Chapter 8
Clubs were built on lies.
Lucian had always known that.
The lie that loud music could drown intention.
The lie that crowds created safety.
The lie that if enough people were watching, nothing truly bad would happen.
Marcus loved those lies. He hid inside them like armor.
Lucian felt Elara's presence beside him the moment they crossed the threshold, her steps measured, her breathing shallow, her spine straight in a way that had nothing to do with confidence and everything to do with refusal to bend.
The bass thudded through the floor, through bone, through the places fear liked to settle. Bodies pressed close, unaware, uncaring. This was a playground for predators. Everyone here thought they were anonymous.
They weren't.
Lucian scanned automatically. Exits. Sightlines. Reflections in mirrored columns. Men who didn't move with the music. Eyes that followed too precisely.
Marcus's fingerprints were everywhere.
"Don't look for him," Lucian murmured, leaning close to Elara's ear. "Let him come to us."
She nodded once. "He already has."
They didn't touch, but they moved together, a shared rhythm learned the hard way. Lucian hated that she adapted so quickly. Hated what it said about how sharp the world had already made her.
They reached the bar.
A drink appeared in front of Lucian without him ordering. Whiskey. Neat.
He didn't touch it.
Elara didn't pretend this was a coincidence.
"He wants to feel in control," she said.
"Yes," Lucian replied. "Which means he isn't."
The music shifted. A subtle thing. The kind of cue that only people like Marcus noticed.
Lucian felt it before he saw him.
Marcus stood above them on the balcony, glass raised, a smile carved from entitlement and bloodline arrogance. Same eyes as Lucian's. Different soul.
Marcus leaned over the railing.
"Brother," he called warmly, like this was a family reunion instead of a threat. "You made it."
Lucian didn't look away. "You asked."
Marcus's gaze slid to Elara, slow and deliberate. Assessing. Claiming.
"And you brought the reason," Marcus said. "How thoughtful."
Elara felt the weight of that look like hands on her skin. She lifted her chin.
"You wanted to talk," she said. "So talk."
Marcus laughed. "I do enjoy her."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Say what you're going to say."
Marcus sighed theatrically. "Straight to business. Always so dull."
He set his glass down and leaned forward.
"You've built something impressive, Lucian," Marcus continued. "But you've forgotten a fundamental rule."
"And what rule is that?" Lucian asked.
Marcus smiled wider. "Never let the world see what you can't afford to lose."
The music cut.
Not entirely. Just enough.
Lucian felt the shift ripple through the room like a held breath.
Elara's phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Her stomach dropped before she even looked.
A video.
She didn't open it. She didn't have to.
Marcus watched her face change and nodded approvingly.
"You see," Marcus said softly, "fear is most effective when it's educational."
Lucian moved.
Not toward Marcus.
Toward Elara.
He placed himself between her and the balcony without thinking, hand firm on her lower back, not possessive, not comforting.
Protective.
Marcus clapped slowly.
"There it is," he said. "That instinct. That weakness."
Lucian's voice was deadly calm. "You said she wasn't taken."
"She isn't," Marcus replied. "She's merely reminded."
Elara's phone vibrated again.
She opened the video.
Her mother sat at her kitchen table, hands folded, a cup of tea untouched. The camera angle was wrong. Too close. Too intimate.
A man's voice, off-screen, polite.
"Tell your daughter not to worry," the voice said gently. "This is just a conversation."
Elara's knees locked.
Lucian felt it, the exact moment something inside her cracked.
"Stop," Lucian said. Not loud. Not pleading.
Marcus tilted his head. "Or what?"
Lucian looked up at him.
"I will burn your world down," he said.
Marcus laughed. "You already are."
Security shifted. Subtle. Coordinated.
Lucian counted.
Too many.
They were surrounded.
Elara's breathing turned uneven.
Lucian leaned close. "Look at me."
She did.
"Stay with me," he said. "Not with him."
Her fingers curled into his sleeve.
"I can't let him."
"I know," Lucian said. "You don't have to."
He turned back to Marcus.
"You want me," Lucian said. "Not her. Not my mother. Not anyone else. Me."
Marcus studied him.
"Careful," Marcus said. "You sound desperate."
Lucian nodded once. "I am."
The admission landed like a blade.
Marcus's smile faded.
"Interesting," Marcus murmured. "You never were before."
Lucian took a step forward.
"Let her go," he said. "And I'll give you what you've wanted since we were boys."
Marcus's eyes sharpened. "Say it."
"I'll step down."
The room seemed to tilt.
Elara stared at Lucian, horror flooding her chest.
"No," she whispered. "You can't."
Lucian didn't look at her.
Marcus went very still.
"You're lying," Marcus said.
Lucian met his gaze. "Test me."
Marcus laughed once. Not amused. Not kind.
"You really did fall," Marcus said. "Didn't you?"
Lucian didn't correct him.
That was answer enough.
Marcus leaned over the railing, eyes burning.
"You don't get to choose your sacrifices," Marcus said. "I do."
He snapped his fingers.
The lights went out.
Chaos detonated.
Screams. Shattering glass. Bodies are surging in blind panic.
Lucian grabbed Elara and moved fast, ruthless, and precise. He didn't fight the crowd; he cut through it.
Gunfire cracked somewhere behind them.
Lucian didn't turn.
He shoved Elara through a service door and down a narrow corridor that smelled like bleach and desperation.
"Run," he said.
She didn't.
Instead, she grabbed his arm.
"I'm not leaving you."
Lucian swore. "Elara."
"No," she said, voice breaking. "I won't be used to break you."
Footsteps thundered behind them.
Lucian made a choice.
He pulled her close, not into his chest, but into his shadow, and fired once.
The body dropped.
Another man lunged.
Lucian disarmed him with brutal efficiency, using the man's momentum against him.
Elara watched, numb.
This wasn't cinematic. It wasn't clean.
It was ugly and fast and terrifying.
They burst out into the alley.
Cold air slammed into Elara's lungs.
A car waited.
Engine running.
Lucian shoved her inside and slid into the driver's seat as bullets sparked off metal.
He floored it.
The city swallowed them.
They didn't speak for ten minutes.
Not until the club was miles behind them and the streets thinned into unfamiliar quiet.
Elara stared out the window, phone clutched in her hand.
Lucian finally broke the silence.
"He won't hurt her," he said. "Not yet."
"That's supposed to help?" Elara asked hollowly.
"No," Lucian said. "It's supposed to be true."
She turned to him, eyes bright with unshed tears.
"You offered him everything," she said. "For me."
Lucian kept his eyes on the road. "I offered him a lie."
She frowned. "You said."
"I said I'd step down," Lucian said. "I didn't say I'd survive it."
Understanding hit her like a punch.
"You're planning to die," she whispered.
Lucian didn't answer.
That was confirmation.
She laughed then, a sharp, broken sound.
"You don't get to do that," she said. "You don't get to decide you're expendable."
Lucian glanced at her. "I do. I've been doing it my whole life."
She grabbed his arm. "Not anymore."
He stiffened.
"Marcus wants you reckless," she said. "He wants you to be predictable. Don't give him that."
Lucian exhaled slowly.
"He crossed a line tonight," Lucian said. "There's no clean end now."
"Then make it dirty," Elara said. "Make it end."
They pulled into a hidden garage.
Lucian shut off the engine.
For a long moment, neither moved.
"You shouldn't be here," Lucian said quietly. "This isn't what I wanted for you."
Elara looked at him.
"I don't care what you wanted," she said. "I care what's happening."
She leaned back, exhausted.
"You said fear learns your name," she continued. "Well, so does resolve."
Lucian studied her, something unguarded flickering across his face.
Marcus had wanted leverage.
Instead, he'd forged an ally.
And that, Lucian realized too late, might be the one thing Marcus hadn't planned for.
Somewhere across the city, Marcus Blackwood watched the chaos reports roll in and smiled.
Lucian had come exactly as expected.
What Marcus didn't know, what he would learn soon enough, was that this time, Lucian wasn't retreating.
He was advancing.
And the next move wouldn't be loud.
It would be final.