A Game of Shadows and Seduction

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Vulpes

The throbbing bass pulsed through the crowded, dimly lit nightclub as I slid onto the worn leather bar stool. A subtle nod to the bartender, who immediately placed a purple drink in front of me—which was apparently a house favorite that wasn’t on the menu. A drink I hadn’t even asked for. But it was alcohol and I wasn’t going to b***h.

As I sipped, I surveyed the scene, watching the mass of bodies gyrate and sway on the dance floor. Their skin shining with sweat as they moved under the strobing colored lights. I was supposed to meet a new client here, someone interested in commissioning my work. I didn’t know anything about him. Only that he operated in shady circles, was stupid rich, and valued discretion. I wasn"t even sure why I had agreed to this meeting.

So long as nobody tries to kill me tonight, we"ll call it a success, my eyebrow c****d up at my own thought. Taking a deep breath, I sipped at my drink again, eyes constantly scanning. A tap on my shoulder pulled my attention back to the bartender. She didn"t smile when she pointed her manicured index finger toward the VIP lounge door.

My gaze drifted over the two imposing men who stood on either side of the black velvet rope barrier that blocked the entrance. Just before I turned away to ask the bartender what she meant, a man was walking toward the VIP curtain. His broad shoulders looked almost wrong in the suit jacket he wore. As if his frame wasn"t meant to be constrained by such formal attire.

His dirty blonde hair was long on top, brushed back with faded sides that spoke of a military background. I knitted my brow together as I watched one of the bouncers nod at him and move the rope barrier so he could pass. Downing the rest of my drink, I pulled my phone out and was in the middle of fishing out a twenty dollar bill when the bartender shook her head.

"Mr. Wolfe"s guests don"t pay. It"s on the house. He also doesn"t like to be kept waiting," she didn"t give me time to respond before walking away. I looked like an i***t sitting there with my mouth gaping open in silent protest, watching as she swayed her hips walking away. Snapping my jaw shut with an audible click of my teeth, I slid off the bar stool and shook my head. This guy is either pretentious as f**k or I shouldn"t be here.

I steeled my nerves, anxiety beginning to settle into my chest like a vice. Tightening around my heart and making it difficult to breathe. Why was I so f*****g nervous? Jesus, get your s**t together, Fennec, I chided myself as I walked up to the bouncers, suddenly feeling very small.

My five foot two inch stature was tiny compared to the height and bulk of the bouncers. It was almost comical how much they looked like your cliche bouncers. Black shirts, black slacks, black glasses, earpieces, military cut hairstyles, and stature that would make even the meanest drunk think twice before pissing them off.

As I reached them, I cleared my throat and opened my mouth to tell them who I was but when the one on the right looked down at me the words died in my throat. "Mr. Wolfe is waiting for you. Please," he pulled back the velvet rope, using his arm to gesture me inside. I could tell his eyes were following me as I slipped through the curtain that kept the back room private. A shiver ran my spine.

Something about this just felt all types of wrong. As if the universe was screaming at me to turn back around and walk away. But I"m stupid and I don"t listen very well to warning labels.

The hall was dim, the sconces on the wall giving off a warm glow of intimacy and privacy as I moved down the row of curtained off booths. Each one was closed off, the curtains pulled to hide the occupants. I could hear laughter, bits and pieces of conversations as I walked by. The clinking of glasses, even some moans and breathy gasping. Gross.

At the very end of the hall stood a lone bodyguard, hands clasped in front of him and looking rather bored. You"d think someone like Ryker Wolfe would have more protection. I slowly made my way up to the man and gave him a wary smile. He didn"t return it and it quickly faded from my lips.

"Sir, your guest," his tone was gruff and definitely bored.

My hazel eyes tore away from the bodyguard and settled onto the man that graced the booth. His icy blue eyes pinned me to where I was standing, physically unable to move under his stare. "I see that, Kline. Please, join me Miss Starling," he gestured to the empty side of the booth with his unoccupied hand, a cigarette dangling between his fingers in the other.

It took me an embarrassing amount of time to finally will my body to listen. Swallowing hard, I quickly slid into the red leather booth. The cushion underneath my ass sunk softly as I sat down. The cigarette smoke that filled the booth was suffocating. As someone who didn’t smoke, the smell was almost overwhelming. I clutched my phone in a death grip, knuckles going white as I studied his face, committing it to memory.

He was handsome. Almost to a fault. If it wasn"t for the scar that ran from the corner of his right eye down his cheek, his face would"ve been perfect. Why were the rich ones always so devastatingly beautiful? It almost made me sick to my stomach. Or was that the jealousy? Was I jealous?

His visage is a symphony of chiseled lines and stoic strength, a canvas where nature has etched the very essence of classical allure. His jaw, sharpened as though by the blade of an old-world sculptor, lends him the air of a marble statue come to life, a steadfast sentinel standing guard at the gates of aesthetic perfection.

His cheekbones, high and commanding, cast shadows that play in the hollows below, like dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of an ancient, watchful forest. They rise like the crests of noble hills, heralding a face that speaks of both rugged terrain and the meticulous touch of an artist"s hand.

The set of his brow, a prominent and thoughtful archway, frames deep-set eyes that smolder with the quiet intensity of a storm on the horizon. But these eyes weren’t windows to the soul like most people. They were cold, calculating, precise. They stripped you bare and left nothing. No armor, no protection. It was as if, with just a single glance, he could know you’re entire soul. And he enjoyed it.

His nose, a straight and noble prow, sails forth upon his face with an aristocratic grace, guiding the eye to the symmetry of his features, the balanced harmony that whispers of ancient Greek ideals brought forth into the modern age.

And there, beneath it all, lies the subtle curve of his lips, a suggestion of a smile that holds a thousand stories, a quiet confidence that needs not words to assert its presence. They are the final touch in the dark masterpiece, a predators grin etched in a visage carved from the very essence of masculine beauty.

"I"m glad you could make it tonight. I hope you didn"t wait too long. I apologize for the delay, I had some… business I needed to tend to. Time sensitive," his voice was like a bucket of ice water over my head. Dragging me back to the present, the here and now, and out of my daze. I gave him a professional smile, recovering quickly.

"No, it wasn"t that long. So, Mr. Wolfe-," he held up his hand to cut me off, the smoke swirling around his fingers.

"Please, call me Ryker. Mr. Wolfe never did sound right to me. So formal. No need for all that." The smile he flashed me sent a cold shudder down my spine. It was innocent enough, but from where I was sitting it made him look like a lethal predator playing with his meal. I cleared my throat before starting again.

"Right. Ryker… " The name felt weird on my tongue as I watched him snuff the cigarette out in the ashtray. "Your secretary didn"t give me a lot of information. Just that you were in need of artwork?" My brow knitted together as I spoke.

He laced his fingers together and leaned his elbows on the smooth top of the table. But he didn"t speak. The silence seemed to stretch, creating an awkward atmosphere as his gaze washed over me.

I could tell he was sizing me up. My skin felt itchy under his gaze. I wanted to peel it off, to remove the uncomfortable feeling of being looked at as a… prey. Unconsciously, my hand came up to run my fingers over my collarbone. A nervous movement. His eyes followed my hand and if I wasn"t mistaken they grew a couple shades darker.

"Yes. But not just any art. If I wanted art, I could simply buy it. No, I need something far more important. And I hear… whispers that your talent is exactly what I need,” his tone was a heady mix of something akin to respect and admiration for my skills.

“I need a logo designed for a new business venture I"m investing in. You can have total creative freedom. I don"t give a f**k what it looks like, to be honest." He leaned back in the booth, settling his broad frame against the back as he rested his arms outstretched along the lip. The epitome of professionalism yet again, the dark look erased from his irises.

My brow knitted together again, confusion etching across my features. "Why would you buy art and then not care what it looks like?" I watched as he shrugged. Ryker knew why, but he wasn"t about to enlighten me. In response, I raised an eyebrow and gave a slight shake of my head. "OK, whatever, it"s your money. What exactly is the nature of this business? I need to start somewhere."

The way he smiled in response to my questioning made my skin crawl. Not in a disgusted way. In a way that made my hair stand on end, goosebumps pebbling along my tattoos. "It doesn"t matter. Doesn"t need to fit the business. Just needs to be unique. And I will be having my lawyers draw up a contract you need to sign.”

“The design will be trademarked. No selling it later as a tattoo design or for prints. And… " he trailed off a moment, eyeing me, "any designs made later that even so much as suggest a duplicate with slight changes will land you in a shitstorm of legal problems. So I strongly suggest you refrain from doing so."

I bristled at his audacity. "Excuse me? Back the f**k up," my tone was cold as I stared him down. My mouth opened again but he interjected before I could get the words out.

"Settle down, love. It"s simply a precaution. Mainly for your protection."

My what? I narrowed my gaze at him. If his secretary hadn"t promised that I"d be paid well, almost five times my normal rate which already wasn"t cheap, I"d have told him to go f**k himself. The money would be great in helping me get my own studio, though. And god knew I needed it.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I huffed softly. "Whatever," I mumbled under my breath before sighing. "Fine. When do you need it by? How big? And I need to know it"s application. It"ll affect the colors I use." I watched as Ryker got Kline"s attention, leaning over to whisper into the other mans ear before he walked away.