Page 2 of The Collector
She smiled knowingly. "Anything for you, hon. Everyone wants to see Mynx, and every girl wants to be her. What a world, huh?" She laughed lightly. "She's on in about twenty minutes. However, if you're considering placing a bid for her private dance, I suggest placing your bid now. Her Seven Minutes in Heaven bidding price is climbing fast."
"How high?" Raven asked.
"I'd have to check, but last I heard, it was pushing three grand."
"Then place a bid for me," Raven said, leaning in close and slipping her a crisp hundred-dollar bill. "Ten thousand."
Her eyes widened slightly, but she kept her composure. "Sure thing. Raven Cordoba, right?"
He nodded and sat back.
She turned to fetch their drinks, and Raven knew—after that tip, she wouldn't stray far from their table for the rest of the night.
"So, what's the play I'm hearing about with the Stallions and your father?" Stoker asked while they waited for their drinks.
Raven didn't look at him. "It's a distribution deal—clean route north to Upper Cali into Canada. Keeps Culver staffed with Kings and keeps the product moving."
Stoker raised an eyebrow. "And your father's on board?"
The conversation halted long enough for the waitress to set down their drinks. She smiled and left.
Raven exhaled through his nose, almost laughing. "If I can get him there, it’ll be an act of God. He still thinks compromise is weak, even if it’s with another crew from the King family. But ifhe signs, the Stallions become our pipeline. There will be no turf war, no blood—just profit, plain and simple. He’d be stupid not to accept the deal."
Stoker swirled his drink, watching the ice settle. "And if he doesn’t?"
Raven shrugged. "Then we find another way. I knew getting them to sit at the same table would be a stretch, given the rumors I’ve heard about the two. But I figured the money might tip the scale. Either way, I make suggestions. He makes decisions. It’s Capo privilege."
Raven watched the next dancer glide across the stage, her hips swaying with practiced ease. The redhead was older, with curves still sharp and breasts lifted by a surgeon’s skill—but she didn’t have the edge that Blood Lust demanded. There was too much hunger in her eyes and not enough luxury in her smile.
Then she locked eyes with Stoker.
He didn’t move or speak; he just let the corners of his mouth tilt upward—barely a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. Raven's gaze flicked between them, recognizing the exchange. He knew that look. Stoker had a new plaything. He looked away and let them share the moment.
The DJ’s voice sliced through the haze, announcing Mynx like a promise wrapped in velvet. As “Butterfly" by Crazy Town pulsed through the speakers, the atmosphere changed—hoots and whistles erupted, a hunger that seemed to stick to the walls like sweat.
Mynx stepped into the light, her sequins catching fire as she moved. Her black babydoll dress slid off her shoulders in a slow surrender, pooling at her feet with a hush that felt rehearsed. All that remained was the black lace thong and the butterfly mask—delicate yet somehow defiant.
She dropped to her hands and knees, crawling toward the center of the stage like she owned it. She wasn't begging for attention; she was commanding it.
Eyes followed her, breaths were held as she moved towards them. Raven watched her move slowly and seductively, as if she knew the room belonged to her. Each shift of her hips was a whisper, and each glide down the pole was a promise to the onlookers of her affection. Then the blonde arched her spine, curving it like a question mark against the pole, her eyes locking onto his.
They held their gaze.
Just for a breath. Just long enough to make it feel personal.
Raven's inhale hitched, subtle but telling. "Butterfly" seemed like the perfect name for the seductress on the stage. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and slid further back in his seat as he watched her collect money from her adoring fans. Seven minutes in heaven might be enough to satisfy the urgent need he felt to possess the beautiful body on stage. But he doubted it.
By the time “S&M” by Rihanna faded out, he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He needed a taste of this Butterfly—now.
He caught the waitress's eye and crooked a finger. She came quickly, sensing the urgency in his request.
"Is the bidding closed for Seven Minutes in Heaven?" he asked.
"Not yet. There are a few hours left," she replied.
"Is your boss here?"
She blinked. "Yes. Why?"
