Chapter 6:

RAVEN'S POV

The SUV dropped me three blocks away from my apartment at the early hours of the morning.

I walked the rest, hood pulled low, heels swapped for sneakers in the back seat. The duffel over my shoulder felt heavier tonight, cash bundles from three private rooms, the mask and wig stuffed deep, the faint scent of cigar smoke and client cologne still clinging to my skin.

My jaw ached from the last booking, thighs burning from kneeling on hardwood, but the real pain was deeper, seeing damien from a very close range and not gutting him out burned on me like a brand I couldn't scrub off.

I turned the corner onto my block and froze.

Exotic cars lined the curb. Not the usual rusted sedans or delivery vans.

Fleets of them, matte-black G-Wagons, gleaming Lamborghinis, a Bentley with windows so dark they swallowed light.

Seven in total, parked like a silent army.

No plates visible.

Engines off, but the air felt alive with threat.

This street didn't see cars like this and it troubled me.

Panic surged through me, cold, sharp, flooding my veins like ice water.

Lila.

She's alone, i left my daughter all alone for the night.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I tasted copper. I dropped low, using a parked junker for cover, scanning windows, rooftops, shadows.

No drivers visible, no movement.

My hand slipped to the thigh sheath, fingers brushing the blade.

Pulse kicking to ninety, then one hundred. I forced it down. Control, i always control myself.

But the fear was alive now, crawling under my skin, whispering, too late, too fucking late.

I moved fast, sticking to shadows, circling the building. Back entrance clear.

Up the fire escape, rusted metal creaking under my weight, each groan sounding like a gunshot in the quiet. My window was locked, curtains drawn. No breach.

Front door then.

I circled back, breath shallow, heart hammering so loud I swore the night could hear it. The building door was propped open, just an inch. Someone had jammed the lock.

Panic took full control. Visions flashed, Lila's room, small and safe, her bear clutched under chin, gray eyes wide with fear.

I shaked the off my head as fast as it came.

No. Not her. Not my baby.

Composure snapped into battle mode. Knife out, gun corked, I pushed the building door open with my boot, body angled low. Hallway empty. Stairs clear. Third floor, my door.

Slightly open. Two inches. Light bleeding from inside.

Fear for Lila's safety clawed at my throat, rawl.

I swallowed it.

Pushed the door open with the knife tip, hinge creaked. The living room came into view,table lamp on, tea mug steaming on the table. Lila wasn't on the couch. No blood. No struggle signs. But the air smelled wrong, expensive cologne, cigar smoke, danger.

I stepped inside, knife low, gun raised high, and the door clicked shut behind me.

Oscar lounged in my armchair like it was his throne.

Black silk shirt unbuttoned at the chest, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with old scars and faded tattoos.

Dark hair slicked back, eyes black as bottomless pits.

A predator wearing human skin, smiling that slow, thin smile that showed too many teeth.

He swirled a glass of my cheap bourbon, ice clinking like tiny bones.

"Hello, pet."

The word slithered through the room, deadly and intimate.

I kept the knife raised, gun aimed at his chest. "We had a deal," I said, voice flat but edged with steel. "You never show up in front of my daughter."

Oscar's smile widened, eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. "Ohhh, my pet..." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, glass dangling loosely.

His voice was velvet over razor blades, low and predatory, like he was toying with prey before the kill. "But you broke your part of the deal first."

I didn't move. My mind raced. Lila's door was closed, but Oscar's men were definitely outside. If he wanted her, he could have taken her.

"I don't whore for you," I said, words sharp. "I only kill for you. You do not own me or my body Oscar!"

He chuckled, low and wet, like blood bubbling in a wound.

"Ohhh, but you got it all wrong." He said, setting the glass down with deliberate slowness, stood in one fluid motion that made the room feel smaller. Taller than most men i know, shoulders broad, moving with the grace of a panther stalking. The air thickened with his presence, cigar smoke, expensive leather, the underlying threat of violence. "I own you.

Everything about you. Your hands. Your blades. Your nights. Your secrets. You work for me."

Tension coiled in my gut. "What do you want?"

"I heard news." He said, circling me slowly, predatory, never touching but close enough I felt the heat from his body. His breath brushed my neck as he paused behind me.

"Unpleasant ones, Raven. You've been playing in someone else's sandbox. Damien Blackwood's little playground.

Letting rich men drool over what belongs to me."

My jaw clenched. "It's a cover Oscar, It gets me closer to a target."

"Closer to a target?" Oscar stopped in front of me, leaning in, his face inches from mine. His eyes locked on, unblinking, deadly. "Or closer to a cock? I saw the footage, pet. The way you drop to your knees. The way you control them. Very... professional. But you forgot who taught you control."

I pressed the gun to his throat, steady, not shaking.

"How did you get those videos? Is Damien aware of it?"

"Don't pet."

"I have eyes all over the country, even men like Damien's world can still be penetrated."

He didn't flinch. Just smiled wider, pressing into the edge enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"Your daughter is ten already." His voice dropped to a velvet growl, dangerous and intimate. "Stick to your part of the deal... or she will complete it for you."

Cold sweat broke across my back, my forehead. "Please," I whispered, the word tasting like ash, breaking from my lips despite the gun in my. "You won't do that to me."

Oscar tilted his head, studying me like prey, his smile predatory, eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "Begging already? That's new." He reached out, slow, brushed a knuckle down my cheek, gentle, almost tender, but the touch felt like poison.

"Seems like your little night at Velvet reservoir already softened you.

Come to Darkar. Tomorrow by midnight. We can discuss there. Just you... and me."

He stepped back, casual, as if he hadn't just threatened my child. "Midnight tomorrow. Bring nothing but yourself. I'll send a car."

He moved toward the door. Paused. "And Raven?"

I didn't answer.

"Don't make me come collect what's mine."

The door opened. Closed. Silence rushed in.

I stood frozen, gun still in drawn, breath ragged.

Then the soft creak of a door handle.

Lila's bedroom door swung open.

My daughter stepped out, rubbing sleepy eyes with one fist, stuffed bear dangling from the other hand. Hair mussed, oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

"Mommy?" Her voice was small, thick with sleep. "Why are you standing there with that?" she said pointing at the gun in my hand.

My heart cracked open.

I dropped the gun. It clattered on the floor.

Lila blinked, confused. "Mommy?"

I crossed the room in three strides, dropped to my knees, pulled her into my arms so hard she squeaked. Buried my face in soft hair that smelled like strawberry shampoo and safety.

"I'm keeping for a friend, baby," I whispered, voice breaking for the first time in years. "I'm right here."

Lila hugged back, sleepy and trusting. "Was someone here? I heard voices."

I closed my eyes. "Just a bad dream."

I held tighter.

But the fracture in my chest was now a canyon.

And midnight tomorrow was coming fast.

Chapter 7:

CLARISSA'S POV

The mirrored elevator doors of the Tower reflected a woman who looked like she'd been dragged through hell and back.

Platinum hair limp and tangled from fingers that weren't Damien's, lips swollen and lipstick faded to a bruised pink. The cash in my clutch, ten grand after the house cut from three private rooms, wasn't enough to wash away the bitter taste of defeat.

I straightened my pencil skirt, smoothed the silk blouse that clung to my sweat-damp skin, and stepped out onto the top floor like a woman on a mission.

Junior VP of acquisitions. That's what the brass nameplate on the office door said.

But titles doesn't really matter to me now, not when i have a more pressing issue at hand.

That masked bitch had slithered into Velvet reservoir and turned the club into her personal kingdom.

Men who used to book me exclusively now waited in line for her. Triple bids. Quadruple. And Damien, my Damien watched that bitch perform, something he has not done for me.

The one he'd bent over his desk, thrusting hard while I moaned his name until my voice cracked.

The one who'd earned her place in his bed, his boardroom, his life.

I bypassed the front desk and headed straight for the conference room at the end of the hall. The lights were low, only the city skyline glowing through the glass walls.

He was already there, as promised. The strange man. No name. No title.

Just a referral from a client who owed me a favor.

He sat at the far end of the mahogany table, silhouetted against the glittering Manhattan night. Mid-forties, suit cheap but tailored, face scarred from old knife fights. His eyes were cold, assessing, like he was pricing my organs.

"Clarissa Voss," he said, voice gravelly, almost amused. "You said you had a problem."

I slid into the chair across from him, crossing my legs slowly, deliberately.

The leather creaked under me. "I do. I replied to him, voice low, threading with caution.

A woman, a new recruit, masked. She's stealing my clients. Stealing... everything."

He leaned back, fingers stepping. "And why do I care?"

"Because I hate her." The words spilled out hot, burning, like acid in my throat. I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping to a hiss. "She waltzed in with that lace mask and that body, and suddenly every man in the room wants her.

First night at the club and she already has all the men wrapped in her fist. They leave the bigger tips for her. Like I was nothing."

The strange man's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

I kept going, voice rising despite myself, hands trembling slightly on the table.

"She threatens me. My position, everything i represent.

And Mr. Backwoods, i have a gut feeling he's already obsessed with her. I can't share. I won't share."

He chuckled, low and humorless. "Jealousy's expensive."

"I'll pay. Whatever it takes. Take her out." I met his eyes, unflinching. "I hate threats. I can't share my clients, and most importantly, I can't share Damien."

The words hung in the air, heavy as lead. The man studied me for a long beat, then nodded once. "Fifty upfront. Fifty when it's done. Clean. No trace back to you."

I slid an envelope across the table, half the cash from tonight's tips. My fingers brushed his as he took it, and I felt nothing but cold satisfaction. "Make it hurt. Make her disappear."

He got up from his position, pocketed it without counting. "Pleasure doing business."

He left without another word.

I sat there alone, heart pounding, a smile creeping across my lips. Raven Noir or whatever the bitches name is wouldn't see it coming. And my Damien would come back to me. He always did.

************************

DAMIEN'S POV

The conference room was my battlefield.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Manhattan like conquered territory, but the men across the table didn't appreciate the view. They were cowering, and I liked it that way.

"Five million," I said, voice flat, leaning back in the leather chair.

My fingers drummed once on the table, slow, deliberate.

"Take it or walk. I don't negotiate with amateurs."

Harrington, the lead partner from the sinking tech startup, swallowed hard.

His tie was knotted too tight, sweat beading on his forehead despite the air-conditioning. "Mr. Blackwood, that's half our valuation.

We have investors. Projections for next quarter"

"Projections are fantasies," I cut him off, eyes cold. "Your code is buggy. Your market share is shrinking.

Your CEO is one scandal away from prison.

I'm offering five million to buy the scraps. Take it, or I leak the audit to the press. Watch your stock tank to zero by morning."

The room went silent. The other two partners exchanged glances, faces pale. One fidgeted with his pen, clicking it like a nervous tic. The air smelled of desperation, expensive aftershave mixed with fear sweat.

Harrington broke first. "Four and a half. Please."

I smiled, slow, predatory. "Five. And I keep the IP. Sign here."

He signed. Hands shaking. The pen scratched like a surrender.

"Good choice," I said, sliding the papers to my lawyer. "Get out."

They scrambled, chairs scraping, doors closing with a click.

I exhaled, rolling my neck. Another deal crushed, another company absorbed into the empire.

The ruthlessness was second nature now. It kept the board quiet, the competitors scared, the money flowing.

Elena, my secretary, efficient as a blade knocked and entered, stack of files in hand. "The weekly reports, sir."

I took them, flipping through. Real estate: up 12%. Tech startups: 8% growth. Clubs: Eclipse steady, but Velvet reservoir... I paused. Massive revenue spike. One night alone, triple the usual take, private rooms booked solid, tips record high.

Raven.

I made a mental note, to do anything to retain her, double her rate if needed, triple even.

She was gold. The way she commanded the room, the way men scrambled, it wasn't just sex. It was power. And I wanted more of it.

"Elena," I said, closing the file. "Dig into Raven Noir.

Anything you can find. Background. Address. Connections.

Bring it to me tomorrow."

She nodded, no questions. "Yes, sir."

She left.

I stood, grabbed my coat, headed for the private elevator. The city sprawled below, mine for the taking.

The convoy waited in the underground garage, three black SUVs, drivers armed, lead car with my bodyguard. I slid into the middle one. "Estate."

The driver nodded. We pulled out, merging into Manhattan traffic. Late night, streets empty. I leaned back, closing my eyes, mind on Raven.

Her lips under the mask. The way she'd outdone Clarissa in Room 3. The way she glanced up at me from the floor, knowing I watched.

And then suddenly, a screech of tires.

The lead SUV swerved. Gunshots cracked.

Glass shattered.

"Ambush!" my driver yelled.

The car lurched, more shots rang out.

I reached for my gun under the seat, stepping out from the car, i aimed back at my attackers firing multiple shot at them.

This wasn't the first time i have been attacked, from angry business partners, to an angry obsessed fan, to ex's i have lost counts of over the years.

The gun battle dragged on for close to 30 minutes leaving me exhausted.

And then, my shoulder exploded in pain, warm liquid seeped out dripping down my cloth. Blood soaked my shirt.

I ducked back into my car seeking cover.

Then a high-pitched voice rang out, sharp, very familiar?

"Take him dead or alive!"

Darkness crashed in.

I lost consciousness.

CHAPTER 8:

RAVEN'S POV

The car rolled to a stop at exactly 11:58 p.m. outside a hulking, windowless structure on the far edge of Red Hook, Brooklyn, former meatpacking plant turned fortress.

No signs, Just razor wire curling over chain-link, floodlights sweeping the perimeter like searchlights in a prison yard, and four armed bouncers at the gate who looked like they ate nails for breakfast.

The driver didn't speak. Just nodded once toward the entrance.

I stepped out, no weapons, that would be a very deadly idea. Just black jeans, long-sleeve thermal, boots, hair in a tight knot.

My heart was a war drum in my chest, but I kept my face blank.

I'd kissed Lila goodnight three hours ago.

Told her I had a late meeting.

Maya the only friend that i have had from horrible days at darkar, stayed over, eyes sharp with worry.

"If you're not back by dawn," she'd said, "I'm coming for you." I nodded once, didn't argue.

The bouncers didn't ask for ID. One of them, very huge, neck like a tree trunk, earpiece glinting looked me up and down, then jerked his head. "Boss is waiting."

They flanked me as we walked through the gate. Metal clanged shut behind us.

The air changed immediately, heavy with diesel, sweat, cheap perfume, and something metallic underneath. Blood, maybe.

The main entrance opened into what they called the clubhouse. Dim red lighting, bass so deep it vibrated in my teeth. Concrete floors sticky under my boots. A long bar lined with men in suits and leather jackets.

Girls moved through the crowd, collared, barely dressed, eyes vacant. Some on leashes. Some kneeling at feet, mouths working.

One girl was bent over a high-top table, skirt hiked, a man taking her from behind while his friends watched and laughed.

She wasn't moaning. She was rather making muffled broken sounds swallowed by the music.

I kept my eyes forward, trying to shut the memories of my horrible past here. The bouncers didn't let me slow.

We passed the main stage, three poles, three girls, all naked, twirling and shaking asses in perfect rhythm.

One dropped low, thighs spread, fingers sliding between her legs while men threw bills.

Another climbed the pole upside down, legs splitting wide, holding the pose while a client reached up and slapped her ass hard enough to leave a red handprint.

She didn't flinch. Just smiled, the empty, practiced smiles all girls were tortured into learning here.

The third girl was on her knees in front of a man in a booth. He had her hair fisted, forcing her head down, thrusting violently into her mouth. She gagged, tears streaming, but he didn't stop. His friends cheered. Money changed hands like it was a show.

My stomach turned. I'd killed men like these.

Seeing this all laid bare, raw, brutal, again made me remember the past.

What they had done to maya.

This horrible place wasn't anything like Velvet reservoir.

This was a slaughterhouse for girls.

The bouncers pushed me through a side door marked PRIVATE. The music muffled. The corridor narrowed. More doors lined the walls, some closed, some cracked.

Moans leaked out. A girl's scream cut off abruptly. A whip cracked somewhere. Flesh slapped flesh. Chains rattled.

We passed an open room, two girls on their knees, naked, hands cuffed behind backs.

A man in a white coat, doctor, maybe, examined them like livestock. Flashlight in one girl's mouth. Gloved fingers between another's legs. "This one's tight," he said. "Good price." The girls didn't move. Didn't look up. Just stared at the floor.

Another room, a girl tied to a cross, lashes across her back, fresh red welts overlapping old scars. She was shaking, sobbing quietly.

A man stood behind her, belt in hand, stroking her hair like he loved her. "You'll learn," he murmured. "You always learn."

I swallowed bile, and kept walking.

The corridor ended at a heavy steel door.

One bouncer knocked twice, opened the door and pushed me inside.

Oscar waited inside.

The room was larger than the others, high ceilings, massive bed in the center draped in red silk, chains hung from the ceiling, leather couch, bar, dim red lighting that made everything look bloody. No way to escape this deadly place except the door behind me, and the tiny window, big enough for a seven year-old to fit in.

He sat on the couch, legs crossed, same black silk shirt from last night, a big cigar in hand. Just him.

"Pet," he said, voice low, pleased. "You came."

I stood in the doorway, arms loose at my sides. "You didn't give me a choice.

Oscar laughed softly. "I always give you a choice. You just never make the smart one."

He gestured to the couch opposite him. "Sit."

I refused his offer, standing instead. "What do you want?"

He studied me for a long moment, eyes roaming my body like he was cataloging every inch.

Then he stood, slow, deliberate. Crossed the room, and stopped inches from me, close enough I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and the cigar on his clothes.

"I want obedience," he said quietly. "I want loyalty. I want you to remember who owns you.

His hand moved fast. Fingers closed around my throat, not choking yet, just holding, firm, possessive.

His thumb pressed against my pulse point, feeling it race. With his other hand he caressed, slow, deliberate, down my side, over my hip, up my waist, tracing the curve of my breast through the thin thermal.

His touch was light, almost gentle, but the threat was in the grip on my throat.

"I own you," he whispered, mouth close to my ear. "Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every secret you think you're hiding. You want to work for him. But you forget, you belong to me."

His fingers tightened slightly blocking my air-way.

My vision edged black. I didn't fight, not yet.

I let him feel the pulse under his thumb, fast, but steady.

"You think you can get Blackwood by whoring for him?" Oscar murmured, lips brushing my ear. "He will end you the moment he figures out who you are. He will take your precious daughter away from you pet. But i? I will protect you, the girl who crawled through broken glass at fifteen. The girl who killed for me. The girl who still comes when I call."

His hand slid lower, cupping between my legs, firm, possessive.

I stiffened, but didn't pull away. He pressed harder, rubbing once, slow.

"You're wet," he said, almost surprised. "Even now, in this situation, your sweet, sweet body keeps producing fluids. That's why I keep you, i can never get enough of you, my sweet pet."

I swallowed against his grip. "Let go."

He tightened instead. "Beg again. Like last night."

"Please," I forced out, voice hoarse. "Let go."

He smiled, slow, cruel. Released my throat, and stepped back.

I sucked in air, coughing once, hand rising to touch the red marks he'd left.

"Good girl," he said, returning to the couch. He sat, legs spread, glass in hand. "Now sit. We have business to discuss."

I stayed standing. "What business?"

"A contract job, i clean kill tomorrow night." Oscar sipped, eyes never leaving mine. "Client want's it as fast as possible.

Other details will be sent to you by morning.

I didn't react. This was what i do. Who i am.

A sharp tool, in Oscar's hand.

"Also, Raven, about mr Blackwood, something has to be done."

My stomach dropped. "No, nobody touches him except me."

"No?" He laughed, low, dangerous. "You forget. I own your daughter's life too. One word, and she disappears. Or worse. She completes your contract. Ten years old. Old enough to learn the trade."

Cold rage flooded me. "You touch her, I kill you slow."

Oscar smiled wider. "Then do what I say. Blackwood will be eliminated, you will back to me. Or lose everything."

I stared at him, heart pounding, fury twisting together. The room felt smaller, air thinner. I thought of Lila, her trusting face, her innocence.safe in her bed right now.

Oscar stood again.

Crossed to me, grabbed my throat once more, harder this time. Choked me with one hand while the other caressed down my chest, over my stomach, between my legs again. Pressing, rubbing, claiming.

"I own you," he whispered, lips against my ear. "Every inch. Every breath. Every tear.

After you mission, you will come back here. On your knees. Where you belong."

He released me. I gasped, coughing, vision spotting. He stepped back, satisfied.

"Ohhh sweet pet," he said, voice soft, almost tender, grinning wide. "I kept a surprise for you."