Chapter Three - The Claim
938 Words
The club was spotless again within the hour. Bodies gone, blood scrubbed, music humming low as though nothing had happened. Club Verona was good at hiding sins—it always had been.
But Amara couldn’t hide what she’d seen.
Her hands still shook, her breath still came too fast, and every time she blinked, she saw the flash of gunfire, the cold finality of death.
And yet… it wasn’t the violence that consumed her thoughts. It was him.
Damian Voss.
He stood across the room now, speaking in low tones to one of his men. The weight of his presence filled every corner, even when he wasn’t looking at her. Especially when he wasn’t looking at her.
As if sensing her eyes, he turned. Their gazes collided, and her stomach twisted. There was no escape from the way he saw her—not just as another face in the crowd, but as if he had already decided she was his.
Moments later, he was in front of her. No words. Just his hand curling around her wrist again, firm but not cruel, pulling her toward a side door.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, though her voice wavered.
Damian glanced over his shoulder, that wicked half-smile curving his lips. “Somewhere quieter. You’ve had your first taste of my world, little dove. Now it’s time we talked about why you came looking for me.”
Her heart stumbled. He knew. Of course he knew.
She should have resisted, should have torn her arm free. But instead, Amara followed, her pulse racing, her feet carrying her willingly into the lion’s den.
Behind the door was a private room—dim light, leather, shadows. A throne in all but name. Damian closed the door with a soft click, and the noise of the club vanished.
Now it was just them.
Damian stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “So tell me, Amara Cole…” His voice was silk over steel. “What is it you think you’ll find in my world? Truth?” He tilted her chin up with one finger. “Or sin?”
The room seemed to shrink the moment the door shut.
Amara’s pulse roared in her ears as Damian stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between them. He was too calm for a man who had just killed, too controlled. It terrified her—and yet, a reckless part of her craved the heat of his attention.
His finger lingered under her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze. “So,” he murmured, “tell me why an innocent little dove walks into a wolf’s den.”
Her lips parted, but the words caught. She hadn’t meant to say anything—not here, not to him—but the truth clawed its way out of her chest.
“My brother,” she whispered.
Something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, not compassion. “Your brother?”
Amara swallowed hard. “Ethan Cole. He disappeared three months ago. The last place anyone saw him was here. In your club.”
Silence stretched. Damian’s gaze sharpened, assessing her like a puzzle he hadn’t expected to play with tonight. He leaned back slightly, though his hand still trapped her chin. “And you think I had something to do with that?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, voice trembling but steady enough to carry. “But if this place swallowed him, then maybe you have answers.”
For a long moment, Damian said nothing. He simply studied her, as though peeling back every layer she tried to hide. Then, slowly, he released her chin—only to step closer, his body brushing hers, his shadow drowning her in heat and danger.
“You’re either very brave,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, “or very stupid.”
Her breath caught. “Which do you think?”
His lips curved into that dangerous smirk she was already beginning to dread—and crave. “Both.”
He stepped back just enough to meet her eyes again. “If your brother crossed into my world, little dove, then he played with fire he couldn’t control. Fire burns. Always.”
Her stomach twisted. “So he’s dead?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he poured himself a drink, slow and deliberate, before taking a sip. When he finally spoke, his voice was dark velvet. “Not necessarily. But finding out will cost you.”
Amara’s brows furrowed. “Cost me what?”
He set the glass down, prowling toward her again. This time, when he stopped in front of her, there was no space left between them. His hand brushed down her arm, fingers curling lightly around her wrist.
“Your freedom.”
The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. Amara’s chest tightened. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” His eyes burned into hers, unwavering. “You want answers about Ethan? Then you stay close to me. You live in my shadow. You breathe my world. And in return…” His thumb stroked her wrist, possessive. “I’ll protect you from it.”
Amara’s body trembled, her heart torn between terror and the dangerous pull of his promise.
She should have said no. She should have walked away.
But as his eyes locked onto hers, all she managed was a whisper:
“…And if I refuse?”
Damian’s smile was slow, lethal. “Then, little dove, you’ll never see your brother again.”
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⚡ End of Chapter Three ⚡
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