Chapter 50

**Torin POV**

I knock the on the door four more times. Nothing.

I go to the touchpad integrated into the wall that's connected to the automated system of the penthouse's mainframe. I input my master key to force my entry. The door opens and I pause to lean against the frame, crossing my arms.

She stands in front of the tall mirror, examining her outfit like she's unsure of herself.

I exploit the moment to marvel at her. Spools of her curls have been straightened into dark tresses that tumble down her bare back. Enveloped in elegance in a deep orange dress like glistening embers, the silky ends like flames that licks at her ankles, flattering her honeyed brown skin. A vision of a burnt sunrise.

"Beautiful," I murmur.

She teases the slim strap and swivels around. Her face pampered with light makeup only accentuating her beauty. But terribly marred by the deadened scowl, she wears like a mask.

"Where's your necklace?"

Her response is a quizzical look.

I shrug. "I've just never seen you without it." I lift myself up, straightening my dark-silver suit jacket. "Come downstairs with me. I have something for you."

She walks over and shoulders past me, my eyes locked on that well-rounded ass. Caging my inner dog, I look away before I succumb to impulse. Her black heels thud on the glazed floor as she makes her way down the passage, along the catwalk and down the crystal-like steps, each shift of her hips tugs at something inside me, violently and it's like she's the one tempting me for a touch. Unlike my brother, I master my all-consuming urges and I keep my hands to myself.

On the ground floor I lead her to the lounge, and I fetch the thigh holster from the end of the long couch. I move to seal the rift between us, bolting my gaze to hers. I sink to the floor slowly, never breaking eye contact until I drop to one knee. The slit of the dress runs up to her hip. And I take a gentle hold of her ankle, my hand gradually gliding up, electrified by the skin-to-skin. My mind slumps in a slush, intoxicated by desire. She draws in an unsteady breath. Sobering, I stop, and I secure the lacey black holster to her thigh, slipping in a stiletto dagger.

"You'll never need it. But I'd feel better knowing that you have it."

I rise to loom over her, my eyes lingering on her petal-pink lips, puffy and demanding. Then I retrieve the steel bracelet and I clasp it around her wrist. "Platinum access."

She inspects it inquisitively.

"Are you ready?"

I catch the ghoulish glint in her eyes. She nods.

***

This time. I open her door.

She emerges, rising like a midnight sun. I extend my hand, and to my surprise. She accepts, and I take the opportunity to entwine our fingers. We make our way to the elaborate entrance, apathetic to the queued-up throngs.

I brandish my bracelet. The bouncer scans it, and then Hadassah's before he jerks his head. We enter, arriving at the party-scape. Wall-shaking bass thumps through the club. The dancefloor below is awash with the inebriated masses. Multi-coloured lights streak through, flashing like rainbow lightening, pulsing with the booming beat of the music.

Hadassah nudges me. "That him?"

I follow her line of sight to the exclusive gallery, festooned with ultra-luxurious furnishings. The table is topped with ice buckets. His whores are draped all over him, heavy security fortifies his surroundings. Men around the area, dispersed along the staircase and at the base.

"It's not an issue." I think hard. "I can make an approach. My name already wins an audience. The real challenge is making him listen."

An unrecognizable look shrouds her face. Then she breaks into a smile, illuminating the darkness.

"Don't send a man to do a woman's job," she says with amorous ambiguity.

A frown tightens my forehead.

"I can get him alone." Resolve settles on her with cold calculation. She points up, across the dancefloor to the private rooms upstairs, accessed by the connected walkway of the gallery and a staircase on the ground floor. "Follow me when I do."

Stunned by the sudden unfettered confidence. "I'm taking orders from you now?"

She walks backwards a few steps, saying, "Be a good boy. And stay."

A smirk threads through my lips. "Yes, ma'am."

She rotates and struts down to the dancefloor, weaving through the flailing bodies, right to the centre. And she starts dancing. Hypnotized, I move to the brink of the staircase. Each move graced with passion, sumptuously sultry as she flows, swaying her hips sensuously as she lowers to her haunches, her hands roaming over her curvaceous, hourglass body with agonizing slowness as she rises again, her arms floating up above her head with a dreamlike panache. A burning flame amidst the ashes, ascendant like a glorious goddess among the peasantry of man, evolving into a transcendent mode of existence.

Her otherworldly presence, enrapturing and enthralling, lures ravenous looks.

I look up at Tommaso ogling her with a thousand-yard stare. It seems her ploy is working.

He practically chucks off the girls that were tangled around him and stands up. He goes to the railing, hands locking around them, his fingers brightening, dressed in an unbuttoned shirt with black trousers. Silver shimmering across his knuckles.

Hadassah looks up. And once she sees that his attention is transfixed on her.

She leaves. I follow. She sashays to the bar and orders a drink.

I move to claim a seat several spots away. I settle on the barstool, at an angle so I'm facing her, manspreading to have one shoe on the foot stand and the other on the ground. I order an ono champagne cocktail. I observe from a distance. She stands slanted with one leg bent, her arms folded on the verge of the slab of furnished wood. My eyes target a random guy making his way to her. Instincts urge me to move.

I glance at the gallery. Tommaso isn't there anymore.

My eyes focus back on her. The guy doesn't just slap, but fills his hand with her ass. I launch to my feet. But she's faster. She seizes his wrist to flatten his hand on the surface. With a swift flourish, unsheathes the dagger and punctures the blade through his hand, nailing it to the counter. The man releases a screech that unmans him, drowned out by the thunderous music. The bartender calls for security, but Tommaso instructs them to tend to the crucified man instead. Then he motions to the bloody mess for a clean-up. Hadassah casually takes the dagger back when they get it out and starts wiping it clean with a napkin.

I sit back down.

The people around them eventually resume what they were doing. Everyone else is too wasted to care.

A woman sits down in front of me, obstructing my view.

My eyes rove down her sculpted figure, encompassed in a skin-tight black dress. She twists her shoulders to give me a better view of her busty breasts slipping out teasingly from the plunging neckline.

"Torin Moon," she says flirtatiously, her British accent resounding with excellence.

Her face is caked with glimmering makeup. Undecided if she'd still be attractive without it.

"Forgive me... do I know you?"

She bobs her shoulder. "Everyone knows you. At least, those who truly matter."

The bartender serves me my cocktail.

"What are you having?"

She bats her velvety eyelashes, giving me a suggestive smile. "Whatever you're buying."

I beckon the bartender, signalling for him to get another of the same. He snaps a nod.

"So, what's an illustrious man like yourself, doing alone in a club in Berlin?"

I take a few sips. "What's a woman like you doing alone, period? Don't you have sugar daddy to go finesse?"

She laughs politely. "That an offer?"

I scoff. "It's an observation."

"I'm just looking for good company." Her eyes take me in an alluring sweep. "Looks like I found it." She sneaks a thoughtful glance behind her. "When you're done here, could I trouble you for a ride back to my hotel? I don't think it's safe for me to keep traveling on my own."

"Just a ride?"

"Maybe I'll let you come inside."

"And what would we do?" I muse.

A naughty smile plays on her lips, she moves off the stool and glides over to me, coming between my legs, pressing her breasts against my chest and lacing her arms around my neck, whispering seductively into my ear and going into explicit bone-aching detail on everything she'd do to me.

My gaze strays away dazedly. Then it finds her. Hadassah dancing erotically with Tommaso, their hands entwined as she grinds against his front. Then he undoes their fingers so his hands can trace down her sides, his face disappearing into the crook of her neck from behind. Hadassah looks up to the ceiling, grinning with her eyes closed.

I crush the spike of fury. Calmed by the fact that after this, she comes home with me.

Tommaso says something to her because the next thing, they interlock fingers and he leads her out of the crowd, making their way to the private rooms. My eyes pursue until I see which room they vanish into.

"So, what do you say we cut this night short?"

I even forgot about her.

My hands find her hips. "As temping as that sounds..." they snake up to her cinched-in waist. "I want to do to all those things. All night long. Just not with you."

I move her aside carelessly, but gingerly. Regardless, she gasps and stumbles clumsily like I pushed her.

I pay for our cocktails, leaving her aghast as I make my way to the back. I adjust my cufflinks as I approach the staircase with a hulkish bouncer already posted at the bottom, who wasn't there before.

I flaunt the bracelet. "I'm meeting a friend."

He steps aside.

I go up, accelerating my pace—checking on the oblivious ogre-like bouncer before I make my entrance, pushing the drapes away.

Tommaso is seated on a regal armchair right in front of the stripper pole. Hadassah notices me first and stands to full height, slinking around to move behind him, her hands skimming over his torso, fingers clutching onto his shoulders.

I expose myself. "Mind if I join?"