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Chapter 78—Thursday Afternoon: The Last Warning.
Last Updated:
2025-02-09 02:12:13
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The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room. Outside, the evening sun bled into the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of crimson and gold.I was still in bed. Still staring at my phone.Still waiting. Dontrell never came home last night.I exhaled sharply, my fingers tightening around my phone as I reread the only thing he’d left me with. A text. One damn text. Dove, I know I should’ve been there. I’m sorry. Something came up.I’ll explain when we meet. Talk to you later. I love you.The words were cold comfort. A lousy excuse wrapped in affection.I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and sat up, pressing my palms against my face. I wanted to be angry. Maybe I was. But more than anything, I was restless. Unsettled. Because it wasn’t just Dontrell who had gone silent. Andrew too.He hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t sent a single update since yesterday’s chilling revelation. I swallowed hard, pushing back the gnawing anxiety creeping through my c
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“Allison. Allison.”Andrew’s voice echoed through the door. I had just finished my shower, damp tendrils of hair clinging to my skin. Droplets clung to my skin, racing down my collarbone. I hastily pulled on a silk robe, tying it around my body before stepping out.He stood just outside my door, his expression neutral but his sharp eyes giving away the tension beneath. His sharp eyes flicked over me before settling on my face.“Dontrell sent me,” he said, voice calm, unreadable. “The dressers are here. You should come to the fifth floor.”I arched a brow, lowering my voice. “Is that all you came to say?” “No, but that’s the excuse I gave to come here.” His lips pressed into a thin line before he leaned in slightly. “I’ve got good news and bad news.” My stomach tightened. “What’s the good news?” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. “We’ve found the location of the B.M.” The words hit me like a rush of cold air.B.M.—our code for the blackmailer. The name we used to keep an
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The moment the door clicked shut, the room erupted into motion.Five women descended on me like artisans working on their greatest masterpiece.Hands moved fast, practiced—pinning, brushing, tightening."Mrs. Blade, lift your chin." A firm hand angled my face, a cold swipe of contour gliding against my cheekbone."The dress is prepped—bring the gloves." Rhinestone mesh slid over my fingers, whisper-light but dazzling under the chandelier’s glow."Your hair, ma’am—sleek. Elegant. Fierce."A hand threaded through my blonde waves, twisting, pinning, securing—tight but precise. The style was flawless, the updo polished but lethal. A few deliberate loose strands framed my silver-blue eyes, softening the danger in them just enough."Shoes," I ordered. My sleek black box appeared before me. Jimmy Choo.The stoned heels glimmered as they were slipped onto my feet. My toes flexed, testing the razor-sharp stiletto points.Then—the dress.Black silk and lace molded to my body, every stitch de
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Silence thickened between us, heavy as his cologne. The limo slid through the night, its black leather seats curving around a mahogany bar stocked with whiskey. Crystal glasses sat steady despite the motion. Soft golden lights traced the ceiling, casting a sultry glow over the tinted windows and mirrored panels.I turned to him, searching his face. “Dontrell… What’s wrong?” His fingers flexed around his phone, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t look up. “Nothing.” A lie. A clean, effortless lie.I exhaled but didn’t push. Even if I asked again, his answer wouldn’t change.The limo rolled on for what felt like forever. Dontrell barely looked up from his phone, his attention locked on the screen. Every so often, he’d rub my lap, a brief reminder of his presence. “Stay close to my men tonight,” he murmured between texts.Eternity later, the driver’s voice cut through the silence. “We’ve arrived, sir.”Outside, a bodyguard in a black suit slid the door open. Dontrell’s dark gaze met mine—un
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Dontrell’s grip was firm against my back as he steered me forward. Every stare in the room burned into me, a silent accusation. My heart pounded, but I kept my face unreadable. The hall stretched wide, its harsh lights and towering ceilings pressing down on me.At the banquet table, a waiter yanked out a chair, and I sank into it.Clayton occupied the first seat. I was next. Dontrell took the third. Across from us, twelve men sat in utter silence, all dressed in black, red masks covering them from the nose down, with an X carved into each of their foreheads. A cold chill slid down my spine. None of them greeted me. They only spoke in unison."Welcome, Dontrell." And then, nothing. Their eyes followed my every move, but not a single one acknowledged me.The air hung thick. I could almost hear my own breathing when a man stepped onto the platform at the front of the hall. The Raven. His voice cut through the rowdiness like a blade."Silence." He barked, and not a murmur remained."To th
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The pulley groaned under the weight as Clayton hauled me up, his grip firm on the lever. My body dangled, lifeless, paralyzed. When I reached the window ledge, he didn’t let go. Instead, he bent down, snatched a rope from the floor, and tied it tightly to the lever’s handle. A safety measure. If he let go too soon, I’d plummet right back down.Securing the knot on the lever, he pulled the rope taut in his fist and tied it to a pillar to stop the lever from dropping me all over again. Then he stepped toward the center of the window. His other arm wrapped around me, lifting me off the pulley, his grip unyielding. The moment my body hit the floor, my lungs fought for air.Clayton crouched beside me, his hands working fast. He removed the mat beneath me, untying the restraints around my waist and legs. His breath was sharp, controlled—but there was tension in his movements.His head tilted, his eyes narrowing as he studied my motionless form.“Still breathing?” His voice was low and sharp
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Beeping machines yanked me from the abyss. My eyelids felt heavy, but I pried them open. White ceiling. The sharp scent of antiseptic. Pain coiled around my limbs—hospital.I turned my neck, disoriented. A nurse sat by the window, eyes glued to her phone, brows furrowed in focus. She hadn’t noticed me awake.I flexed my fingers. They moved. No more stiffness. Swallowing hurt—my throat was dry, raw. How long had I been out?Just as I parted my lips to speak, her sharp intake of breath stopped me.“Oh my God…” She tightened her grip on the phone, eyes locked on the screen. She didn’t notice me awake.The robotic voice of a news anchor filled the room as she turned up the volume."Breaking news: The charred remains of a man identified as Elias Gregory were discovered today in an abandoned warehouse. Authorities confirmed the victim was burnt beyond recognition, but forensic analysis traced the DNA back to Gregory. He was a known associate of the prominent Blade family.The warehouse, loc
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The elevator dinged open, jolting me from my frantic thoughts. I was on the last floor, back at the party. The moment I stepped out, every eye turned toward me, like they’d just seen a ghost. It wasn’t my appearance—my hair was a little messy, my makeup cracked, but nothing major. It was my panicked eyes, frantic breathing, and beaded sweat. Told a different story, like I drowned in a water where I went. They stared like I'd lost my mind. But I couldn't care less.I marched straight to the table where we had been sitting earlier; Dontrell wasn’t there anymore. I grabbed a glass from a passing waiter, not caring how delicate it was. I ignored all etiquette, all class. The moment it touched my lips, I gulped it down in one go, the alcohol’s burn grounding me briefly.The guests laughed and chatted, clueless about what had just gone down upstairs. I glanced around, searching for Celine and Doris, but neither of them was in sight. Maybe Clayton’s plan had worked, and they had gone to meet
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The car stopped, cameras flashing from all angles, their lenses like hungry eyes trying to pierce the tinted glass.I adjusted the slit of my dress, trembling more from rage than from concern for my appearance. My jaw tightened, teeth gritted. I hadn’t forgiven him. Not even close.Back in the penthouse, I had nearly ripped that burgundy suit off his body and set it on fire. But Dontrell didn’t flinch, didn’t even raise his voice as my fury crashed over him. He stood like a goddamn wall of storms and blood, letting me throw my tantrum.“You done?” he asked, his voice as cool as ice on fire.I blinked, stunned by his nonchalance. “Excuse me?”“You want to kill someone tonight?” he asked, calm as ever, when I threatened to end Celine. “Fine. Let me hand you the match, but why kill only her when you could burn them all out there?”I cursed, flung my purse at him, and told him I wasn’t a pawn to parade. He didn’t argue. He stepped closer, his breath fire on my skin, voice low.“I’m not
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I opened the door and stepped into the room, every nerve in my body fried. I kicked off my heels and dropped my bag. Their thud against the marble barely registered. My chest tightened, my skin prickling. Shame coiled around me, dragging the weight of my guilt.‘What have I done?’I’d let that bastard touch me.My stomach twisted as I crashed onto the bed, face up, trying to process how I went from hating him to begging him to ruin me. I used to hate everything he stood for. He was filth, a reminder of every bad decision I vowed never to repeat. And still… I spread myself on that table for him. I let him into my body like he hadn’t violated my soul.I rubbed my arms like I could erase the feel of him. The way I let it happen.I groaned, disgusted with myself, but my body didn’t care—the heat still burnt between my thighs. I tossed on the bed, arm over my eyes, trying to drown the memory.CLICK. A door creaked open, snapping me back.My heart slammed as I sprang up, adrenaline slicing
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I was pinned. His cock was inside me. Deep. Stretching. Filling. “Fuck,” I gasped, nails scraping the wall.Clayton’s hands gripped my thighs like he owned them, spreading me wider, fucking me harder. His cock slammed into me, brutal and thick, every thrust shaking my bones.“Don’t look at me like that. You know you don’t matter to me.” He growled into my ear, voice jagged with heat. “The moment I cum, I'll forget this ever happened. I’m not the type of man who stays around for aftercare sex. So don’t wait for one either.” He thrust again.I choked on a moan. “Fuck you.” He laughed.His mouth latched onto my neck, sucking hard as he drove deeper, faster. His body was fire against mine, sweat-slick between us, his abs tightening with every thrust.I was already trembling. He hadn’t even slowed.He reached down, grabbed my ass with one hand, and used it to bounce me harder onto him. My legs dangled. I couldn’t speak—only moan.“Clayton—fuck, keep going—”He heard.He shoved deeper. Th
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The room was cold—or maybe it was just him. Arms folded, gaze sharp like a blade.My heart hammered, but I refused to back down.“How are you this calm? Someone just died.” His eyes locked on mine. Cold. Because he already knew.Of course, he did. Clayton didn’t just play the game—he built it, set the rules, and broke them when it suited him.I stared at him. He didn’t deny it, just watched me. But his silence said everything.“My contact told me a few hours ago. The official report says he touched a naked wire. But that’s not what happened. And we both know better. It was a hit. A clean one.”He went on, calm like he was reading a weather report.“Dontrell did it. He didn’t like that I left that cell untouched. And he’s trying to be extra careful since I’m out now. So, he tied the loose end.”My mouth went dry. “He had him killed?”Clayton nodded once. “Suffocated. With a pillow laced with carfentanil—the kind that stops your heart before you scream. Then they finished him with a w
