Page 55 of The Collector
Hector swirled his tequila, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "Seems bad for business to keep him out," he said. "And a dangerous place for the Kings to stand. There's a reason we made him an honorary King, Raven. The man's the best mercenary I've ever seen."
He took a slow sip, then let the warning settle. "Be careful with him. Getting on his bad side isn't just risky—it's fatal."
Raven didn't blink. "I'm not afraid of Pierre," he said. "But I'm not stupid either. I'll handle him. My way."
Even he himself liked a little pain with his pleasure; the morbidity of the man's kinks just took it a little too far to be good for business.
Pierre was just one of many who found twisted satisfaction at Blood Lust, but he was one Raven had to keep on a short leash. The man had influence, money, and a penchant for pushing boundaries—often to the extreme. Raven had spent more nights than he cared to admit reining him in before things got ugly.
"You don't think he could be the one the FBI's after? The Collector?" Hector asked, his voice low, probing.
Raven didn't hesitate. "He's one of the top suspects on my list. I've got Stoker digging into his whereabouts the night the last girl disappeared."
Hector nodded slowly, the weight of the moment settling between them. "Seems like you're on top of things. Stoker's good. He'll find whoever's behind this. Of that, I'm certain."
Raven didn't respond right away. He watched the crowd, watched the way shadows moved across the walls. If Pierre was the Collector, this wasn't just about justice—it was about containment. And Raven knew better than anyone: monsters didn't hide in the dark. They danced in plain sight, at least in the King's world.
Raven couldn't wait any longer. The need to speak to Mynx had been gnawing at him since she walked in, but Pierre's presence turned that quiet urgency into something feral. The man had shown too much interest in her in Cabo—lingering looks, veiled comments, the kind of attention that felt more like a warning than a compliment. And Pierre wasn't above punishing performers for Raven's boundaries, especially when he suspected Raven wanted them for himself.
He'd planned to wait until after the meeting to give her the choker. But now felt right. Necessary.
It wasn't just a gift—it was a message.
Raven stood, scanning the room once more. The deal with the Stallions could wait. Mynx couldn't.
Tonight, she'd wear his mark. And the room would know exactly what that meant.
"Excuse me, Dad. There's something I need to check on." The words came out smoother than he felt, a practiced tone that hid the urgency beneath. He stood up, feeling the momentary pull of freedom as he moved toward the crowd, toward Mynx, toward the life he craved away from his father's suffocating ambition. His father stared at him, eyes sharp with expectation, waiting for an invitation into whatever Raven was building. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. But Raven just stared back silently, waiting for his response.
"Don't be long. This situation with the Stallions is fragile at best."
Hector's voice cut through the haze of cigar smoke, low and deliberate. He watched Raven walk away from the table, eyes narrowed with that familiar edge—part warning, part challenge. The smoke curled around his face like a veil, but Raven saw the flash in his gaze: a silent command to stay focused, to prioritize the deal over whatever distraction had pulled him away.
But Raven was done folding under the weight of his father's expectations.
He gave a curt nod, the kind that acknowledged without conceding, and turned toward the crowd. The club pulsed around him—music, bodies, tension—but his focus had narrowed to one thing. One woman. One moment.
Tonight, he would steal a few moments for himself. Just a breath. Just a heartbeat. Before the spotlight rose and the night demanded everything else.
He navigated through the throng of incoming members, eyes trained ahead, eager to connect with Mynx before the weight of family and obligations pulled him back again. She had a way of making him forget the darkness surrounding their reality, if only for a moment. The hallway to the dressing rooms brimmed with hopeful members who wanted to be first in line to receive private services from their favorite performers.
These men didn't have the deep pockets of Blood Lust's elite, but they came hungry all the same. Most time slots were auctioned off online weeks in advance, giving the performers a chance to maximize their earnings and choose their clientele with precision. But for the rest—for the ones who couldn't afford to plan, only chase—they fought their way down the velvet-lined halls, hoping to catch a glimpse, a moment, a chance.
That was the allure of Blood Lust.
It wasn't just a club—it was a crucible. A world suspended between desire and danger, where fantasy could flourish or fracture in the same breath. Where beauty was currency, and attention could mean war.
If it came easily, they wouldn't crave it so fiercely. Wouldn't pay so much. Wouldn't bleed for it.
And that was the point. The hunger made it real.
"Boss—," the man standing guard at the doorway said with a nod as he approached.
"Steve," Raven nodded, "I trust everyone is behaving themselves tonight."
"So far so good, it's early yet. Members are insistent as always, but we have the situation under control," he replied, pushing another member back to allow Raven by.
"Great work as always," Raven responded, clasping his shoulder as he passed, making his way to the head of the labyrinth of hallways that led to multiple dressing rooms.