Page 3

CHAPTER 3

RAVEN

I slam the door behind me, my hands trembling so hard I can barely get the key out of the lock. The air in the apartment feels too thin, and I lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. My heartbeat thuds in my ears, loud enough that I almost miss the sound of Madison’s voice.

“Raven?” she calls from the kitchen, her voice muffled by a mouthful of something crunchy. I hear the rustle of her snack bag as she rounds the corner, barefoot and in nothing but a tank top and underwear, her bowl of chips balanced precariously in one hand. “Whoa. You look like you just saw a ghost. What happened?”

“Some guys,” I start, my voice shaking. I swallow hard, trying to force the words out. “They tried to… I don’t know, grab me or something. Outside the club.”

Madison’s eyes widen, and she sets the bowl down with a clatter. “Are you serious? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine,” I say, hugging myself tightly. “Someone… someone stepped in. He stopped them.”

“Who? A cop? Security?”

“No,” I say, my mind flashing back to Kirk. The way he’d moved, like he was made of something harder and faster than flesh and bone. The way his hands had felt when he’d kissed me, like they were the only thing holding me together. “It was Kirk Stevens. That billionaire guy that's always in the news.”

Madison scrunches her nose. "Kirk Stevens? That name sounds familiar."

"Tech billionaire. Always in the business news." My fingers twist in the hem of my shirt. "He was in the VIP section tonight."

"And he just happened to save you?" Madison plops onto our ratty couch, patting the cushion beside her. "Come on, spill. There's more to this story."

I sink down next to her, pulling my knees to my chest. "Giscard assigned me to his table."

"And?"

"And nothing. He ordered champagne." The memory of his intense gaze sends me on a hot spiral. "He asked me to sit with him."

"Did you?"

"Yes." Heat creeps up my neck. "I don't know why. There was something about him. Like gravity pulling me in."

Madison leans forward, eyes sparkling. "Was he hot?"

"That's not—" I press my lips together. "He was... different. Powerful. Not like the other rich jerks."

"Different how?"

"Just different. Commanding. But gentle too." My chest tightens. "Look, can we not?—"

"I still don't get why he saved you, or why you left work early in the first place."

The words burst out before I can stop them. "He kissed me, okay? And it was amazing. Like nothing I've ever felt before. But I got scared and ran away."

Madison's jaw drops. "He WHAT?"

"He kissed me," I repeat in a little girl voice. "One thing just kind of led to another, we were talking, and…he kissed me."

Madison’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, wait, wait. The same guy who was flirting with you at the club is the one that saved you?”

“Yeah. He… he just showed up out of nowhere. He took them down like they were nothing. One second they were coming at me, and the next they were on the ground. I’ve never seen anyone move like that.”

“Okay, hold up,” Madison says, holding up a hand. “Are we talking, like, action movie moves here? Was he doing flips and shit? Did he have a sword?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” I say, trying to piece it together in my head. “It was… it was like he didn’t even have to try. He was just faster. Stronger. Those guys didn’t stand a chance.”

Madison whistles low. “Damn. Sounds like he’s into you. Like, really into you. What did he say? Did he ask for your number? Please tell me he asked for your number.”

“He gave me his card,” I admit, pulling it out of my pocket. The glossy black rectangle feels heavier than it should, like it’s carrying the weight of everything that’s happened tonight.

Madison snatches it out of my hand, inspecting it like it’s a rare artifact. “Raven, this guy’s a billionaire. He’s hot, he’s powerful, he’s apparently a martial arts god, and he’s into you. What the hell are you waiting for? You should be calling him right now.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say, my voice sharp. “I don’t even know him. He’s… he’s intense. Like, too intense. And he kissed me, Maddy. And I… I ran.”

Madison stares at me like I’ve just announced I’m giving up breathing. “Let me get this straight. A handsome, sexy billionaire who wants you, bad , kisses you… and your move is to run away from this person?”

“I panicked, okay?” I snap, pulling the card back from her. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Madison throws up her hands. “Well, I do. I’m calling the psych ward because you’ve lost your goddamn mind, Raven.”

“I told you I don’t want to call the police,” I say, rubbing my temples.

“Who said anything about the police?” she retorts, grabbing her phone off the counter. “I’m calling someone to come and check your head for loose screws. This is insane.”

“Okay, hold up,” Madison says, snatching her laptop off the coffee table and plopping herself back onto the couch. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, and within seconds, she’s typing Kirk Stevens into the search bar. “Let’s see what Mr. Billionaire Savior is all about.”

I sink down next to her, my nerves still frayed. My hands twist the hem of my shirt as I watch the screen fill with results. The usual stuff pops up first—business deals, buyouts, paparazzi shots of him at fancy events with supermodels on his arm. Madison clicks through them with the intensity of a detective on a deadline.

“Big surprise,” she mutters, scrolling past a photo of him stepping out of a Maserati. “Rich guy does rich guy things. Let’s dig deeper.”

She types Kirk Stevens controversy into the search bar, and that’s when things get weird. The first link takes us to a forum thread titled Kirk Stevens: A Modern-Day Villain? My stomach tightens as I read the first post.

“What the hell is this?” Madison squints at the screen. “No childhood photos? Zero? That’s… sketchy.”

“Maybe he’s private,” I say, my voice sounding unconvincing even to me.

Madison gives me a sideways glance. “Private, or nonexistent? Because according to this, the guy just popped into existence in his mid-twenties with a billion dollars and no backstory.”

I bite my lip, my mind racing. Kirk’s face flashes in my head—those sharp, almost too-perfect features, the way he moved with inhuman speed and strength.

The way he kissed me like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

My pulse quickens, and I force myself to look back at the screen.

Madison clicks another link, and this one’s worse. “Okay, listen to this,” she says, reading aloud. “ Wherever Kirk Stevens goes, chaos follows. Industrial plants explode. Oil platforms sink. Entire companies go bankrupt. Coincidence? ”

“Stop,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “You’re making it sound like he’s some kind of supervillain.”

“I’m not saying he’s a supervillain,” Madison says, closing the laptop and turning to face me. “But he’s definitely not just a hot billionaire with a white knight complex. There’s something off about him, Raven.”

I don’t answer. I know she’s right—Kirk is too intense, too mysterious, too everything . But I can’t shake the memory of the way he looked at me, like I was the only person in the world who mattered. Or the way he’d whispered, “I’d rip them in half if I could.” I believed him. I still do.

“Look, I’m not telling you what to do,” Madison says, softer now. “But maybe… maybe you should be careful with this guy. You’ve been burned before. I don’t want to see that happen again.”

I nod, but I don’t say anything. My thoughts are a tangled mess, and I can’t untangle them, no matter how hard I try. Madison’s words echo in my head as I stare at the black business card still clutched in my hand. Careful. But careful feels like the last thing I want to be.

I stare at the blank wall of our apartment, my mind racing. The more I think about it, the more it fits. Kirk just happens to be there when those guys come at me? He swoops in, saves the day, and now he’s the hero? No. That’s too convenient.

“What if…” I start, my voice low, almost hesitant. “What if he paid them? What if he set it up just to look like the hero?”

Madison pauses mid-chip crunch, her brow furrowing. “You think he’s that much of a bastard?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, pacing the room. My fingers tug at the hem of my shirt, twisting the fabric. “But it’s not impossible, right? Rich guys like him… they think they can buy anything. Even people.”

She tilts her head, considering. “Okay, yeah. That’s messed up. But it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Dude’s shady. You saw the forums.”

I stop pacing, my jaw tightening. “If he thinks he can mess with me, he’s got another thing coming.”

Madison grins, her eyes lighting up. “Blackbird4VR?”

“Blackbird4VR,” I confirm, a smirk tugging at my lips. The thought of hitting back, of leaving my mark on his pristine, over-the-top office, makes my pulse quicken. “His office was in that article. The one with the stained glass windows. I can get in.”

“Climbing again?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“There’s a building next to it. Still under construction. Scaffolding up the side. It’s perfect.”

Madison leans back on the couch, her smirk widening. “Be careful, though. If he’s as shady as you think, he’s not gonna take kindly to someone tagging his space.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, heading to my room. My hands are already moving, gathering my gear—spray cans, gloves, my black hoodie. “I’ll make it quick. In and out.”

“Don’t get arrested,” she calls after me as I shove my supplies into a backpack. “I can’t afford to bail you out.”

“I won’t,” I say, pulling the hoodie over my head. The fabric settles over my shoulders, familiar and grounding. I grab my mask, black cotton, and tuck it into my pocket. “Blackbird doesn’t get caught.”

She laughs, but there’s a hint of worry in it. “Just… be smart, okay? I don’t want to have to explain to your mom why you’re in jail for vandalizing a billionaire’s office.”

“Smart is my middle name,” I shoot back, slipping the backpack over my shoulders. I head for the door, my hand hesitating on the knob. “See you in a bit.”

“Good luck,” she says, her voice softer now. “Kick his ass, Raven.”

I don’t reply, but the determined set of my shoulders says it all. As I step into the night, the cool air hits my face, sharp and bracing. The city hums around me, alive and indifferent. I pull my hood up, my hands brushing against the cans in my bag.

Blackbird4VR is back. And Kirk Stevens? He’s about to learn what happens when you mess with the wrong girl.

The night air hits my face as I hop onto the electric scooter, the hum of its motor vibrating through my body. I swipe the prepaid card, and the display flashes green. Let’s go.

New York at night is a different beast—a mix of neon lights and shadowed alleys, the kind of place where you can feel alive and terrified in the same breath. I weave through the streets, dodging late-night pedestrians and the occasional cab that doesn’t bother to signal. The city smells like roasted nuts and exhaust, and the wind carries the faint sound of a saxophone playing somewhere nearby. It’s beautiful in its chaotic way.

But my jaw tightens as I think about Kirk. That smug, too-perfect face. That kiss . He’d made me feel something, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. And then he’d turned around and orchestrated that attack ? What kind of sick bastard does that, just to play hero and get into my pants? My hands grip the scooter’s handlebars harder, the plastic biting into my palms.

I turn a corner, and there it is—Kirk’s brownstone. The bottom floors look like any other building on the block, blending into the city’s fabric like it’s trying not to be noticed. But the top two floors? Those are all him. The stained glass windows catch the streetlight, throwing colors onto the sidewalk below. It’s pretentious as hell, and it screams money .

“Figures,” I mutter, parking the scooter in a shadowed corner. I sling my backpack over one shoulder and duck into the construction site next door. The fence is easy enough to climb, my boots finding purchase on the chain links. I drop down into the yard.

The skeleton of the skyscraper looms above me, its steel girders exposed and waiting. I’ve done this a hundred times, but tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the anger simmering in my veins, or maybe it’s the weight of the spray cans in my bag. Either way, I’m not backing down.

I start climbing, my hands gripping the cold metal, my movements steady and deliberate. Eight floors up, I pause, crouching on a beam to catch my breath. The city stretches out below me, a sea of lights and noise. Then I focus on the ledge of Kirk’s building, just a few feet away but a world apart.

I take a running start, my boots slamming against the steel before I leap. For a second, I’m weightless, the wind rushing past my ears. Then I hit the ledge, tucking into a roll to absorb the impact. My shoulder stings as I come to my feet, but I ignore it, crouching low to stay out of sight.

I unzip my bag, checking the cans. All intact. Good. Blackbird’s ready to leave her mark.

I crouch on the ledge, my boots barely making a sound against the concrete. The balcony doors ahead are massive, floor-to-ceiling glass with intricate metalwork framing them. No locks, no alarms, no fancy security. Guess when you’re ten stories up, you don’t expect intruders. Joke’s on you, Kirk.

I slip inside, the cool air of the office hitting my face. The monitors on his desk cast a faint glow, illuminating the space just enough to see. My eyes adjust, and I spot it—the perfect target. A full-sized portrait of Kirk Stevens on the cover of Time Magazine , all smug and polished. Man of the Year. Yeah, right. More like Man of the Hour until I’m done with him.

I pull out my cans, shaking them with practiced ease. The hiss of the spray fills the quiet room as I go to work. Fangs, hollowed cheeks, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. I turn him into a vampire, greedily sucking money from the air around him. It’s chef’s kiss perfect. You can still tell it’s him, but now he’s a caricature of his own greed. Blackbird strikes again.

I step back to admire my work, a smirk tugging at my lips. But before I can bask in the glory, a deep, gravelly voice shatters the silence.

“What are you doing here?” it growls.

I freeze. The voice is familiar—lower, rougher, but that same commanding tone. Slowly, I turn around.

And then I see him.

Standing in the shadows is a monster . Seven feet tall, covered in red scales that gleam faintly in the dim light. His face is angular, reptilian, with ridges running down his cheeks and a pair of sunset orange eyes that lock onto mine. Those eyes. I’d know them anywhere.

“Kirk?” My voice comes out as a squeak. It’s him—or some twisted version of him. The same orange eyes, the same intense gaze. But this? This is not human.

“Did the Grolgath send you?” he demands, taking a step forward. His claws click against the marble floor, and I swear I can feel the ground vibrate under his weight.

My brain short-circuits. Grolgath? What the hell is he talking about? All I know is that I’m face-to-face with a giant lizard-man who looks like he’s two seconds away from ripping me apart.

“Stay back!” I yelp, fumbling for the can in my hand. I don’t think—I just act. I point it at his face and press the nozzle. A stream of paint hits him square in the eyes.

He roars, staggering back, clawing at his face. “What is this?!”

I don’t stick around to explain. I bolt for the balcony doors, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I don’t look back. I don’t think about how he’s probably twice as fast as me.

I just run, leaping onto the ledge and launching myself toward the scaffolding on the building next door.

I hope I make it.