Page 16 of Once A Villain

“None of your goddamn business.”

The black Ford Shelby Mustang’s engine roars as I tear down the highway, the tracker guiding me through the city’s streets. I pull up to a nightclub—loud, crowded, and clearly not Sovereign territory.

She’s easy to spot. Rory strides toward the entrance, her blonde hair and tiny dress catching the light. She’s obviously looking to attract attention.

My cock hardens at the sight of her—barely covered, braless tits straining against the fabric, her legs on full display.

She saunters up to the front of the line, flashing that enticing smile at the bouncer. He opens the door, and she glides in like she’s on a red carpet. I don’t bother with the line; my presence is enough to clear a path.

The crowd parts, eyes wide with fear as I approach. A thick wad of hundreds does the trick, and the bouncer reluctantly lets me in.

Inside, the music pounds obnoxiously, drowning out everything but the bass. The air is a sticky mix of sweat and booze, clinging to every surface. The dance floor is a chaotic mass of bodies thrashing to the rhythm. Booths and tables line the walls, creating a claustrophobic maze. Typical nightclub—except, it stinks of desperation.

She’s in the VIP area, laughing at something a middle-aged man is saying. I find a shadowed spot at the bar, blending into the darkness while I watch her. He’s no Sovereign, just some regular asshole in a cheap suit.

Why’s she with a non-Sovereign?

The guy’s dressed down—white button-up shirt, khakis, short hair, glasses. He’s gotta be pushing forty. No match for Rory. She could have any Sovereign she wanted. Why the fuck is she with this clown?

He runs his hand up her thigh, whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh, her hand sliding up his leg in return. Their bodies press together as he moves from her thigh to her back, his lips trailing over her neck.

My jaw tightens, teeth gritted against the surge of rage. I take a swig of whiskey. The burn does nothing to cool the fire inside me as he paws at her.

A man steps up to the bar and tries to shout over the music. “I want something after hours. What do you recommend?”

The bartender glances at him, shrugging. “Depends. What’s your poison? Beer, whiskey, wine?”

The man leans in, smirking. “Something off the menu.” The bartender’s eyes dart toward Rory and her date. His tone drops, his gaze shifting back to the man.

“The woman in the black dress? Her name’s Jade. She’s new but worth every penny if you’re up for it.”

The man turns, eyeing Rory. “How much?”

“15K. But trust me, she’s worth it. You won’t regret it.” The bartender winks as the man hands over a stack of hundreds and walks away. What the fuck? My gaze snaps back to Rory, and the puzzle pieces fall into place.

I follow the bartender into the back room. A faint buzzing hums in the air, mixing with the stench of stale alcohol and cigarettes. The room is cramped, cluttered with stacked boxes, and the flickering light barely illuminates the space.

Before he can start texting, I grab him, shoving him against the wall.

“Tell me about Jade,” I growl.

“Who the fuck are you?”

I tighten my grip, pressing harder. “Tell me about Jade.”

He chokes, gasping for breath. “Look, man, I don’t want any trouble,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “I-I don’t know her real name. She’s new here. I help her with clients, and she gives me a cut.” He swallows hard, his body quaking.

“Does she work here often?”

“Yeah, a couple nights a week. She’s popular—rich bastards pay top dollar for her.”

I try to figure out what the fuck this is…she’s selling herself. Selling herself to these non-Sovereigns. Why?

This guy’s a convenient target for my rage, so I slam his head into the wall. The satisfying crack of bone against concrete echoing through the room, as his body collapses to the floor.

Storming back into the bar, I find Rory’s disappeared. Her date’s nowhere in sight either. I head straight for the parking lot, her car is here, but she’s not. Damn it, they must’ve left together.

I slam into my car, ripping out of the lot. The wheel’s a vice in my grip, knuckles white as I tear into the night. Rory’s whoring herself out, and I’m going to find out why.

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