Page 18 of Doomed

“Your pretty little artist just walked into Purgatory,” Vane says, amusement evident in his voice. “She’s delivering her first commission to Xavier. Thought you’d want to know.”

My pen freezes mid-signature. “Bianca’s there now?”

It’s been two weeks since I last saw Bianca—two weeks of her ignoring my texts and calls. Two weeks of self-inflicted blue balls since she’s taken up rent-free residence in my head.

“Looking all professional and fuckable at the same time. Xavier’s giving her the VIP treatment.”

Apparently, while ignoring my calls, she answers Xavier’s without a second thought. Since she is commissioned to paint six pieces for Purgatory for a pretty payday, I don’t imagine she would avoid the one with the checkbook.

I’m already pocketing my phone and grabbing my leather jacket off the chair. “Jenson, I need to head out.”

Lars looks up from where he’s counting product. “What’s the rush? We’re almost done here.”

“Business at Purgatory,” I mutter.

“Business, huh?” Lars’s smirk makes me want to punch him. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that artist who’s been ignoring your texts, would it?”

“Fuck off, Lars.”

“Never seen you this whipped, Blackwood,” he continues. “It’s refreshing, actually.”

I flip him off while checking my watch. If I hurry, I can catch her before she leaves.

“Jenson can finish up here,” I say, already heading toward the exit. “Everything’s counted and signed for. Just need the final transfer.”

Jenson nods. “I’ll handle it, sir.”

Lars calls after me, “Tell her I said hi. And that there are better Blackwoods to fuck!”

I ignore him, pushing through the warehouse doors and striding to where my motorcycle waits. The engine roars to life beneath me, and I’m peeling out of the lot before the warehouse door fully closes behind me.

I weave through traffic like it’s standing still, running red lights and taking corners so sharp my knee nearly scrapes the pavement. The speedometer climbs past ninety on a forty-five street, but I don’t care. After two weeks of radio silence, I’m not missing this chance to see Bianca.

I pull into Purgatory’s underground garage with a screech of tires, cutting the engine while the bike’s still rolling toward my reserved spot. My Aprilia glides into place beside Vane’s green Kawasaki, perfectly aligned, like we’ve done a thousand times.

Pulling off my helmet, I run a hand through my hair and check my reflection in the bike’s mirror. I look desperate—because I fucking am. Two weeks of silence have me acting like a teenager with his first crush.

I take the private elevator up to the club level, fingers drumming impatiently on the wall as it ascends. The second thedoors slide open, I’m moving with purpose through the back corridors of Purgatory, past security who know not to stop me.

The club is already pulsing with early-evening energy—music vibrating through the floor, colored lights slicing through artificial fog, bodies writhing in hedonistic abandon. I scan the VIP section where Xavier usually conducts business, but I don’t see him or Bianca.

“Look who decided business could wait,” Vane’s voice cuts through the music as I pass the main bar.

I turn to find my brother leaning against the counter, tumbler of whiskey in hand, smirking like he’s caught me with my pants down.

“Where is she?” I demand.

Vane shakes his head and laughs. “You’re fucking pathetic, you know that? Rushing over here in the middle of a shipment because a woman who slapped you might be around.”

“Did I miss her?” I ask, ignoring his jab.

“Xavier took her up to his office to sign the paperwork,” Vane says, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Never thought I’d see the day Knox Blackwood would be this whipped for pussy he’s not even getting.”

I laugh and clap Vane on the shoulder harder than necessary. “Hey, at least I’m chasing something with its own pulse. When was the last time you had anything but your hand for company?”

Vane’s eyes narrow. That’s always been our dynamic—pushing buttons until someone snaps. Usually, it’s him.

“Besides,” I continue, grabbing a random drink off a passing server’s tray and downing it in one go, “business wasn’t going anywhere. Those crates will still be there tomorrow. Bianca, on the other hand...” I wiggle my eyebrows.