Page 7

T he click of my boots hitting the concrete echoes through the Iron, each step heavier with irritation. Isaac summoning me wasn’t a shock—the Sovereign Leaders heard my message loud and clear.

The fallout? Expected.

As I approach his office, I take a steadying breath, already bracing myself for the inevitable bullshit that’s about to unfold.

The door swings open to reveal him seated behind his desk like the king of the fucking world. Tall, broad, dark eyes that pierce through the room, and dressed like he’s untouchable in that suit.

Commander Zane’s in the corner. Quiet—for now. But I can feel his eyes on me, watching. His arms are crossed, that unreadable expression giving nothing away, but I know he’s waiting for me to slip up.

“Axe, glad you could join us,” Isaac says, gesturing toward the chair across from him. I take it, already itching to get this over with.

“I believe we have matters to discuss.”

“Do we?” I raise a brow.

Zane steps in. “Axel, explain yourself.”

I growl, “I don’t have to explain shit. I completed a Bond. End of story.”

Isaac sighs, rubbing his temples like I’m the headache he’s been avoiding all day. I respect him—he’s High Chancellor for a reason—but right now? I want out of this room.

“Look,” Isaac starts, “I understand the Bond is a sacred rite, but your methods were…excessive.” He pauses, waiting for me to bite, but I stay silent. “As a Commander’s daughter, Victoria is a valuable asset to the Sovereign. This union was...unexpected.”

I scoff, anger tightening in my chest. “You think I give a shit about that?”

“Axe, do you even want a wife?”

“No. This is business, nothing more.”

Zane rises to his feet. “This is fucking ridiculous. You’re a Hawthorne. This is beneath you. What would your father think? Your uncle?”

I snap, rising from the chair and towering over him. “Don’t bring them into this.”

Isaac’s voice cuts through the tension. “Axe. Sit down.”

“No. I’m done. Conrad knew the fucking risks issuing me a Bond,” I snarl. “His Bonds have caused the death of how many Sovereigns? If anyone else pulled that shit, they’d be a corpse by now.”

My glare pins Zane in place, daring him to open his mouth. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say a word. Smart.

“Every Sovereign who accepts a Bond understands the danger,” Isaac cuts in, trying to play peacemaker. “What happened to those unsuccessful is tragic, but they chose the risk. The Bond was theirs to take.”

“No.” I grind the word out, my teeth clenched. “Conrad should’ve gone after the first Sovereign failed. That’s what we do. We’re not fucking cowards.” I take a hard breath, fighting to control my fury.

Zane, still standing, cuts in, “When the hell did you start caring about Sovereign lives? You’re no moral authority, Axe. You kill and torture for the hell of it. Don’t stand here and act like you’re some kind of fucking savior. You’re the goddamn Reaper , for Christ’s sake.”

My fingers twitch, that familiar itch to smash something crawling under my skin. “Fuck you, Zane. I follow orders and get results. If you don’t like my methods, find another executioner. I don’t give a damn about who dies out there. But Conrad is a fucking stain on the Sovereign, unfit for command. Someone has to remind him what we are. You and Isaac both go into the field when your Bonds fail. He’s no exception to what makes us Sovereign.”

“Alright, enough,” Isaac interrupts. “Both of you, stand down. Conrad is a respected Commander, and this is more complicated than personal vendettas.” He turns to me. “Axe, you’ve made your point. Conrad will be delt with, but this is still the Sovereign. We have rules. We stand together, no matter what.”

I scoff at their loyalty and unity rhetoric. This place is rotting from the inside out. Loyalty is earned in blood and sacrifice, not handed out like a fucking title because we all took an oath at one point.

I refuse to drag out this pointless debate any longer. I storm out of the room, cursing under my breath. The Bond is binding, and they can’t do a damn thing about it.

As I step outside, the crisp night air hits me. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. This conversation was a waste of time. I glance at my phone and see Griff’s text.

Griff: Get your ass to the Pavilion. I saved a seat for you.

I sigh, my head throbbing slightly. He better not be wasted already. I drive to the Pavilion and spot Griff at a table near the stage—clearly hammered.

I slide into a seat and signal a server for a drink. The table is littered with empty glasses and bottles, and he’s surrounded by a flock of eager Sluts, all wearing skimpy dresses and high heels.

“About fucking time,” he slurs, throwing an arm around a brunette’s waist.

“Fuck you, Griff,” I grunt, downing a swig from my glass.

“Oh, come on. Lighten up. I heard tonight’s show is going to be extra special. You might even enjoy yourself.” I shoot him a skeptical look, but before he can continue, the lights dim. The buzz of conversation fades into a tense hush.

A spotlight beams, and the crowd cheers as heavy bass pulses through the speakers. One by one, the Sirens emerge, each reveal met with enthusiastic applause.

My eyes are drawn to Rory, her bright blonde hair flowing down her back. Her blue eyes are lined with dark eyeliner, making her gaze more piercing. The bodysuit hugs her curves, her tits pushed up, her hard nipples clearly visible.

My cock twitches, my eyes glued to her body. The show progresses, each routine more intense than the last. The announcer then introduces the final act.

“And now, for our final song of the night, ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Rory Valentine.”

“American Horror Show” by Snow Wife begins to play. My jaw drops as the spotlight finds Rory, igniting a roar of screams and applause from the crowd. She has white upside-down crosses taped over her nipples, a white thong, and white fishnet stockings. She’s practically fucking naked.

She starts singing in a raspy, seductive voice. Her perfect tits bounce as she moves, swaying with the music. She walks toward the audience, gyrating and rolling her hips. Her gaze locks onto mine, and she teasingly pulls the tie of an eager Sovereign in the front row, slowly letting saliva drip from her mouth into his.

She’s toying with me, and she’s doing a damn good job.

As the music builds, she moves to the center of the stage, brandishing a knife from her thigh strap. The crowd goes wild as she runs the blade along her body, her voice filling the room, the lyrics dripping with sex and danger.

In an instant, the blade is hurled through the air, missing my face by mere inches and embedding into my chair with a thud. A gasp escapes my lips involuntarily.

She grins, challenging me.

So, she likes to play with knives? That’s my specialty.

I retrieve the knife from my chair and casually toss it onto the table where Griff watches, his face full of amusement. “Careful, she bites.”

I don’t respond, taking a long drink instead. The song intensifies, transforming the stage into a hellish nightmare. Music thunders through the speakers as flames erupt around the performers, creating a fiery inferno.

Rory steps offstage and saunters toward the front row, climbing onto the tables and fucking crawling on all fours, sending the audience into a frenzy. They scream and reach out, desperate for her touch.

She stops in front of a Sovereign, pressing her body against his. Locking eyes with me, she grabs his hands and puts them on her tits. He squeezes them as she sings, her lips so close to his. He’s moaning, his hands moving down her body. The metal cuts into my skin as I grip the chair.

Crawling across the table, she closes the distance, her body inches from mine. She’s so close I can smell her perfume mixed with her sweat. Her eyes are piercing, her body moving seductively.

With a deft motion, she retrieves another knife from her thigh holster, twirling it expertly between her fingers.

If she wants to play games, then let’s fucking play.

The blade moves toward my face, but at the last moment, she redirects it, driving it down into the chair between my legs. The music crescendos, and the crowd erupts into a deafening roar of cheers and applause.

She leans in, her breath hot against my ear, her voice low. “I belong to nobody.”

She gracefully steps off the table, leaving the audience on their feet, chanting her name. Just before disappearing into the smoke, she pauses, casting a smirk in my direction.

She blows a kiss to me and then vanishes.

Fuck. She’s good.

Griff laughs, his arm draped around a brunette. “Well, I’ll be fucking damned. Your girl sure knows how to put on a show. She’s quite the entertainer.”

Ignoring his comment, I rise from my seat, retrieve the knife from the chair, and tuck it into my waistband. I need a drink—make that two. Pushing through the chaotic room filled with Sovereign members drinking and conversing loudly, I head straight for the bar. Ordering a whiskey, I down it in one gulp.

“I belong to nobody.”

No, Rory Valentine belongs to me. Her little stunt won’t go unpunished. She’s testing her limits, and I won’t tolerate her games.

If she wants to play rough, she’s about to learn what happens when you toy with a killer.