Page 90

He runs his hands over my cum covered thighs before fully registering the blood I’ve tracked over both our bodies and even the cracked glass table.

“You need stitches,” he finally states, grabbing my wrist and inspecting my hand.

I’m about to bite back some uncalled-for snarky remark when the man pulls me to my feet, closing the space between us. He presses his nose into my cheek, kissing his way to my lips, and I welcome him eagerly, sucking his tongue into my mouth.

The fervor from before is gone, and the kiss is surprisingly… tender. Slow and deep and deliberate. Like he’s now only taking his time to map out my mouth.

And I completely melt into him.

Chapter 23

Dante

“So, you fucked him?” Marcos asks, the frown on his forehead deepening as he puts the car in park.

“Something like that,” I say with a confident glee spreading across my face. “I wasn’t actually inside him—"

“Spare me the details, Graves.” He doesn’t find my antics nearly as amusing, not even in the slightest, as he gets out of the car and slams it shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

So, after finger-blasting Adrian a few nights ago and sending him home to take care of the wound on his hand, I had to get help from my dearest friend to clean up the mess we made. Not the cum, of course… that would be vile. I’m a classy man.

Adrian’s blood was everywhere, splattered and smeared all over the room. My little stray drew enough blood for my next infusion.

Then there was the issue of that unconscious woman, unaware of the sex and violence that took place. Marcos was especially mad about that.

What, it’s not like she saw anything?

Regardless, he had his men place her in another VIP room with open and empty bottles so when she eventually woke up, it would look like she blacked out from drinking too much.

They scrubbed the room, and the cracked table got replaced, all in a good night’s work.

“You’re taking this too far, Dante,” Marcos adds as I exit from the passenger’s seat.

“You’re one to talk,” I huff as I move past him.

Phantom Production’s building rises before us in all its glory of crystal windows and modern architecture. The doors slide open before we even reach them, smooth and silent, as if the building is already aware of us, and it usually is.

Halloween is closing in, and with it, the shift and the subtle tightening of everything behind the scenes. More security, more movement, more eyes where there weren’t any before. The machine waking up, piece by piece, until it’s ready to run again.

Every year it’s the same rhythm. Slower at first until it sharpens into meetings, assignments, and final selections. Selene pulling the strings just enough to make sure everything lands exactly where she wants it.

Marcos walks beside me as we step into the lobby, his presence solid and controlled as it always is. He’s giving me the cold shoulder now, and he’s good at those.

The moment we cross the threshold, the shift is immediate. Heads turn just a fraction, but enough to go unnoticed.

A soft chime cuts through the air as the phone buzzes, and I already know who it is before I even reach for it.

I slide it from my pocket, thumb brushing over the screen.

“Don’t. Not here.” Marcos doesn’t even look at me when he says it, his voice low and controlled, but there’s an edge under it that most people wouldn’t catch.

I glance at him briefly, then back at my phone, a small smile pulling at the corner of my mouth.

“I should reply,” I huff in an almost bored murmur, “If I don’t, he gets… difficult.”

Marcos exhales sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge as he finally stops walking for a second before catching up again, his hand dropping back to his side.

“Your obsession with him is going to get you killed.”