Dirty Little Secrets

CHAPTER 26.

SUMMER'S POV

The club’s neon sign buzzed like an angry wasp above the staff entrance. Every step toward it sent fresh fire through my ribs and down my swollen leg. I limped badly, favoring my right side, the bruises from the beating pulsing with my heartbeat. My hoodie hid most of the damage, but nothing could mask the way I moved—like a broken doll held together by sheer stubbornness.

Mr. Noel was waiting just inside, arms crossed, face carved from stone. There was no greeting nor sympathy at all. His eyes flicked over me once. It was cold and calculating, like one who sees everything as an instrument of money.

“You’re late,” he said flatly. “And you look like s**t. Clean yourself up. There’s a private meeting in VIP Room 7. Mr. Robert’s orders. Don’t keep him waiting.”

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “I’m not in any condition to—”

“Condition?” He stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You signed the contract, Dark Bird. You don’t get to have conditions anymore. Now move!” He commanded.

The tension between us crackled like live wires. I wanted to scream, to run, but the memory of that latest text kept my feet moving. I limped down the familiar hallway, pain shooting through me with every step. By the time I reached Room 7, sweat beaded on my forehead and my vision blurred at the edges.

The door opened before I could even knock.

Mr. Robert sat in the center of the dimly lit VIP room, partially masked—only his cold eyes and the lower half of his face visible. He looked every inch the predator in his tailored suit, a glass of amber liquid swirling lazily in his hand.

“Dark Bird,” he purred, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Sit. You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

I remained standing, fists clenched at my sides despite the agony it caused. “What do you want?”

He chuckled, low and menacing. “Straight to business. I like that. But first…” He tapped his phone and turned the screen toward me.

A short video played. Clyde, laughing as he walked toward a modest house with a girl—Gabrielle, the one who had called the ambulance during his asthma attack. They were talking animatedly. The timestamp was from earlier today.

“Your brother’s making friends,” Mr. Robert said smoothly. “Sweet girl. It would be a shame if something… interrupted that.”

Rage and terror collided inside me. “Leave him out of this. He’s just a kid!”

Mr. Robert leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Then do as you’re told. Your first real job. There’s a man arriving soon—Victor Lang. Wealthy and connected to certain people in Kingsley’s extended family circle. Old money with secrets that could crumble empires. You will seduce him. Get him comfortable. Gather intel—names, deals, weaknesses. Everything.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound cracking with pain. “You want me to be your spy w***e? No. I won’t do it.”

His expression didn’t change. “Refuse, and the next video I send you will be of Clyde in a much less pleasant situation. Or perhaps I’ll pay dear George a visit, maybe Kingsley too.” He smiled thinly. “The boy already looks so… disappointed in you lately. Wouldn’t want to make that worse. Do you?”

The mention of Kingsley and George hit like another punch. I swayed on my feet, gripping the back of the chair. “You’re sick.” I spat out.

“I’m practical,” he corrected. “Do the job tonight—partial compliance will suffice for now—and I’ll give you a week’s breathing room. Fail, and the consequences will be educational.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. I could feel the walls closing in, the weight of every choice I’d made crushing me. Finally, I nodded stiffly. “Fine. But I’m not stealing from him. Not tonight.”

Mr. Robert waved a hand. “Start with the intel. The rest will come. He’s in Room 9. Impress me, Summer.”

I left the VIP room on trembling legs, the pain in my body nothing compared to the storm in my mind. Room 9. Victor Lang. A rival connected to Kingsley’s world. This was getting deeper and darker.

The client was already waiting—a sharp-dressed man in his late thirties, expensive watch glinting under the low lights. He smiled when I entered, but his eyes narrowed slightly at my visible bruises.

“Rough night?” he asked, voice smooth but cautious.

“You have no idea,” I muttered, forcing a sultry tone that felt like glass in my throat. I poured drinks with shaking hands, slipping a mild sedative into his glass while keeping up the act. “Let’s make it better.”

We talked—tension thick as I probed gently for information, names, and connections. He was guarded but loosened up after the drink. I gathered scraps: mentions of a land deal, a family grudge against the Roberts, whispers of hidden accounts. But I didn’t push for more. There was no theft and no full seduction. Just enough to satisfy the monster waiting outside.

When his eyes grew heavy, I slipped a small, crumpled note into his jacket pocket while pretending to adjust his collar. Watch your back. Robert is coming for you. A tiny, reckless act of defiance.

I barely made it out of the room before my legs gave way. I collapsed in the back hallway, sliding down the wall, breaths coming in short, painful gasps. Tears burned my swollen eyes. I can’t keep doing this.

Then I heard footsteps, it was fast and familiar too.

“Summer!”

Kingsley’s voice cut through the haze. He dropped to his knees beside me, hands hovering like he was afraid to touch. His face—God, his face—twisted from shock to fury to something raw and devastated as he took in the full extent of the bruises, the limp, the blood on my lip.

“What the hell happened to you?” His voice cracked with barely contained rage. “Who did this? Was it Robert? Tell me right now.”

I tried to push him away, but my arms had no strength. “Go away, Kingsley. I’m poison. I told you that. Everything I touch gets destroyed. Look at me. This is what being near me gets you.”

He grabbed my shoulders gently but firmly, eyes blazing. “I’m not leaving. Not this time. Amanda called me—she was terrified. You’re coming with me. Now. We’re ending this tonight.”

“No!” I hissed, pain and panic sharpening my words. “You don’t understand. If you get involved, they’ll go after Clyde. After your mother. After George. I’m handling it. Just… stay away from me. Please.”

Kingsley’s grip tightened, his voice low and fierce, full of that protective fire I both craved and feared. “You call this handling it? You’re bleeding and broken in a damn hallway. I saw what they did to you at school, and now this? I’m not walking away while you destroy yourself. Look at me, Summer. Tell me the truth. All of it.”

Our eyes locked. The tension between us was electric—pain, fear, unspoken feelings crashing together. I wanted to collapse into him. I wanted to run away with him.

But the club lights flickered, and footsteps echoed from the other end of the hall.

Kingsley’s jaw clenched. “We’re not done here.”