The deep bass from the speakers throbbed through the floor, rattling the glass shelves behind the bar. The scent of premium top shelf whiskey, cheap perfume, and desperation clung to the air like a second skin, thick and suffocating.
Vixen was the kind of place where enough money could buy anything. It is a playground for the rich and the powerful, hidden behind dark tinted glass windows and a strict invite only policy. Men in custom tailored suits leaned back in leather booths, their arms wrapped around women who look like they have just stepped off a magazine cover.
Aria Sinclair had worked here for almost a year now, and yet she still wasn't used to it. She wasn't sure she ever would be.
She had learned to tune out the whispers of the under the table drug deals and illegal business transactions. She figured out pretty quickly it was best to keep your head down and remain invisible around these men, nothing good ever came from their attention. When she was noticed she did her best to ignore the way men stared at her like she was something to be owned.
One day she would love to leave this place, find a normal office job, work the average 9 to 5, but at the end of the day she really didn't have a choice. Money was money. And she needed it, badly. She did not have the luxury of turning her nose up to any job right now.
Adjusting the hem of her mandatory, way too short black satin dress, trying to cover as much of her legs as possible, unsuccessfully, Aria balanced a tray of drinks in one hand as she weaved through the packed club. The dress was far shorter than she liked, and tighter than she was comfortable with, it showed every curve of her body, and rode up if she bent over, which the arsehole customers seemed to enjoy, when they dropped her tips on the floor…accidentally. But this was just a part of the job, the more skin, the more tips she would get.
And she needed every cent she could get.
The last of her mother's hospital bills still haunted her, the debts hanging over her head like a storm cloud she could never outrun. Debt collectors hounding her everyday. No matter how hard she worked, how many shifts she picked up, it never seemed to be enough.
A sharp whistle cut through the noise, dragging her back to reality.
"Sinclair! Table five's waiting," Monica, the club manager, called from behind the bar.
Aria didn't roll her eyes, at least, not where Monica could see. Table five. She already knew what to expect before she even saw them. A group of rich, entitled assholes who thought their black cards gave them the right to put their hands wherever they pleased.
It wasn't the first time. It definitely wouldn't be the last.
Aria forced a polite smile and adjusted the tray in her grip, slipping through the maze of bodies toward the VIP section where table 5 was located. The air was cooler here, not as stuffy, the lighting dimmer. The music was muffled by the thick glass walls that separated the elite from the rest of the club, more intimate.
She froze as a shiver ran down her spine, icy and electric, she had a strange feeling like she was being watched. No, it was more than that, it was like she was being hunted.
She glanced around, trying to shake the feeling, or find its source, but the moment her eyes landed on him, her pulse stopped dead.
The table was occupied by a group of men, in the usual designer suits, nothing out of the ordinary. But it was the man in the center of the booth that stopped her in her tracks. Everything about him demanded attention.
The way he sat, completely still, yet effortlessly powerful, as if the world moved around him, like he was the earth's gravitational pull. The dim lighting cast shadows over his sharp, brutal features, strong jaw, high cheekbones, thick dark hair that was cut in a short, neat style. He was huge, with muscles that stained against the material of his shirt.
But it wasn't just his looks that made her breath hitch. It was his presence. He had a quiet, suffocating dominance that radiated off him, a predator sitting at ease among prey.
And he was looking at her. No he wasn't just looking. He was devouring her in a way that was entirely different to the usual creeps at the Vixen. More intense.
Aria's fingers tightened around the tray, her breath coming in shallow pulls.
Get it together, Aria. He is just another customer she told herself, repeating it like a mantra.
She had seen her fair share of powerful men in this club, billionaires, politicians, even criminals, but no one had ever made her feel like this. Like she was being claimed, like it was only a matter of time before he had her. Like she was completely powerless under his gaze.
Swallowing the uneasy flutter in her stomach, she forced her legs to move and approached the table. She needed to get this over with. The quicker she served them the quicker she could run away.
The moment she stepped closer, the air seemed to shift again. Heat prickled over her skin, making the hairs on her arms stand on end, the space between them charged with an unspoken intensity that made her pulse thunder in her veins.
"Gentlemen," she managed to say smoothly, setting the drinks down with practiced ease. "Your order."
One of the men, who seemed to be a sleek businessman in a navy suit, grinned at her, his eyes dropping straight to her cleavage. Dirty creep Aria thought to herself.
"I think we ordered something sweeter," he mused, tipping his glass toward her. "Like you."
This was typical behavior. Men like him thought a pretty girl in a short dress meant she was for sale. Like there was nothing they could not buy.
She gave him a polite, but entirely empty smile. Something about the atmosphere had put her on edge and she lost a grip on her usual control that allowed her to ignore such comments. And before she could stop herself she said, "sorry, sir. The club doesn't serve desperation."
His grin froze.
The entire table seemed amused by the comment, there were a few chuckles, a smirk from someone across the booth, but the businessman's face darkened. Aria knew it wasn't a smart move to antagonise him in front of his friends. His hand moved fast, grabbing her wrist, fingers tightening, to the point she feared it might break.
"That's enough."
The words weren't shouted, but they cut through the air like a blade and the world seemed to still.
Aria's skin tingled almost as if the sound of his voice washed over her in a wave.
The businessman instantly let go, his face draining of all color. She knew before she even looked who that voice belonged to. She knew that the man in the center, the one who had been watching her, consuming her, had spoken.
Slowly, Aria turned toward him. Up close, he was even more devastating.
His eyes were blue, an impossible, piercing shade that locked her in place. He had the kind of face that made women weak in the knees, but there was nothing soft about him. No warmth. Only ice, control and power.
A slow, dark smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth in the most menacing way. She hated that it made something tighten low in her stomach. Aria had spent her whole life around dangerous men. She knew when to run. And this was that time.
But right now, standing in front of him, she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She had never seen a man look at her like this.
Like he was already imagining how she'd sound screaming his name.
Like he had already decided she belonged to him.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, her body betraying her with a rush of heat. Submitting to his gaze, his silent demands.
She should have turned away. Should have ignored the sharp thrill curling through her. Instead, she did the one thing she knew she shouldn't.
She met his gaze.
And in that moment, she felt it.
Something dark. Something primal. Something irreversible.
Like she had just made a choice she could never take back.