The VIP Reckoning
665 Words
If Dante Vane wanted a "distraction," I was going to give him one he would never forget.
I spent two hours on my transformation. I stepped out of my room wearing a dress that was less of a garment and more of a provocation—a skin-tight, emerald silk slip dress that stopped mid-thigh and featured a back so low it risked everything. I bypassed Leo, who was in his study, and slipped out into the humid city night.
I knew exactly where he would be. The Velvet Room. It was an exclusive, underground club where the elite went to lose their morals.
When I walked through the heavy oak doors, the bass of the music vibrated in my chest. I scanned the room, and there he was. Dante was tucked into a corner booth in the VIP lounge, a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a stunning brunette leaning into his personal space.
He looked up. Our eyes locked across the crowded, smoky room.
The glass in his hand froze halfway to his lips. Even from twenty feet away, I could see his knuckles turn white. The "Playboy" mask didn't just c***k; it shattered.
Dante’s Perspective
I had been sitting there for an hour, trying to drown the memory of Elena’s soft whimpers in expensive scotch. The woman next to me was talking, but I didn't hear a word. I was a hollow shell, rotting from the inside out with guilt.
And then, she walked in.
My heart didn't just beat; it slammed against my ribs like a caged animal. Elena looked like a goddess of vengeance. The emerald silk clung to her curves, highlighting the staggering length of her legs and the way her skin glowed under the neon lights.
Every man in the room was staring. I felt the "Beast" rise up, red and violent, ready to tear the eyes out of anyone who dared to look at what belonged to me.
"Dante? Who is that?" the brunette hissed, sensing my shift in energy.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I watched as Elena walked straight to the bar, ignoring me completely. She leaned over, giving the bartender a view that made my blood boil, and ordered a drink I knew she couldn't handle.
A man—a tall, arrogant-looking prick in a designer suit—approached her. He leaned in, his hand ghosting over the small of her back. My spot.
The unyielding thickness of my rage was a physical weight. I stood up so fast I knocked over my drink, the scotch spilling across the table like blood.
"Stay here," I growled at my date, not even looking at her.
Elena’s Perspective
I felt him before I saw him. The air behind me suddenly felt like it was on fire.
"Get your hands off her," a voice like a death threat sliced through the music.
The man next to me pulled back, his eyes widening as he recognized the predator standing behind him. "Whoa, Vane. I didn't know she was yours."
"She isn't," I said, spinning around on my heels, my heart racing as I looked into Dante’s dark, blown-out pupils. I took a slow sip of my martini, never breaking eye contact. "I’m nobody’s. Isn't that what you told me this morning, Dante? That I’m just... clutter?"
Dante’s jaw was working so hard I thought he might break a tooth. He stepped into my space, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the club. His scent—smoke and sandalwood—wrapped around me like a cage.
"You are going home. Now," he rasped, his hand gripping my wrist with a desperate, iron strength.
"Make me," I challenged, leaning in until my chest brushed his suit jacket.
The "Beast" was back, and this time, he wasn't hiding in a closet. He was right here in the middle of the club, ready to burn the whole world down just to keep me from being seen by anyone else.
- Writer
