Page 15 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Eleven

V ictoria paced frantically around the club, eyes darting through the crowd as shadows and strobe lights made every face blur. Her pulse thundered. No sign of Taylor. Anxiety gnawed at her, twisting in her gut as she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text.

Victoria

HEY, WHERE ARE YOU?

She waited, staring at the screen for what felt like forever, but no response came. Panic coiled tight in her chest, and she pushed through the crowd, her movements becoming more frantic. The bass thudded in her chest, each beat matching the growing unease in her chest.

“Are you okay?”

She spun, breath hitching, to find Tyson watching her. Unlike Tristan’s smoldering intensity, his gaze was razor-sharp yet assessing, like he saw straight through her.

“Shit!” Victoria clutched her chest, pulse hammering. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You Lockes are everywhere.

HIs voice was deeper than she remembered. Smooth, laced with a quiet dominance. It wasn’t just the sound of it, it was the way it curled around her, sinking beneath her skin.

Without a word, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over her skin, a deliberate, measured move. Then, just as smoothly, he stepped past her, claiming a seat in the corner, his presence a quiet, undeniable force.

His gaze never strayed, a silent challenge lingering in his expression, waiting to see what she’d do next.

“I—I’m looking for my friend. You met her earlier, Taylor. Have you seen her?” The words tumbled out in a rush as her eyes darted over his face. Something was off.

She stepped closer, her breath hitching as she noticed the small cut above his eyebrow and the faint shadow of swelling beneath his eye, a bruise forming. Her gaze dropped lower.

That’s when she saw it.

“Is that… is that blood?” Her voice wavered between curiosity and alarm.

Oh shit, he was fighting tonight. Is this where fights are hosted?

Tyson didn’t so much as blink. “It’s not mine.” His tone was smooth, devoid of concern, as if the blood staining his hands was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Victoria hesitated. The sheer detachment in his voice sent a ripple of unease through her. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

His lips barely curved, a ghost of amusement, but not quite a smile. “Would you rather I lie?”

Well, fuck me. This man is scarier than Tristan and I didn’t think that was possible.

Something about him…his stillness, his closed-off expression, made it impossible to tell if he was being callous or if this was just who he was. The effortless control, the untouchable calm were unnervingly compelling.

But she didn’t have time for enigmas. Her pulse spiked with frustration. “Have you seen Taylor or not?” she snapped, irritation lacing her voice.

"Last I saw her, she was over there." Tyson’s voice was smooth, detached, his long fingers extending as he pointed.

The motion was subtle, yet the muscles beneath his sleeve flexed with restrained strength.

"It’s getting late. You should take your friend home.

" There was an edge to his tone, not quite a suggestion but more like a warning.

A chill traced Victoria’s spine. She followed his gaze and spotted Taylor at the far end of the bar, practically glued to some guy, grinding against him with her tongue down his throat. Her stomach twisted. "I need to call us a car," she muttered, pulling out her phone.

Before she could complete the request, Tyson’s hand moved with eerie precision, plucking the device from her grasp.

"Hey!" Victoria snapped, a mix of confusion and irritation flaring in her voice. "What the hell are you doing?"

Tyson didn’t answer. He simply lifted a hand, signaling to a man lingering in the shadows near the corner of the bar.

The man moved toward them without hesitation, his steps silent, his presence unsettling.

There was something practiced and calculated about him.

Someone who could disappear as easily as he appeared.

Everything about the situation felt wrong.

Victoria’s instincts screamed at her to back away. "What’s going on, Tyson?" she asked, her voice low, laced with unease. Her heart pounded, torn between frustration and the nagging sense that something much bigger was happening beneath the surface.

Tyson remained impossibly composed, his expression unreadable.

“Let me make this simple for you,” he said smoothly, his voice steady and deliberate.

“You don’t want to be here when the night takes a turn.

” His gaze flickered past her for the briefest second, scanning the room, before settling back on her with quiet intensity.

“I’m getting you out of here. No arguments. ”

His tone wasn’t forceful, yet it carried a weight that left no room for defiance. A suggestion that wasn’t really a suggestion at all. It was unsettling how easily he took control of the situation, how he acted as if he already knew the outcome.

Victoria crossed her arms, resisting the pull of his words. “And why exactly should I trust you?”

Tyson exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering with a shadow of emotion quickly masked. “Because I’m the only one here who gives a damn about what happens to you.”

“ Where’s Tristan? ” The words slipped out before Victoria could stop them, unbidden and reckless.

What the hell am I doing? I shouldn’t be asking about him. I shouldn’t even be in this conversation .

Yet, there she was. Standing in front of his brother, tangled in something she didn’t fully understand but felt deep in her bones.

Tyson watched her with an unreadable expression, his head tilting slightly as if he could see right through her, peeling back the layers she desperately wanted to keep hidden.

The way he moved was mesmerizing. Fluid, controlled, like a predator who never needed to rush.

Power coiled beneath his every motion, restrained yet ever-present, a silent reminder that nothing around him happened outside of his control.

For the second time that night, Victoria found herself frozen, caught in the gravitational pull of the Locke twinsne fire, the other ice.

A slow, knowing glint flickered in Tyson’s dark eyes. “My driver is taking your friend home,” he said, his voice smooth, deliberate, every syllable carrying an air of finality. “I’m taking you home personally.”

A sharp laugh burst from Victoria, laced with disbelief. “You’re joking, right?” She shook her head, trying to snap herself out of whatever strange hold he had over her. Tristan’s brother. Their father killed my father. She had no business being here, no business feeling anything but disgust.

Determined to leave on her own terms, she turned sharply, but before she could take a step, Tyson’s hand wrapped around her forearm.

The contact sent a jolt through her. Unexpected, steady, firm without force.

Victoria glanced down at his grip, then back up at him. It wasn’t rough. It didn’t have to be.

“Tyson.” Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be, her pulse betraying her calm facade.

His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. “You don’t want to be here when the night takes a turn,” he repeated calmly.

She should hate him. She should walk away. But deep down, she knew if she did, he’d follow.

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of her wanted him to.

"You didn’t answer me. Where’s Tristan?"

Tyson rolled his shoulder, glancing down at her with a look so unreadable it made her skin prickle. “He’s busy.” Flat. Emotionless. A dead end.

Victoria crossed her arms, her pulse hammering against her ribs. “You’re acting like I’m in some kind of danger, but for all I know, the real danger could be you.”

The corners of Tyson’s mouth twitched, not quite a smirk, but something close, like he found her defiance amusing. “You’re not wrong to be cautious.” His voice was smooth, deliberate, as if he chose each word carefully. “But I’m the devil you know,” he added quietly, “and tonight, that matters.”

Victoria’s breath hitched. Is that a warning? A threat? She couldn’t tell. But there was something in his gaze. Something raw, unguarded, like a sliver of truth had slipped past the mask he wore so well.

She knew she should walk away. This was Tristan’s brother… She had no business standing this close, no business feeling this… charged.

Her chin lifted in challenge. “You think I need protection?”

Tyson studied her, his silence carrying weight. Then, with a voice so low it barely met the space between them, he said, “I know you do.”

Victoria’s jaw clenched at his audacity. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Tyson’s smile was wicked, teasing, but beneath it, something almost sincere lingered. “I’ve been called worse. So, what’s it gonna be?”

Before she could respond, Taylor stumbled into view, her movements unsteady as she slurred, “This guy said he’s my driver and he’s taking me home.”

Victoria’s heart sank at the sight of her friend’s glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.

Oh, honey, you’re going to regret this tomorrow. She forced a small, reassuring smile while masking her concern.

Tyson’s driver, standing beside Taylor, gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

Victoria exhaled, shifting her focus to Taylor. “He’s Tyson’s driver. But if you’re not comfortable, I’ll take you home myself.” Her voice softened with concern, offering her friend a choice.

Taylor leaned into Victoria, her weight pressing against her in a half-hug.

“It’s fine, I’ll be okay,” she mumbled, giggling.

“I had so much fun tonight. You’re way funnier than I thought you’d be.

” Then, with a dramatic whisper, she added, “You should totally sex up one of the twins. Or both. No judgment.”

Victoria steadied her, amusement flickering through her concern. “That’s absolutely not happening, but thanks for the compliment.”

Taylor gasped, swaying slightly. “That’s tragic. All that hotness, just wasted.”

Victoria shook her head, suppressing a laugh. Drunk compliments were always the most honest.

Her expression hardened as she turned to the driver, her voice dipping into something quiet but razor-sharp. “Text me the second you drop her off. Get her some water before you leave, and if even one hair is out of place, you’ll wish you hadn’t met me. Understood?”

The driver shifted, clearing his throat before nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

Despite her tough words, unease coiled in Victoria’s stomach. She was putting her friend in the hands of a stranger, someone connected to Tyson, to the Lockes. A calculated risk, but one she had no choice but to take.

She watched, her pulse steady but her nerves anything but, as the driver led Taylor toward the exit, keeping a firm hold to prevent her from bumping into anyone.

She wouldn’t relax until she got that text.