~~ Around 11pm at one of my clubs — Il Sogno —(Sinveer's POV)~~
The club pulses. Red light bathes the air like blood washing over glasses. The floor trembles with the bass under my feet. But nothing moves me. Not anymore. I've seen everything. Tasted everything. Fucked, killed, until pleasure turns plastic. But not tonight. Not until I see her. Leaning against the bar like she owns it.
With skin like moonlight, unblemished and velvet-smooth, she possessed an irresistible allure. Dressed in that tight mini gown with a slit exposing those thighs like an invitation. Lips plump, begging for someone to slam her against a wall and ruin them, and eyes. God, those eyes. Staring at me not with fear or caution but with challenge. As if telling me I couldn't approach, or if I could, I should dare. Making a shiver, colder than the club's air, runs through me, but I dismiss it, as nothing but a mere anticipation. She is just another conquest, daring me to take what is mine. So I choose to.
Which turns out to be a bad mistake.
I signal to my men to bring her. Which they try, but stop in their tracks. The aura she exudes corrects their attempt. The moment I see that, I know I have to possess her. To fuck her. To fuck that fire.
With a flick of my wrist, my men melt into the shadows.
Then Marek—my right-hand man—walk towards me, whispering in my ear.
"Boss, are you actually dismissing us? Don't you find her confidence suspicious?"
"That's why I need her tonight. She is a breed you don't find everyday. And what can she do?"
"But Boss, what if she's with a weapon?"
"Ha! Don't make me laugh. A weapon? Where will she be hiding it? Is it inside the hole I will be pounding tonight? Look at what she's wearing, there's no space to hide anything."
"Boss, I don't know why you're talking like this, but you're not acting like your usual careful self."
"Don't think too much tonight, man. I just want to unwind."
"I won't stop you, but I'll be watching."
"Do what makes you comfortable."
I stand, making my way toward her. Each step I take, her gaze stays locked on me—not fluttering, not flinching, just relaxed. When I reach the bar, I grab two black Amaro, and hand her one. She takes it, staring at me over the rim of the glass as she drinks. There's something about the sharp angle of her cheekbones, something almost… unfamiliar yet intriguing.
Getting closer to her, she looks like a foreigner—but not a foreigner at the same time. Red hair, blue eyes that pull you—that make you want to drown in them, and a little too young.
"You kept watching me," I say, almost hovering over her.
"So did you. Is that not why you are here?" she replies.
Hmm. She's bold too.
"Then come upstairs with me, since I believe you are aware as to why I approach you. " I say.
She does. Lifting her frame from the bar edge. No hesitation.
Her heels click against the floor like a countdown. Her waist sways in ways that promise heaven. We step into a VIP room, welcomed by a spacious bed that's going to speak a language I understand tonight.
"Go over there, and strip. Spread those legs for me to see the divine you are created with."
She walks to the bed but doesn't strip, doesn't sit. Just stands there, staring at me with an intensity I thought only men could possess.
"Why are you in a rush, sir?" She asks. " Why don't you sit for me, and let me do the work."
I chuckle, feeling intrigued by her boldness.
Other girls would be sitting now, spreading their legs, while sliding their tongues like serpents. Which is boring.
"You think you can make me hard, little one?"
"Are you not hard already from just staring at me? And also, I'm actually good at what I do."
I smirk at what she said because it's true. My cock's hard. And it has been throbbing in demand for a while now. "I guess you know your stuff. Come over here," I say, sitting on a chair a few meters away from the bed.
She glides toward me, her steps slow and measured, dropping to her knees, stripping me bare like she's unwrapping some particularly sinful gift. Her fingers trail across my skin, sending jolts of electricity through my veins, heading for my cock at her own pace. Her eyes never leave mine. My cock twitches, greeting its seducer. His torturer.
"Sir, you are quite big," she says in a French accent that has been bothering my head, and making my cock grow more harder.
"Can you not take it?" I ask in a low voice.
"I could try," she replies.
"Then go on, little one."
My sanity's slipping from the wait. My patience is wearing thin.
"Ohhhh shit," I moan, sucking my teeth. Tilting my head backwards, feeling her soft palms stroking me gently. Her gaze fix on my dick, smiling at it.
Suddenly, I feel the wetness of her mouth.
"Umm," another moan slips. I want to slam my cock deep down her throat, but I am giving her time to adjust to my size. "If you can't do it, don't start what you can't fini—"
Before I can finish, she pushes her head down my cock. savoring the tip, wrapping her tongue around my cock as she trails down, thrusting it deeper down her throat.
"Ugh... Fuck. Fuck."
I haven't felt like this for a long while. This's different in its own way. She's good. Fucking good. My left hand finds her head, thrusting her deeper into my dick, which she doesn't resist. Moans escape me, like prayers I haven't said in years.
"You're doing great. Keep going," I groan, tilting my head back as my body trembles slightly reaching its edge, preparing to offload—she stops.
"You don't think I'd allow you to cum, do you?" she says, wiping the corner of her mouth with her fingers, sitting on my lap, legs on either side, arms around my neck. My cock throbbing, ready to release the juice she just denied me of, poking her entrance.
"You're one daring little girl."
"Even with me being daring, I bet you still want to fuck me even more," she replies.
"Ah, you bet right, little one."
"Then relax. Let me show you pleasure," she says. She leans in, lips on mine, tongue in my throat. She kisses like an experienced porn star that makes my pulse rise. Her scent, smells like trouble—orange blossom and spice, with a hint of jasmine. My chest bare as she strips off my shirt, her lips trailing down my neck to my collarbone, her hands mapping every treasure in my dick. Every touch, every kiss makes me want to shift her panties, slam into her, to feel her wetness, feel how her pussy will clench around me. But I wait. And I don't know why.
"How long have you been fucking to be this good?" I ask. She presses in, deepens the kiss.
"You are my first."
Before the words can even sink in…something clicks. The whisper of steel against my skin. So quick I miss it.
My eyes snap open. And there it is.
A stab.
Cold. Deadly.
Fuck, I've let my guard down!
The last thing I remember is the sharp pain under my gut—the knife is between my ribs, angles upward.
"Hnngghk," my breath hitches. A strange sound, I barely recognize, escapes my lips. I buckle, throwing her off me. Blood blooms, hot, streaming down my side.
This bitch has shanked me.
She rises like a dancer, eyes sharp, erasing every trace of softness. Now her face is masked with focus.
This isn't some hustler. This is a goddamn reaper in disguise.
Even with that realization, I'm bleeding. My cock still half-hard. My lungs are screaming for air.
She comes at me again, no hesitation, like a predator going for the kill.
Who the fuck is this bitch? And who sent her?
I react on instinct. Grabbing the heavy lamp on the side table, I swing it with every ounce of strength in me.
Crash!
The ceramics explode. Shards fly. Some catch her shoulder. It buys a damned second. I stagger to my feet, clutching my side. A broken shard in my fist. Blood running fast. Too fast. She comes at me again. This whore is fucking relentless.
This time, I'm ready. I caught her wrist mid-strike. Turn it. Feel her muscles rip under my grip. I slam her against the wall, grab her hair, driving her head in, using my weight to pin her, as I drive the shard through her side. She lets out a grunt—purely animalistic. Her blade falling from her hand, she shoots her knee up, grazing my thigh, aiming for my balls.
If it had been inches lower, then I'd had be done.
She twists in my grip, like a snake. This wrench is trained. I punch her once across the jaw—then twice. That should've knocked her out, but she bounces back. Snarling. Slashing a blade backward.
Fuck! Where the hell is she hiding these things?
It slices through my chest. Deep. A painful groan escapes my lips. I catch her wrist again, twisting it until I hear a bone snap. She screams. Elbows me. Headbutts me. But I didn't release her. This brutal dance…of survival is a total mess.
I slam her again. Kick her across her broken arms and her stomach. She lands on the opposite wall and leans against it weakly. I drive her head into the drywall, It cracks, her gasps coming out in hurried breaths, blood trickles from her head and her mouth.
The pain in my side is now a searing fire.
"You are strong," she hisses, trembling.
"Stronger than you think, sweetheart," I groan, each inhale is a struggle.
My vision is blurring. I'm fading and it's fast. The cold is starting to creep in. Everything will crash soon.
Which I believe she is also aware of and is going to take advantage of soon, if not now.
In that moment I see a flicker in her eyes. I don't know if it Hesitation? Doubt? Or fear of being caught?
But she lunges.
Driving the knife into my gut.
Stab!
I scream. A raw, primal sound. My legs give out. Blood splashing everywhere. My hand's useless as I press against the wounds. I cannot draw a full breath.
Suddenly a cold dread seeps through me— Fuck. This can't be it. Not like this. Dying at the hand of a child because of a moment of lust?
Then—I hear footsteps outside. Heavy ones. My men.
She bolts through the open window, her blood trailing along with her… and the last thing I register is the cold seeping into my bones. My world tilting. Then… everything goes black.