Chapter 5

V ANCE

“ Y ou ever leaving your car?” Enzo asks over the speakerphone.

“I will once I collect what’s mine.”

“She isn’t going anywhere. There’s shit that needs your attention at the club.”

I let out a sigh. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of taking care of it.”

Enzo is a scary motherfucker. No one messes with him and expects to live. We came up together. I trust him more than my childhood best friend. Tristan doesn’t know what I am, but Enzo knows the face of my monster because he’s one, too.

“You’re fuckin’ obsessed, man. Nothin’ will happen to her if you leave for a few hours.”

“I’m not riskin’ it. Take care of whatever needs to be taken care of.”

I look up at Clarissa’s apartment to see her leaving. She’s wearing high heels and a short black dress that looks like it’s covered in feathers. She even looks like a raven. A fucking hot one.

I watch as she gets into the backseat of a car. Good. It’s not a date. I don’t have to kill the poor fucker driving. It’s probably an Uber or Lift.

I start the car and follow her. I’m not sure where she’s heading at ten at night, but there’s no way I’m leaving her alone. Plenty of men prey on women. I know exactly who they are. My world is full of them. Anyone touches a hair on my raven’s head, and they’ll have me to deal with. I’m not the type of man you want knocking at your door.

The car ahead turns onto familiar streets as I continue to follow, places I navigate daily.

Is she going to another club? Some place where I don’t know the layout and can’t protect her as easily?

Fuck.

I don’t want to kill anyone tonight, but it might be inevitable if any other fucker looks at her in that dress.

I exhale in relief as Clarissa exits the car and steps into the club. My club. There’s no running away. She’s stepping into my castle, and I’m the motherfucking king. Soon, she’ll discover what I’ll do to make her my queen. My fucking raven. My little bird. Mine.

I rush into the club from the back room. She’s safe in the club. Enzo has passed around her picture so all the guys know she’s off-limits. I hate that they even looked at her once, but it has to be done. It won’t serve anyone if I go off half-cocked and start killing the entire crew.

“Nice to see you,” Enzo says as I pass him in the dark corridor.

“If you wanna talk, meet me at the perch.”

The perch is the highest point in the club. It’s where I sit, my throne, as I watch the spectacle below. It’s also the best place to protect her. From there, I can trace her gliding on the dancefloor and see who talks to her.

I track her every movement. She’s so beautiful that it physically hurts to look at her. She smiles at the bartender, Josie, when she takes her drink and sits down. I never thought it was possible to be fucking jealous of a damn chair.

“You look like shit,” Enzo says, coming to stand beside me. “You can’t go on much longer, or you’re gonna snap.”

“Too fuckin late. I snapped the moment I saw her.”

“You’re no good to her or anyone if you’re fucked up and off your game.”

I scrub my face, trying to get my fucking brain under control. I’ve let everything go. My only interest has been Raven. Nothing else seems to matter to me. I could burn it all down, and it would be fine so long as she was with me.

“What ya gonna do, Vance? Follow her like a puppy for the rest of your life?”

“Fuck off.”

Enzo laughs, slapping me on the back with his open hand. “I love you, man, but you’re certifiable. I’ve never seen you this deranged, and a lot of pussy gets slung your way.

“I don’t want any other pussy.”

“Can’t you fuck one of the dark-haired girls and pretend it’s her? Maybe a good nut will get you back on the straight and narrow.”

I grit my teeth, my hands turning ghostly from my grip on the railing. “Don’t want anyone else. Only want her. Only her.”

Enzo keeps talking, but I ignore him because a creepy guy with slicked-back hair wearing a generic suit is talking to my raven. She smiles politely, but her body shifts away, silently telling the fucker she isn’t interested. The cocksucker doesn’t get the message. He doesn’t back away and move on to the next conquest. He shifts his body closer, crowding her space.

I’m on my feet, sprinting down the stairs in a split second. “Rock! Tony! Come with me.”

The two bouncers don’t ask questions. Like good soldiers, they follow my commands.

I approach Clarissa. “Sir,” I say through gritted teeth. “Please come with us.”

“What the fuck for?” the prick demands.

“We’d like to have a conversation with you, sir. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I prefer the former, but I’m not opposed to the latter.”

The asshole’s eyes widen and shift from left to right as if searching for an out, but there isn’t one. This is my palace, and he’s pissed off the king. My boys grab him by the arms, and he yells as they drag him away.

“Hey,” Clarissa says. “I was hoping I would bump into you. Is that guy gonna be all right?”

I grab a lock of her hair, testing its silky softness in my fingers. “Don’t worry about him, Little Bird. Why were you lookin’ for me?”

She peers at me as her perfectly straight teeth graze her bottom lip, making my dick hard as a rock. “I got your delivery. It was really kind. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” I say, meaning it.

I would do anything for the girl; ordering food is the least I could do on a long list of items. I want to make her my queen, to lay the world, my world, at her feet.

“I would love to stay with you all night, Little Bird, but I need to deal with business right now.” I point to the balcony. “That’s Enzo. He’ll watch you. When it’s time, he’ll bring you to me.”

I turn to Josie. “Anything she needs is on the house.”

“You got it, boss.”

I offer Clarissa a smile before heading to the back.

The club used to be an old warehouse with all the trappings. At one point, it housed a butchery, and when we remodeled, I insisted we kept some of the old features. The cold storage unit is one of them.

I remove the boning blade from the inside of my suit jacket before I peel it off and hand it to Rock. “Who’s watching him?”

Rock’s eyes widen as I twirl the knife in my hand. “Tony and Salvador. Boss, he’s just drunk.”

Most people like guns in my line of work, but not me. Guns are easy. They don’t require any talent. There’s no need for finesse when pulling a trigger. But a blade is beautiful. It takes conviction, drive, and skill.

I glare at Rock as I glide the knife blade along my palm.

Tony raises his hands, showing he gets the message as I open the door and see the little fucker sitting in a metal chair. The pussy is shaking. That’s the thing about these aggressive punks who come to the club. They’re cowards pretending to be an alpha.

I roll up my sleeves, exposing my tattoos, and watch as the guy’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. He swallows his fear, trying to replace it with indignation on his weasel face as I approach, holding the blade. We both know who’s in charge here, who the tied-up animal in the cage is, but the fucker still tries to pretend he has some power.

“You can’t keep me here. This is illegal. I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got.”

Tony tosses a wallet to me, and I pull out his driver's license. “Michael Williams.” I flip through and see a picture of the pussy with two little boys and a woman who looks tired of his shit as she plasters on a fake smile for the camera. “Cute family.” I glide the knife gently over the picture, barely scraping it. “I wonder if they’d like a brief visit from me.”

“Don’t you fuckin go near them, you psycho.”

I laugh. I would never touch his family. I don’t hurt women and kids. That’s what assholes like this fuck would do, but I let him think I’d gut every person he loves without remorse. There’s no harm in fucking with his head.

I walk up to him and place the knife tip against his throat. “I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what to do and who to do it to. You should have thought about your wife and kids before you touched something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about, man? I took nothing.”

I sit on the chair opposite him and pull a small coffee table between us. “Take? No. You couldn’t take a goddamn thing from me. I said ‘touch.’ You touched something that was mine.” I tap on the table. “Put your right hand here. Spread your fingers apart.”

“What the fuck for?”

“We’re gonna play a little game. You like games, right, Michael? You seem to like playing them on the ladies. They say no, and you chase. A little game of cat and mouse. The thing is, Michael, you didn’t touch just any pussy this time. You touched my little bird, and there’s a price to pay for that.”

When Michael doesn’t move, I nod at Tony, who points the gun at the coward’s temple. I lean forward in my chair, twirling the sharp blade on the small table. “Bullet. Or my game, Michael. The choice is yours.”

Reluctantly, he places his shaking hand on the table.

“Good choice. Now spread your fingers.”

Michael spreads his fingers, his eyes glistening. Is the fucker gonna cry?

I balance the tip of the knife along his fingers. “I love this game.” I move the blade between his fingers while I stare into his eyes. “You ever played it before? It’s got many names: the knife game, pin finger, nerve, bishop, knife fingers. And my favorite, five-finger fillet.”

Michael shakes his head. I laugh, and then I hear it, the steady stream of liquid. Michael has pissed his pants.

“I would think a grown man like you would be toilet-trained by now. I wanted to draw this out, but I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“You’re a fuckin’ psycho.”

“Yes, Michael, you’ve already covered that.” I smile at him as I move the blade faster between his fingers. I sing as I pick up speed, watching genuine fear grip him. He knows he’s staring at a monster. He has nowhere to go and no one to help him. “Engine, engine number nine, going down the Chicago line. If the train goes off the track, do you want your money back?”

“Fuck!” Michael screams as he pulls his hand back. Blood squirts from the wound that was his index finger a second ago.

I examine his severed finger. “We’re now even.”

“Even? You cut my fuckin’ finger off!”

I bend, my eyes level with his, and shove the finger in his face. His eyes look frozen, mesmerized by the amputated digit. “You touched my woman. This finger touched what belongs to me, so I took it, making us even.”

“You’re fuckin’ certifiable. I’m going to the cops.”

I scrape the knife along his face, watching the blood bead and spill from the wound. “You won’t be doing any such thing. Taking your finger is nothing compared to what I could do to you, your ignorant little wife, and your boys. I was trying to be merciful, but if you want me to unleash the full force of the monster I keep chained up inside me, I will happily oblige. Just try me.”

C HAPTER SIX

CLARISSA

M aybe I’ve made a mistake. I sit in the lushly decorated office. Vance’s office. A man’s office. I look at the leather furniture and mahogany desk as I adjust my dress. I should have worn something else. All I wanted was to thank him for some fucking groceries. I could have come here in jeans and a sweater. I didn’t need to get dolled up. I hate my stupid vagina. It was her idea to look pretty for Vance.

I pace the room, wondering if I’m the dumbest girl on the face of the planet. I’m attracted to a control freak. What if he’s a murderer? Even as the thought enters my mind, I push it aside. The man is unhinged, but he’s also protective and kind, at least to me. But he needs to understand that I won’t do what he wants just because he wants it.

I bang on the door for fifteen minutes, to no avail.“How long am I supposed to stay here?” I demand, my fist hurting from constantly pounding on the steel door.

After Vance left me, his goons told me to come with them after some guy asked to dance with me. I’m starting to think Vance has a thing about dancing.He goes off the deep end whenever someone wants to dance with me.

“You can’t keep me here against my will. It’s fuckin’ illegal.”

“Hello, Clarissa.”

I jump at the deep voice behind me and turn to see Vance. He’s no longer wearing his suit jacket, and his black shirt is unbuttoned at the top to reveal a glimpse of dark chest hair. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing intricate tattoos in black ink, no color.

I storm toward him, and his expression lightens as he flashes me a smile. I slap him hard, leaving an angry red welt on his cheek. I do it again, but he grabs my hand, stalling me. He’s still smiling, but now it’s dangerous. Scared as I am, I find myself drawn to it.

“You don’t want to mess with me, sweetheart. I’m not one of the little college boys you’re used to.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

He shrugs, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my pulse point gently, making my entire body shiver. His eyes glint with mischief as his lips turn up, forming an arrogant smile. “Yours.”

“You’re fuckin’ crazy!” I shout, trying to pull my arm back, but his hold is too strong. If Vance wanted to, he could overpower me with no problem. “I’m not scared of you,” I say, knowing it’s a lie.

Vance steps toward me, my wrist still engulfed in his large hand. His other hand brushes my hair back, and his touch floods my body with heat, want, and need. “You should fear me, Little Bird.” He drops my hand abruptly and gestures to the brown leather chair. “Take a seat.”

“Fuck, no. I’m leaving,” I say, backing up to the door.

Vance doesn’t say a word. He rips off his black leather belt in one swift movement. Panic takes control, and I can barely swallow the bile rising in my throat. The genuine fear that he’s going to rape me crawls into my mind and holds me tight. He steps closer with the belt in his hand. My back is now to the door, and his frame is all I see in front of me. I flinch.

He tilts his head. “Did you just flinch, Little Bird?”

I don’t respond. I just want whatever he’s going to do to me to be over.

Vance bends his head, his breath warm against my skin, when he whispers, “Tell me, Clarissa, who do I have to kill?”

Somehow, I find my voice. “Yourself?”

Vance chuckles as he steps back and molds the belt into handcuffs. He slides it over my wrists and tightens the loops, making my hands useless. “This should keep you put for the time being.”

He lifts me by my waist and moves me toward his desk before he opens the door. He whispers to the men outside. I don’t know what they’re saying. From my peripheral vision, I see that the door Vance entered at the back of the room is ajar. This is the moment, my only moment. I run.

The hallway is creepy. It looks like something from a horror movie, gray, dark, and devoid of humans. Oh, God, this is where I get murdered, chopped up, and thrown into a dumpster.

“Clarissa, stop!” Vance’s deep voice commands.

A part of me wants to stop. Some stupid sex-starved dumb part that thinks a massive orgasm is worth being killed.

It’s hard running with your hands tied together. Who knew you needed your hands to run better? I sure didn’t, as my spectacular face plant on the ground proves. I try to get up. I raise my head and come face to face with his black leather, expensive-ass Italian shoes.

“You all right?” he asks, trying to help me up.

I shift my body away, refusing his touch. “Go to hell.”

“You’re gonna be difficult, aren’t you?” Vance asks, lifting me gently off the ground.

The way he handles me doesn’t correlate with what he’s doing. The man is holding me against my will with my hands tied, for God knows what.

“What the hell do you expect when you’ve me up and kept me locked in a room? Am I supposed to smile and say, ‘Thank you? More, please?’”

Vance rubs the back of his neck and laughs. Something has seriously messed the guy up in the head. “I suppose that’s what I thought would happen, yeah.”

“You’re fuckin’ certifiable. You ever get checked out for your brand of crazy?”

He guides me by nudging my back. “I’ve been told I’m nuts before, but it’s usually by people I don’t care for.”

I don’t know why, but hearing those words fall from his mouth wounds me. They seem so fucking depressing.

I glance down and notice the bloodstains on his hands. “What the fuck happened to you?”

He follows my eyes and shrugs as he pulls out a white handkerchief and wipes his hands. I’m transfixed by the red now sullying the pristine white cotton. “Let’s just say I don’t like it when people mess with what belongs to me. I especially don’t like it when they touch what’s mine.”

“No one taught you how to share as a kid, huh?”

I must have said the wrong thing because his hands are on me, and he whirls me around, pinning me with the heat burning in his eyes. “I don’t share. Ever. Got that?”

“Yeah, man, chill. I won’t ever take shit when you’re not lookin’.”

“You can take whatever you want. Others can’t.”