Page 54 of The Collector
Fabric clung to her like a secret, catching light with every shift of her hips. Raven let himself watch, just for a moment. Amid the tension, the looming meeting, the weight pressing against his ribs, she slipped through the cracks of his guarded soul and settled there—quiet, calming, dangerous.
He took in every detail. The curve of Mynx's shoulder. The way her hair caught the light. The look in her eyes said she knew exactly what she was doing.
And he let her in.
She had the nerve to dress like a butterfly—wings of gold shimmering, catching the light, delicate and dangerous all at once. Raven watched her move, each step calculated, each glance a dare. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Damn that woman.She made him feel ravenous every time she entered the room. Not just for her body, but for the chaos she stirred in him—the hunger, the heat, the need to claim and protect and unravel her all at once.
She wasn't just beautiful. She was a provocation. And tonight, she'd chosen to fly.
The need to claim her right here, right now, was driving him mad as he watched her enter the hallway to the dressing rooms. He felt something coil in his chest—not jealousy, not quite. Possession. The need to stake his claim before the night unraveled into politics and posturing. Before someone else mistook her grace for availability.
If he wanted to focus on locking down the deal with the Stallions, he needed to talk to her first. To make sure she knew what happened between them in Cabo meant something-- to make it clear he wanted her and that she'd never be available to the other members. Not tonight. Not ever.
She belonged to herself. Raven respected that. But if she was going to stand beside him, he needed the room to know it. Needed his father to understand it. It was time for him to act like a Capo. A true Capo didn't wait for permission to take what he wanted; he took it and dealt with the repercussions later.
Opening nights at Blood Lust never disappointed. The club knew how to deliver spectacle, and its members came hungryfor it—hungry for beauty, danger, and the promise of something unforgettable.
Raven had no doubt she'd own the stage. Mynx would walk into the spotlight as if she were born for it, captivating the room with her signature blend of elegance and edge. She didn't just perform—she branded herself with every glance, every movement, every breath.
Tonight mattered. First nights weren't just about applause—they were about power. A performer's debut set the tone, drew attention, and opened doors to money, influence, and protection. Blood Lust didn't hand out second chances.
And Raven knew: if she nailed this, the Members wouldn't just notice. They'd pay attention and want more.
All so Mynx could pay a damn debt that wasn't even hers.
The thing was— he didn't want anyone to pay attention to her. She was his. Before she set foot on that stage, he needed not only to tell her, but also to ensure she wore his intentions for the world to see.
Which she was about to do in just a few minutes. It was eating Raven alive that he hadn't ended the charade yet. But he'd been tied up with the details of the deal over the last few days. That she needed to perform to succeed here, Raven would never let another man touch her without facing his wrath. It was time to take action.
"Raven, did you hear what I said?" Hector asked.
"No, Sorry. What did you say?"
"Get your god damned head in the game, boy. You realize Raul still wants me dead, right? I need you focused if this meeting is going to go the way we want it to."
Raven refused to let his dad's heavy mood ruin the night. The real challenge was figuring out how to slip away without being noticed, something that required a bit of assertiveness he hoped he could pull off. His dad had an annoying way of sensing whatRaven wanted to do, usually shutting it down without a second thought. With everything they had going on tonight, it should've been a moment to come together, bridge the gap between them. Instead, it felt like the one person who was supposed to have his back was hell-bent on keeping him on a leash.
Where was Stoker when he needed him?
He could usually count on him to keep Hector busy while he handled the more delicate situations he wanted to keep his father away from.
Hector raised his glass, the tequila catching the light as he took a slow sip. Raven watched him, noting the deliberate pace—the way his father always made even the smallest gestures feel like a performance. Hector let the burn settle before speaking, voice laced with mock approval.
"I said it's nice to see you can do something right," he drawled, eyes scanning the club with calculated interest. "Place looks primed for another money-making weekend."
He leaned back, satisfied. "I even saw Pierre Le Grange when we arrived. That man doesn't show up unless he's hunting. No doubt a few of our performers will be wearing his mark before he's satisfied."
A full, haunting laugh rolled out of him—low, deliberate, the kind that made people wonder whether they were being praised or warned.
Raven did a lot of things right. But his father would never admit that. It would be like him admitting that he needed help running the Kings. Weaknesses or vulnerabilities were not in the man's nature.
"Pierre's on my shit list," Raven said, his tone flat but loaded. "I saw him last week in Cabo."
Hector raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"
He met Hector's gaze, steady and unflinching. "Pierre pushed too far. I had to restrict him from the Elysian Fields. Theperformers recovered," Raven said, voice clipped. "But barely. And not without scars."