The bar wasn't on any map.
No sign on the door. No windows. Only a slit of crimson light leaking through the cracks, like the place itself was breathing sin.
Raven stepped inside with the kind of confidence that only came from being raised around danger and desire. He wasn't dressed to blend in—black silk shirt half-open, collarbones catching the low light, dark slacks that fit too well. His friends called him beautiful. His exes called him addictive. His mother called him trouble.
The bass of the music throbbed low, like a heartbeat under the floorboards. Bodies pressed close in shadowed corners—men, women, everything in between—some wearing leather, some wearing nothing but intent.
Tonight wasn't about love.
It was about hunger.
Raven didn't notice the man watching him at first. Not until the crowd shifted and the air changed.
Thanin.
The name meant thunder in his native tongue, and it fit him—tall, composed, danger wrapped in elegance. His suit was dark charcoal, sleeves rolled to the forearm, a hint of tattoos disappearing under the fabric. He didn't need to command the room. It obeyed him on instinct.
Their eyes met.
Raven felt it—like a hand closing around his throat without ever touching him. He looked away first, annoyed at himself for it.
He made for the bar instead, fingers drumming the counter to hide the sudden spike of heat in his veins.
"Whiskey."
His voice was steady. His pulse wasn't.
The bartender nodded and poured—then stepped aside before the glass even landed.
A shadow leaned in just enough to be felt.
"You don't belong here."
Thanin's voice wasn't loud, but it carried. Dark velvet lined with steel.
Raven didn't turn. "If you planned to intimidate me, you'll have to try harder."
A soft chuckle. "I wasn't warning you. I was warning them."
Only then did Raven glance back.
Thanin wasn't looking at him like prey.
He was looking at him like property someone else hadn't claimed fast enough.
Across the bar, a woman in a blood-red blazer swept through the crowd like a blade through silk—Ice, though no one here knew her by name. Mafia-born and untouchable, she brushed past a man who would soon become her problem and her undoing.
But tonight wasn't hers.
It was Raven's.
Thanin's hand came to rest on the bar beside him—close enough to feel, not close enough to refuse.
"Walk with me," he said.
Not a request.
Raven should have said no.
Instead, he followed.
And the first crack in his carefully guarded will appeared the moment the door to the private suite closed behind them.