Page 69 of Her Ruin

I arched an eyebrow. “Is it as we expected?”

Rye’s eyes filled with satisfaction. “Sealed bags, every last bill accounted for. I’ve confirmed it, all clean, and the numbers match exactly.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “Good. That means tonight’s work paid off.” I leaned back, letting the satisfaction of the club’s success settle in. Every beat, every flash of flight, and every clink of glasses masked the real business coursing through these walls.

“I trust you put it in the safe?”

Rye nodded. “Everything’s locked down.”

I met his gaze and gave a slight nod. “Excellent. Third delivery so far since we opened.” I looked towards the glass partition. “Keeping the events and bookings tight is working better than I thought. But we can’t afford any loose ends.”

Rye didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. We both knew how this worked. We were puppeteers of intricate, high-stake games, and this delivery was just another move on our chessboard.

“Angelo says his boss wants to run party favors through the VIP booths,” Rye told me, his face expressionless. “Nice incentive is being offered for you if you want to consider it,” Rye added.

I rolled my neck on my shoulders. I knew what that meant—drugs—and the implications were as heavy as the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. “What and how much?”

Rye didn’t flinch at my tone. His fingers tapped off the table between us. “It’s a shipment of coke. We’re talking a few kilos, broken up into several orders. They’re offering a fifteen percent bonus on the profits, but you have to oversee the distribution personally.”

I let his words sink in. A fifteen percent bonus on top of our usual fee wasn’t insignificant. More cash meant more risk. My eyes narrowed as I considered the logistics. “And the catch?”

“There’s always risk, Zayn,” Rye said as he leaned back. “Angelo’s boss, well, we both know how connected he is. He’s got distribution channels everywhere. He wants to use the VIP booths exclusively.”

Every move in our business was a calculated risk, but exclusivity meant playing with fire. “I don’t like it.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Rye murmured. “They want in next week. Angelo has it all mapped out in a way that minimizes exposure.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s still a gamble.”

“You want to talk it through with him before you say no?” Rye asked, his face unreadable.

“I want to know where it’s coming from, the route, the proposed distribution, and the guy they want to send in to do the transactions.” I looked around the empty booth. “We have a lot of booths. I can’t be in them every night; I have other commitments in this club.”

Rye was nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk with Angelo and see if we can accommodate the request.”

I licked my teeth as I thought about it. “Exclusive distribution either cements our hold or alienates us and makes the competition even harder. Before this is a risk worth taking, it needs to be flawless.”

“Understood.” Rye stood.

“And remember, Rye, this goes south, there’s no hiding behind a booth.”

“When have we ever hid?” he asked, his smile self-assured.

A slow smile crept over my lips—a mix of defiance and resolve. “In this business, you’re either at the top or you’re out. In this club, we’re the ones calling the shots.”

“I’ll get the details, but I won’t commit us to anything yet.”

As I watched him leave, I felt the thrill of the game. This wasn’t just about extra profits—it was about expanding my empire. Drugs in the VIP booths were already part of the scene. Controlling their distribution was a step farther than I had taken before. I didn’t partake myself; I was a lover of control and had too much to lose to a chemical mix that messed with that. But I liked money. I didn’t really care if that money came from people who were willing to give up their control. There were some boundaries I wouldn’t cross, but distribution wasn’t one of them, especially when there was a demand and I had a means of controlling the supply

Supply and demand were the heart of any businessman.

Walking over to the glass, I looked at the dance floor and the vibrant club below. Even on the club floor, I knew who the pushers were, and they knew they were only here through my leniency.

Isla was back on the dance floor, her hands in the air as she swayed her hips to the beat. I saw the bottle of water in her hand and liked that she had done what she was told. She didn’t know my guys were watching her. She didn’t know every moment of her and her friends being here was monitored. That was the way it would stay.

Control wasn’t just about the money—it was about knowing every move, every transaction, and every heartbeat of this operation. And tonight, with the customers lost in the music, lost in the party scene, and the pushers playing their roles, I felt that power more acutely than ever.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through a series of live feeds from my crew. Each message confirmed that the floors were secured, the cameras were fixed, and everything was as it should be. Yet, beneath the surface of my satisfaction, a new challenge simmered.

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