The raid didn’t start with sirens. It began with silence. The kind that pressed against the walls of Club Eden like a coming storm. The lights flickered twice, just enough to draw wary glances. Then came the shudder of steel gates locking from the inside. Dancers paused mid-routine. Bottles stilled behind the bar. A slow, crawling dread settled over the room like smoke.
Jaxon stood in the VIP gallery, arms folded, expression unreadable. No one dared approach. Not Dante. Not the bartenders. Not even the bouncers who’d once claimed they’d take a bullet for him. He radiated something colder than command, calculation, distance, threat.
Raven watched it unfold from the hallway near the dressing rooms, her gut coiled tight. She hadn’t been warned. He hadn’t told her. That meant this was real.
