Chapter Two – A Deal with the Devil
1053 Words
Nero’s wasn’t the kind of place anyone stumbled into by accident.
Tucked between the docks and the old rail yards, the club thrived in the forgotten corners of the city. No signs. No invitations. You either knew how to find it, or you didn’t belong.
Darius Stone had never needed an invitation.
The bouncer at the door barely glanced up before stepping aside, eyes averted. Inside, the air pulsed with low, heavy bass that rattled through the floorboards. Smoke drifted lazily above the crowd, the room half-lit by the glow of neon tracing the bar’s edges. Bodies pressed close together on the dance floor, lost in the kind of fever that drowned out both memory and regret.
Darius barely noticed.
His focus was already elsewhere.
She was exactly where he expected her to be.
Isla Marek sat at the far end of the bar, one leg crossed over the other. Her dark hair spilled loosely over her shoulders, the faintest trace of rain still lingering on the tips. She wore black the same shade her brother’s men bled when they crossed the wrong line.
Darius didn’t miss the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flicked toward the mirror behind the bar as if she’d been watching the door for too long.
He approached without hurry, weaving through the crowd like a shadow cutting across the dance floor. By the time he reached her, Isla had already ordered him a drink.
“Bourbon,” she said smoothly as he slid into the seat beside her. “Neat, no ice. I still remember.”
Darius picked up the glass but didn’t drink. His gaze lingered on her instead, taking her in fully. It had been three years since they’d last stood this close. She hadn’t changed much still sharp, still dangerous in ways most people couldn’t see until it was too late.
But there was something else, too.
A weight in her eyes she hadn’t carried before.
“You’re wasting good bourbon,” she remarked when he didn’t lift the glass.
“I’m wondering why you’re buying me drinks instead of trying to kill me.”
Isla’s red lips curved faintly at the edges, but there was no humor in it. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it through the door.”
Darius arched an eyebrow. “That’s optimistic.”
She didn’t deny it.
Instead, she leaned in closer, her voice dropping just enough to cut beneath the music. “I called you because I need answers, not bullets.”
Darius let his gaze drift across the room. Most of the patrons were too drunk to care about anything beyond the next round. But the two men seated by the far wall clad in black, too still weren’t there for drinks.
Marek’s men.
Darius’s grip on the glass tightened slightly.
“Your brother know you’re here?” he asked.
“I’m not a child,” Isla replied flatly. “I don’t need Andre’s permission to breathe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Isla’s eyes flicked toward the far corner, just for a second.
“He knows,” she admitted. “But he didn’t send me.”
Darius leaned back in his seat, gaze settling firmly on her. “Then why are you here?”
Isla was quiet for a moment. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, slow and deliberate.
“Something’s hunting in our territory,” she said finally. “I thought it was yours.”
Darius didn’t blink. “It’s not.”
“I know that now.”
His eyes narrowed faintly. “How?”
She hesitated barely noticeable, but Darius caught it.
“I saw it,” Isla said carefully.
Darius’s pulse thrummed once, deep and slow.
“And you’re still alive?”
Isla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It wasn’t interested in me.”
That was a lie. Darius didn’t need to hear her heartbeat to know it.
“I’m not here to start a war,” she added quickly, as if reading his thoughts. “But whatever this thing is, it’s not playing by the rules. It’s carving through the lower ranks. Two of my brother’s men last week. Three more tonight.”
Darius set his untouched drink down with a quiet clink.
“That’s not my problem.”
Isla’s gaze snapped to his, cold and unyielding. “It will be if Andre thinks you’re involved.”
“Let him think what he wants.”
“You know Andre,” Isla said darkly. “He doesn’t think. He acts. And if he decides to take this out on your pack ”
“Then he’ll lose,” Darius interrupted. His voice was calm, but the weight behind it left no room for argument.
The two men at the corner table shifted slightly, watching Isla a little too closely now.
“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” Darius said, his gaze flicking toward them.
“I wasn’t alone when I arrived.”
Darius’s eyes darkened further.
Isla followed his line of sight. One of the men rose from his seat, murmuring something to the other before stepping toward the back of the club. The exit.
Darius pushed away from the bar.
“I’ll handle it,” he said simply.
“Darius ”
But he was already gone.
He slipped through the crowd, silent as the storm outside. The back hallway of Nero’s stretched long and narrow, lined with old brick and buzzing lights. The man ahead of him didn’t glance back, but Darius could hear his pulse steady, calm.
Too calm.
Darius moved faster.
The moment the man stepped into the alley beyond the exit, Darius grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the nearest wall hard enough to c***k stone.
“Who sent you?” Darius’s voice was quiet, but the growl behind it was unmistakable.
The man choked, clawing at Darius’s wrist. “I Isla told us to wait for her ”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Darius leaned in closer, and for a brief second, his eyes flickered gold.
The man froze.
A shiver ran down his spine.
“Answer me,” Darius growled.
The man’s breath hitched.
And then so softly it was almost missed
“It wasn’t Marek who sent us.”
- Writer
