Page 74 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Sixty-Three

T he car ride to Crimson Veil felt both endless and too short.

A tightness settled in her chest, the silk of her gown sticking to her skin like a ghost of the betrayal she had just swallowed down.

Cassian’s face flashed in her mind, with his cold, calculating, and ruthless expression.

The man who had killed her father. The man she had to face tonight.

Her phone buzzed, the words from Adams’ last message burning into her retinas.

Adams

Enter through the back door. Don’t stop. Don’t hesitate. Cassian’s men are watching the main floor.

Victoria swallowed hard. Forty-five minutes. That was all she had before hell crashed through these walls. And yet, even with the clock ticking, a small, insistent part of her wished she could just walk away from it all. She couldn’t. Not tonight. Not when Cassian was waiting.

The driver pulled up to the back door, the neon glow from the club bleeding into the night like an open wound. She could hear the bass thrumming from within, the pulse of the underworld beating just beneath society’s polished surface.

Slipping out of the car, she tugged her gown tighter around her, the smooth fabric an armor of its own. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and something metallic—blood, maybe. A stark contrast to the elegance she was draped in.

She moved quickly, heels clicking against the pavement as she walked up to the back entrance, a red veil affixed to the door. No guards. No line. Just an unspoken rule: If you belonged here, you already knew where to go.

Victoria slipped inside.

Heat and noise crashed over her. The reek of whiskey, cigar smoke, and adrenaline clung to the air.

The room stretched wide, packed with bodies.

Unlike the usual underground fights she was used to, where bloodstained concrete and rusted cages set the scene, Crimson Veil was drenched in opulence.

Crystal chandeliers hung above the carnage, casting glittering reflections against the sweat-slick floor.

Velvet-lined booths cradled the city’s elite, their laughter curling around the screams from the pit below.

And despite the violence, the spectators were dressed like royalty. Tuxedos. Gowns. Heels that cost more than most people’s rent. It was a masquerade of a different kind, one where money shielded them from the blood staining their hands.

She was overdressed for a fight, but here, no one noticed. No one cared.

Victoria wove through the crowd, her pulse syncing with the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets. Tristan Locke steps into the ring in ten minutes!”

Her breath hitched. She moved to the edge of the pit, peering down. Nothing but the mat.

I need to get closer. But first, I have to lose the dress .

Victoria slipped through the crowd like a phantom, unseen yet impossible to ignore. Every step was deliberate, every glance calculated. The gown was a disguise, a tool but now it was dead weight.

She caught sight of a hallway veiled in shadows, just beyond the watchful eyes of Cassian’s men. Slipping into the darkened space, she exhaled, steadying her pulse.

No hesitation.

Her fingers found the zipper, peeling away the silk like shedding old skin.

The fabric pooled at her feet, she kicked it off into the corner.

Beneath, she was dressed for anything but a gala.

The black shapewear hugged her frame like a second skin, its U-plunge front exposing just enough to blend in with the extravagance outside, while the sheer mesh along her thighs kept her movements unrestricted.

Perfect for disappearing into the chaos.

As she stepped back onto the floor, rolling her neck as the tension bled from her muscles, the chandeliers bathed her in a golden glow, their light catching on the sheer panels of her bodysuit, just enough to hint at the skin beneath, not enough to expose. But it was enough to be noticed.

And noticed she was.

A man, grinning, far too comfortable in a place like this, sidled up beside her, whiskey clinging to his breath. One hand wrapped around his glass, the other finding her waist like he had every right to touch her.

“I came here for a fight, but damn if you aren’t the one knocking me out,” he mused, voice smooth, smug. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Victoria’s lips curved, not in amusement, but in warning. She turned to face him, placing a hand on his chest. His grin widened, confidence in his eyes as his hand slid lower, fingers brushing the top of her ass.

She let him think he was winning.

Then, in one swift motion, her other hand wrapped around his manhood, squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch.

“See, love,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear, “If I wanted you on the floor, you wouldn’t be conscious to enjoy it.”

Victoria stepped away from whiskey-breath, snatching his glass as she moved.

She downed the amber liquid in one smooth motion, fire trailing down her throat as a soft, dangerous laugh slipped past her lips.

Setting the empty glass on a nearby table, she didn’t bother looking back.

She didn’t need to. He was either frozen in place, rethinking his life choices, or nursing a bruised ego. Either outcome suited her just fine.

Bodies pressed tight along the railing, shouting, placing bets, lost in the carnage. The roar of the crowd masked the sound of her movements as she wove through them, scanning for the stairs.

She needed to get down there. Needed to get closer.

But more than that, she needed eyes on Taylor.

Her pulse thrummed as she searched, her gaze cutting through the sea of faces. Justin was here. He had to be. And Cassian? The devil never missed a show.

Victoria kept moving, careful not to draw any more attention. At least, not yet.

She saw an opening in the crowd as people made their way toward the pit. Her heels clicked against the concrete, her gaze sweeping the room with the practiced ease of someone who’d seen monsters in every form.

And then she spotted her.

A group of men gripped the arms of a girl who couldn’t be older than eighteen, her hands trembling as she struggled to balance a tray of champagne.

Her uniform was crisp, her posture stiff, but the terror in her eyes gave her away.

Victoria’s gaze dropped to the bruises circling the girl’s wrists.

Deep, ugly marks that didn’t belong on someone serving drinks at a party.

Fuck .

Victoria exhaled slowly, rolling her eyes as she tilted her head, her heels clicking with deliberate ease. She wasn’t looking at the girl anymore. No, she was focused on them.

She let her lips curl into a smirk, eyes dark with amusement as she plucked a flute of champagne from the tray, her fingers just barely grazing the girl’s as if to say, I see you. I’ve got you.

Then, she turned her full attention to the men.

“Gentlemen,” she purred, swirling the champagne in her glass. “Did no one teach you manners? Or do you just get off on roughing up girls half your size and age?”

One of the men, a thick-necked bastard with a too-tight suit, scowled. “Mind your business.”

Victoria arched a brow, taking a slow sip. “Oh, but this is my business. See, I don’t like watching pathetic little cowards pretend they have power.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough that only they could hear. “It makes me… twitchy.”

The man’s jaw tightened. He shifted slightly, blocking the girl behind him.

Victoria just laughed, taking a long sip of the champagne before sitting the empty glass down.

“That’s cute.” She leaned in, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. “Now, let her go before I really start having fun.”

The man’s nostrils flared, his grip tightening on the girl’s arm. He was weighing his options, trying to decide if Victoria was bluffing.

She wasn’t.

Victoria sighed, tapping a manicured nail against the rim of another champagne flute. “You’re taking too long,” she said, almost bored.

“And I said back off.” He let go of the girl and stepped toward Victoria, towering over her.

Victoria tilted her head, smirking. “You know, they say the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

Before he could react, her fist shot out with lightning-fast accuracy, slamming into the side of his neck, striking the vagus nerve.

His body locked up for half a second before his knees buckled, his balance faltering as a momentary blackout hit.

He crumpled, gasping, his hands clawing at his throat as he struggled to stay upright.

“Guess they were right.” Victoria places her stiletto on his throat, pushing slightly. “Anyone else?”

The man beneath Victoria’s precise strike swallowed hard, his body still reeling from the blow. The one with the ruined suit glared, fists clenched, his anger rising.

Victoria smirked, eyes flicking between them. “Smart boys,” she said, her tone calm and dangerous. The men stood frozen for a moment, their unconscious friend still twitching on the ground.

One of them, his voice low and hoarse, finally spoke. “Who the fuck are you?”

Victoria tilted her head, a smile curling at the edges of her lips. “Does it matter?”

The man’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t make a move to advance. The others hesitated as well, the realization that they might have bitten off more than they could chew settling in.

Victoria took a step back, eyes cold and calculating. “Now, I’d recommend walking away before things get… messy.”

They lingered for a moment, exchanging tense glances, but the sight of their friend still crumpled on the ground made them think better of it. One of them scoffed and shoved past his friend, stalking off, followed closely by the others, casting Victoria one last glare.

She just smiled, tilting her head. “Run along now.”

Once they were gone, Victoria exhaled and turned to the girl. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here.”

The girl hesitated, her voice trembling. “I can’t go. They’ll kill my father if I don’t pay his debt.”

Victoria’s gaze sharpened. “Who will?”

“Cassian Locke.”

Victoria’s jaw tightened, but her expression remained calm. “Go out the back door and don’t look back. I’m taking care of Cassian. Don’t you worry.”