Bella's POV:
Mia and Noah invited me to some sort of club. I couldn't just let my two new friends go alone, and honestly, I wanted to have some fun too. At first, I was conflicted, but then I sent a text accepting.
I wore a dress I had originally planned for last New Year's Eve, but it had been too much for a family gathering. Turning to Mia, who was shuffling through her handbag, obviously searching for something, I called out:
"Hey, Mia, what do you think? I feel like it's a bit tight an—"
Her shocked expression stopped me mid-sentence, her mouth slightly open. My nerves spiked.
"You were going to wear that for New Year's Eve?!" she shrieked.
I fidgeted.
"I'm changing."
I turned to leave, only to be stopped by her smirk. Her golden eyes sparkled mischievously. Bad sign.
"I never said anything. It's sexy. I bet you'll attract plenty of men tonight,"
she said nonchalantly.
"Re—"
started, but the ringing phone cut me off. Mia picked it up from the bed and glanced at the ID—Noah. She grabbed my hand and dragged me downstairs. I stumbled, trying to keep up.
"We're going to be late, Bella!"
she rushed.
"Wait, let me at least put on my coat!"
Mia paused.
"Oh, sorry, but hurry!"
Thank God. I walked to the clothes hanger by the door and slipped on my coat. The black fabric paired perfectly with the dress. It clung to my body, hugging my curves, the high neckline balanced by bare shoulders and strings of pearls trailing across my back. After slipping into my black heels, I caught my dad's disapproving look. Before he could open his mouth, Mia pulled me outside.
Noah stood there in casual clothes, leaning against his car.
"Hey, ladies,"
he greeted. From the moment Mia stepped out, his eyes hadn't left her. Poor guy—he was in deep.
I slid into the back seat, and they joined me. Noah's posture was tense, the air heavy with unspoken words.
"Bella, are you drunk?"
Mia's sudden question caught me off guard.
"What? What do you mean?"
My face twisted in confusion.
"Never mind. You just smell like wine."
Wine? I sniffed myself but didn't notice anything unusual.
Loud music pulsed in the distance as the club came into view. We stepped out of the car, the night breeze cool against my face, the bass thrumming deep in my chest.
In line, I rocked lightly on my heels, the tips clicking against the pavement as I admired the flash of red beneath them. My favorite pair—no way was I letting them get ruined tonight.
I turned toward Mia, only to catch Noah's eyes locked on her scent gland. Unmarked. Flushed red. Practically begging to be claimed. His fists tightened at his sides, knuckles white. Poor man. He wanted her, but he had no idea how to act on it.
A soft chuckle escaped me. His head snapped toward me instantly, his jaw clenched, pain flickering briefly in his eyes before he looked away.
Our turn finally came. The bouncer lifted the rope and let Mia and Noah pass. But when I stepped forward, he stopped me cold. My heart jumped. Wide, innocent eyes wouldn't help here—not with a man like him. The scar slashing across his bald head screamed danger.
"Age, young lady?"
His voice was low and stern, his eyes dropping straight to my cleavage. Disgust curled in my stomach.
"Twenty-one,"
I said, forcing a friendly smile, hoping it would smooth things over. But his lips curled into a mocking smirk. A snicker.
"You sure, kid?"
I calm my nerves, take my ID from my bag, and hand it to him.
Name: Annabelle Raven.
Gender: Female
Sec-gender: Omega
Kind: Bunny Omega
Age: 21
Occupation: College student (studying to be a psychotherapist)
He scans the card, then looks back at me. I give him an unimpressed glare, snatch the ID, and step past him—flipping my hair in his face because yes, it better get in his eye. Mia and Noah cheer in the background. Victory: mine.
Inside, the air hits me—sweat and mixed pheromones. It never fails to gross me out. We sit at the bar, the leather stools squeaking faintly as we slide onto them. The counter glitters under the low neon lights, bottles lined up like soldiers behind glass. The sharp scent of alcohol mixes with the faint tang of citrus and sugar. The bartender notices us immediately and rushes over, wiping his hands on a towel. His smile is polished, practiced, the kind that doesn't reach the eyes.
"What can I get for you?"
he asks over the thrum of bass.
"I'll take a cocktail,"
Mia says brightly, resting her chin in her hand.
"Something sweet, surprise me."
Her golden eyes sparkle
Noah chuckles and lifts a hand.
"Make it easy for me—whiskey. Straight."
He glances at Mia with a teasing smile. "See? I'm not complicated like some people." while I stand there, undecided.'
"Maybe… a cocktail like Mia's?"
My words come out more like a question than an order, my uncertainty obvious. The bartender gives me a small nod, then turns to craft our drinks—metal shakers clattering, the scent of lime and gin rising as he works. Behind us, laughter bursts from the crowd, lights flashing across the dance floor. Mia and Noah are already drifting toward it, leaving me in the glowing haze of bottles and polished glass.
For now, I stay. One drink to steady myself, loosen my nerves, maybe then I'll join them. At least, that was the plan—until a pair of hands settle firmly on my shoulders.
Knox's POV:
This is infuriating. I rub my temple as I stare at the test results. Who the hell would write something like this? I press the hidden PIC—fake pills. I made Jack investigate; he pulled strings like a pro. Clever. I'll reward him later.
my eyes travel to the review mirror, i could tell the driver was trying to stay calm but the trembling in his arms as he held the steering wheel or the white knuckles. I am sure its his first day since i didn't see his face before. guess jack gave him the best introduction about me. i grin.
" devil's Club."
I didn't raise my voice—didn't need to. The order was absolute.
"Six minutes, sir," the driver says, head bowed.
I finger some papers tied to Mark's name. Reckless boys. Headache material. Outside, a line of teenagers stretches down the street—are they really ready for tonight? This is going to be entertaining.
The car stops. I step out into the cold. Heads turn at the creaking of the door. I walk past them with a cold face. The bouncer locks eyes with me—he doesn't dare look back and steps aside. The pheromones assault makes my nose twitch as I move through the bodies. These horny people—pathetic.
I cut through an empty hallway, round a corner, and shove open heavy wooden doors.
There he is—our plaything—scrolling on his phone. He scrambles to his feet when I enter.
"Mark! There you are! Thought the ground swallowed you,"
I say, the corner of my mouth twitching. I love giving him hell.
I sit on the couch, set my gun on the table, and calmly take a cigarette from my case. I light it and watch him. He stares back coldly—something I'll correct. He sat back down.
"Did you hear about the pills?"
I ask. A bead of sweat appears on his temple—satisfying.
I push the packet of pills across his desk. He pales, predictably. Mark—motherless, fatherless—always plays the victim. He picks up the pack and mumbles, acting dumb. Wrong move.
"Sir, I swea… I have no rr-relat…ion… to this…" He fidgets, stuttering—annoying.
Lets keep it short. I stand.
"Open your mouth, Charles."
No room for argument. When he does, I shove the gun into it.
"Don't act dumb with me. I know you confiscated them abroad. Time for punishment."
He begs; it falls on deaf ears. I pull the trigger. The shot slices the air and is swallowed by the bass. Silence. Mark slumps in his chair, bleeding out.
How annoying—couldn't even leave his mess for himself. I grab his collar, clean the pistol, and slip it back into its holster. Jack rushes in, then relaxes when he sees the body.
"Clean this up,"
I order.