Chapter 1

Dante

“I'm sorry, sir, just hear me out, please,” Dave, my therapist, begged, kneeling on the ground, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

I paused with the gun still in my hand, and for a moment, something like mercy flickered within me but quickly disappeared, replaced by nothing but anger. I could feel my blood boil as my gaze shifted to him, cold and indifferent. I hadn't said a word since, but my silence was enough to make a man tremble.

“You know, Dave,” I finally said as I crouched down to meet his face, “aren't you supposed to be a fucking professional?” My gun was now positioned at his chest, and I pressed it in. “Or should I just end your goddamn life now?”

His hands trembled as he held them out in defense, trying to shield his face. “No, no… please, listen. All I'm saying is you need a place of excitement somewhere to relax…” He paused and frantically looked around his shabby office, as if searching for something within the walls. “Could be an ice cream shop or—”

“Do you take me for a goddamn child?” I snapped, cutting him off as he looked back at me, my gun still in my hand.

He flinched, his eyes trembling with fear.

“No, no, just somewhere you can have some fun and relax—somewhere fun, you know.” His hands shook uncontrollably as he continued, “It’s just... you’ve been so tense, so—”

“Tense?" I chuckled and threw my head back. "You think I’m tense?” I raised a brow. “I’m not the one sitting here begging for my fucking life.”

He froze for a moment; his breath had gotten heavier, and he laid his head in a merciful bow. “Just a change of scenery, that's all I'm saying.”

°°

The loud music from the club boomed in my chest, thumping so violently that I could feel it reverberate through my bones. The club felt like a maze of neon, shadows, and bodies pressed together in a mess of need, desire, and desperation. The air reeked of thick sweat and cheap perfume mixed with the drowning smell of alcohol.

It was all so suffocating. My brows furrowed as I tried to contain my growing rage. I sat still on the plush red sofa at the edge of the room, completely detached.

All I could see were half-naked women dancing in every corner, their bodies writhing to the beat like hungry, desperate animals. Men with drooling expressions rushed at them with lustful eyes. My body didn't move to the rhythm or yearn with excitement; if anything, the entire scene made my skin crawl.

Dave had said it would help, but it only made me miss the cold taste of blood. It made me feel trapped. My fingers clenched the soft fabric of the chair.

A few minutes later, a woman in black lace thongs and a sheer corset approached me. Her eyes scanned me like some kind of fresh bait. She moved closer, her hips swaying to the rhythm of the beat in a pathetic attempt to seduce me. Her lips curled up, and under the not-so-bright light, I saw it tug to the side in a smirk.

She stopped in front of me and slid onto my lap without warning. Her body pressed against mine as she slowly guided her hands up my thighs. I clenched my fist, my muscles tensing at how dangerously close she was to where I didn't want her.

I sent her a threatening glare that made her flinch, and her hands immediately stopped midway. It didn't take long for her to retract her hands back in place

Her touch was too casual, too practiced, like she had done this with a thousand other men before. She was empty.

Although I could see the way her eyes yearned for me, I was certain she wouldn't last a second under me. She looked like a woman who would enjoy a good fuck, but I didn't have sex or engage in lovemaking; I fucked a certain way, and not many people could match up to my preference.

Her touch didn't ignite any burning desire in me at all; if anything, she appeared desperate. And I hated desperate women. Her eyes searched mine, and I knew she hoped for something—anything. Probably a flicker of desire, of heat. But I gave her nothing.

Finally, she pulled away, giving in to her failed attempt at seduction. Disappointment was clear across her features as she stood up and walked away, but not without swaying her hips.

Disgusting. I hated this place.

I stood up from the sofa, ready to take my leave—what an absolute waste of time. Just as I made my way to the exit in search of some kind of peace in my solitude, the club lights suddenly went off, throwing the room into absolute darkness.

A single spotlight centered on the room, revealing another stripper. At this point, everyone had their heads turned in the direction of that light as they paused whatever they were doing; all eyes were now centered on her.

She wore a silver feathered mask that revealed only the lower half of her face, her jade green eyes shimmering through the neon lights. My eyes stayed locked on her as she slowly approached the pole with an almost lazy grace. Her body twisted effortlessly around it, and she moved to the rhythm as her body grazed the pole. Her silver shimmering dress flickered across the room, as she swayed to the music in sync.

I immediately felt myself tightening underneath my pants. A jolt of excitement coming alive.

It was about fucking time there was some action around here, my subconscious muttered.

She continued her show, not caring about the eyes that lingered on her as she glided gracefully as if she was merely putting on a show for herself alon

No baited glances, no fake smiles. She wasn't trying to please anyone; she was just simply dancing.

My tongue suddenly wiped across my lower lip as she suddenly took another glide upside down her cheek slightly coming into view. A part of me enjoyed the view but another part made my blood boil. Every other person in the room would have also seen her butt cheeks on full display.

There was something dangerous about the way she moved that kept me glued in place waiting for her next move, that left me wanting more, like an unhealthy addiction that I wanted to stop but just couldn't get enough of.

Not like the others. She was different. The way she moved was raw, primal, and unsettling in the way it made my pulse quicken under my skin. .

She placed her finger above her soft plump pink lips and gave a quick lick before she ran it down her jaw. My body tensed as my heart rate increased.

She was fucking sexy, I had to admit.

A jolt of heat coursed through my veins and tightened in my lower abdomen as I imagined how she'd feel when those lips would feel locked in mine.

I clenched my palm into a tight fist as my eyes stayed locked on her. I could feel something dangerous stir inside me. I wanted to pull her close and tear that mask off her face.

I was damn sure she'd be gorgeous. But that imagination wasn't enough. I wanted to see who was behind that mask.

She spun round the pole again, and my gaze locked on her and for a brief moment, it feIt like the world froze in an instant and left her as the only one playing in the room. Everyone else turned into blurred figures.

Just her.

My palm tightened in an angry fists and my knuckles almost turned white at the realization that everyone else would see her gracious beautiful body and the thought of that only made me all the more angry.

Images of her buried under me played in my head. I bet her voice would be as angelic as her movement. I wanted her so badly.

I shook my head in a futile attempt to get the crazy thought out of my head but as soon as our eyes met for a brief second I could feel my whole wall of resolve loosen in that instant.

I wanted her, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

And it scared me.

I wanted to claim her, to see how she'd move when she was completely buried under me with nowhere to go.

I wanted her.

No. I fucking needed her.