “You fucking asshole.”

I chuckle and turn toward the door. My lawyers fall into step behind me, while Bobby moves to intercept any potential threats from the vampire.

“I need to be on my way,” I say, not looking back. “But I’ll be back in a week or two to deal with you properly. That’s when the real fun begins.”

“You won’t win,” Alexis calls after me.

I pause in the doorway, a smug grin spreading across my face. “I’m hoping you’ll prove me wrong.”

My eyes drop to her ass one more time, and I frown slightly. “Such a pity. With an ass like that, I’m sure you could make kings fall to their knees. But you reek of radical hatred, and that’s worse than sour pussy. I’ll pass this time.”

I can smell her arousal despite the anger. She’s turned on by the confrontation, by the push and pull of power.

“Fuck you,” she snarls.

I turn away, laughing. “No, thank you.”

The elevator doors open as I approach, and I step inside with my lawyers. As the doors close, I catch one last glimpse of the conference room—Alexis standing at the table, the vampire glowering, the witch whispering furiously.

They think they know what they’re dealing with. A corporate vampire, perhaps. A successful businessman who’s gotten too big for his britches.

They have no idea.

I’m heading to Wintermoon—the gilded cage, as I prefer to think of it.

My fated mate is there. I can feel it in my bones, in the restless energy that’s been building for weeks. And once I find her, once I claim what’s mine, I’ll have the motivation I need to burn Brookstone and Blackburn Enterprises to the ground.

The elevator descends. Above us, the corporate vultures circle, thinking they hold all the cards.

They’re about to learn how wrong they are.