Page 2

CHAPTER 2

KARC

T he bartender’s words hit me like a jab to the ribs. She punched out early. Raven’s gone, and the taste of her still lingers on my lips, a ghost of something I can’t quite pin down. Duty wars with instinct—find Giscard or find her. The club hums around me, bass thumping, bodies swaying, but my focus narrows to a single, relentless thought: She’s in danger.

I’m halfway to the elevator when a voice stops me, smooth and greasy as oil. “Mr. Stevens. Leaving so soon?”

Giscard. Of course.

I turn, forcing a practiced smile. “Even billionaires need their beauty sleep, Lalonde.”

He stands there, pristine in a tailored suit, his pale face unreadable. “Surely not. The night’s just beginning. I’d hate for you to miss the real entertainment.” His eyes flicker, something reptilian in their stillness.

“Another time.” My jaw tightens. Every second I waste here feels like a noose tightening.

He steps closer, his presence oppressive. “You seem... distracted. Something on your mind, perhaps?”

I meet his gaze, my voice ice. “Personal matters. Nothing that concerns you.”

He smiles, thin and sharp. “Everything concerns me. Especially in my club.”

The elevator doors slide open, and I step in without another word. His eyes follow me, cold and calculating, until the doors seal shut.

The descent feels agonizingly slow. My pulse hammers, a low drumbeat in my ears. She’s in danger. The thought won’t let go, a primal pull I can’t ignore. The doors open, and I’m out, scanning the street. Neon lights blur as I move, my long strides eating up the pavement.

Her voice cuts through the night. "Let go of me!"

A pack of suits circles Raven like wolves, their leader's meaty hand yanking her purse strap. "Hey darling, I'm trying to be nice. If you don't stop being a cold bitch, I'm going to be not so nice."

Red bleeds into my vision. My feet eat the pavement in three strides. The human's face registers shock as my fist connects with his jaw - pulled at the last microsecond from lethal to merely devastating. He crumples like wet paper.

"Holy shit!" One of his cronies launches a wild haymaker.

Their fists bounce off my concealed scales, tearing threads in my Armani. Five against one - pathetic odds. For them.

"Get him!"

The pack swarms, all flailing limbs and drunken rage. I let them wear themselves out for exactly three seconds before launching them all back with a sweep of my arms. Bodies scatter across concrete.

One tries crawling away. Another rushes me with a broken bottle. A third fumbles for his phone. The fourth just stands there, pants darkening.

I take my time. The bottle wielder gets his arm twisted until something snaps. The crawler receives a precise kick to the ribs. The phone fumbler tastes pavement.

The last one breaks into a sprint. My hand finds an orange safety cone. Perfect. The cone spins through the air like a missile, catching him between the shoulder blades. He face-plants with a satisfying thud.

Five unconscious suits litter the sidewalk. My suit is ruined. Worth it.

I’m at her side in an instant, my instincts screaming to check for injuries. She’s holding her torn outfit together with both hands, her knuckles white, her shoulders hunched. The bruises on her heart are worse than anything those bastards could’ve done to her skin.

“Here.” I shrug out of my blazer, draping it over her shoulders. It swallows her, hanging down to mid-thigh like a trench coat. She looks smaller in it, vulnerable in a way that makes my jaw clench.

“Are you all right?” My voice is calm, but it takes effort. I want to go back and finish what I started with those men.

She nods, her eyes flicking to the ground. “It’s my fault. I should’ve taken a cab. I was being cheap.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. I temper it, softening my tone. “It’s not your fault. The only ones responsible are the ones who tried to hurt you.”

She glances up at me, her dark eyes wide, searching. There’s something there—fear, maybe, or the ghost of it. She’s not used to kindness from men like me. That realization sticks in my chest like a blade.

“Let me call you a ride,” I say, pulling out my phone. She doesn’t argue, just nods again, her shoulders slumping like she’s carrying the weight of the world. Her expression makes my chest ache. She looks like someone who’s been kicked too many times and expects the next blow.

The car arrives quickly, sleek and black, blending into the night. She hesitates before sliding into the back seat, clutching my blazer around her like armor.

“Here.” I slip a business card into her hand. “Call me anytime. Day or night.”

She looks down at it, her fingers trembling slightly. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

I shut the door and watch as the car pulls away, taillights disappearing into the dark. The ache in my chest doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens.

Back inside the club, the air feels heavier, the music louder. I scan the room, but Giscard’s nowhere to be seen. I approach the bar, catching the bartender’s eye.

“Where’s Lalonde?” I ask, my tone casual but my focus razor-sharp.

“Retired for the night,” he says, not looking up from the glass he’s polishing. “Sixth floor.”

Of course. The forbidden floor. No invitation, no access. My frustration simmers beneath the surface, but I keep my expression neutral.

I leave the club, the cool night air doing little to clear my head. The drive back to my Greenwich Village condo is a blur of neon and shadows. My mind’s already spinning, plotting the next move, but beneath it all, there’s a single, unshakable thought: She’s not safe.

I’m back in the penthouse, pacing. The city’s sprawl stretches below me, lit up like a carnival, but I’m not seeing it. My mind’s locked on two things: Giscard’s sixth floor and Raven. The sixth floor is a fortress—impenetrable without an invitation. And Raven’s caught in the crossfire just by being at that damned club. Women vanish from Area 51 like ghosts, and Giscard’s always there, smooth and unreadable, his hands clean of blood but dripping with suspicion.

My phone buzzes on the counter. I snatch it up.

“Kirk.” It’s Jareth, my tech guy, his voice crackling through the line. “Got some intel on Lalonde. You’re not gonna like it.”

“Try me.”

“He’s been making a lot of trips internationally. Russia, China, a few stops in the Middle East. All places with high-level defense contracts. And get this—every time he returns, another girl goes missing. Five in the last six months. All staff from Area 51.”

My grip tightens on the phone. “Pattern?”

“Too clean to be coincidence. He’s targeting them, Kirk. And your girl Raven’s been working there, what? A month? She’s on borrowed time.”

“She’s not my girl.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “She’s a liability.”

“Bullshit. You kissed her. You don’t kiss liabilities.”

“It was a maneuver.”

“Right. A maneuver.” Jareth’s tone is dry. “Look, I get it. You’re the Iceman. Emotions are for lesser beings and all that. But if she’s got Giscard’s attention, she’s in deep. You either pull her out or protect her. Either way, make a call.”

I exhale, the tension in my chest tightening. “What about the sixth floor?”

“Still nothing. That place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No heat signatures, no audio. Whoever’s running their security is a goddamn wizard. You’re not getting in without an invite.”

“Then I’ll get an invite.” My voice drops, cold and determined. “Lalonde’s throwing a private event tomorrow night. By invitation only.”

“You think he’ll bite?”

“He’ll bite. He’s too curious about me to ignore me now. But that’s not all. I need eyes on Raven. She’s not going back to that club.”

“You want me to babysit her?”

“No. I want you to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. She’s stubborn, scrappy. If she thinks she’s being watched, she’ll bolt.”

“Understood. But Kirk—be careful. Giscard isn't just any player. He’s Grolgath. That means he’s got resources, and he’s not above disappearing people himself.”

“I know.” My eyes narrow, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold. “That’s why I’m ending this.”

As I hang up, my gaze lands on the business card I gave her. It’s still sitting on the counter, untouched. She didn’t call. Not that I expected her to. Trust isn’t in her vocabulary, and after tonight, it’s even less likely. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s in danger because of me.

Two missions now. Expose Giscard and the Grolgath’s operation. And keep Raven safe from them. Both are tangled together, a knot I’ll have to cut through one way or another. But first, I’ll need to get closer to Giscard. Close enough to see the scales beneath his skin.

And if he so much as looks at Raven the wrong way, I’ll rip him apart.