Chapter 71: Game Over

CASSIAN

I stared at the text. My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I started to type: Really? I deleted it.

I started again: Where are you?

Deleted.

I locked the phone and shoved it into my pocket. He was drunk. He was making terrible decisions. He was a child playing with a blowtorch, hoping I’d smell the smoke and come running. He wanted my attention? Well, he’d just earned a lifetime’s worth of it in a single second.

“I need to leave,” I said, standing up so abruptly my chair scraped harshly against the floor.

Cyan whined, draping himself over the back of the sofa. “Really? Now? We were just getting to the fun part of the evening, Cassie!”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. I had that look on my face—the one that had made guards in the facility back away without being told. Cyan saw it and wisely shut his mouth.

My gaze fell on the box of toys sitting on the coffee table. The leather, the silk, the cold steel. A slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I looked at Cyan, my eyes darkening.

“Actually,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, predatory register. “I think I might want to borrow a few of these.”

Cyan’s face lit up with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated delight. “Oh. Oh. I should probably put Noah in my prayers tonight.” He grinned wickedly, sliding the box toward me. “Take the whole thing, darling. Consider it a gift for the honeymoon.”

I picked up the box without a word and walked out.

…

In the car, the box sat in the passenger seat like a silent accomplice. I slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out my phone. I didn’t have a tracker on Noah, an oversight I intended to rectify within the hour.

I dialed a number I would have rather burned than touch. But this was worse.

“Cassian,” Alex answered on the third ring. His voice was light, airy, and dripping with the kind of smugness that made me want to drive the car through a wall. “What a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Where are you?” I asked, my voice a flat, controlled line of ice.

“Out. Having a good time,” Alex replied. I could hear the muffled thumping of bass in the background. “I’m guessing Noah sent you that photo? He’s such a naughty boy when he’s had a few.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightened until the leather groaned. “Where. Are. You.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Alex continued, his tone shifting—still pleasant, but with a cruel edge. “The poor cutie is convinced you don’t care about him. He kept saying you were too busy with your friend to notice him. He felt quite… neglected.”

“Alex,” I said, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Tell me where you are. Now.”

Alex laughed softly. “Why would I do that? So you can come ruin his night? He’s finally having fun, Cassian. Finally relaxing. Finally realizing he doesn’t need you to feel good. Maybe you should just… let him go. You had your chance. You chose to ignore him. Don’t be surprised when someone else picks up what you threw away.”

He hung up.

I stared at the dead screen, the fury simmering beneath my skin like molten lead. I didn’t need him to tell me. I called my security lead, Lake. “Track the GPS on the company tablet Noah was carrying. Give me a location. Five minutes.”

Four minutes later, I was pulling away from the curb.

The club was a members-only hole in the wall called The Vault. It was the kind of place where people went to be seen by the right people and ignored by the wrong ones. I walked through the front door with a terrifying calm that parted the crowd like the Red Sea.

I didn’t see him immediately. I scanned the room, my eyes sharp and predatory. I approached a floor manager near the VIP section, showing him Noah’s profile picture on my phone.

“Have you seen him?”

The guy looked at the photo, then at me. He tried to be dodgy. “I don’t know, man, a lot of people come through—”

I leaned in, my shadow falling over him, my eyes locking onto his with a weight that made his breath hitch. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to.

The guy caved instantly. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I saw him. He’s in one of the private rooms in the back. With Alex Hendrix.”

With Alex.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn’t loud. It was the silent, final click of a trigger being pulled.

I moved through the crowd with a singular purpose. Two large men stood guard outside the hallway leading to the private suites. They were built like refrigerators and wore the bored expressions of men who thought they were the biggest threats in the room.

I didn’t slow down.

“Hey, you can’t—” one began, stepping forward.

“Get out of my way,” I said.

“This is a private room. You need to—”

I didn’t wait for him to finish. The first punch was a blur… fast, brutal, and precise. It caught him square in the jaw, sending him stumbling back. The second guard lunged for me, a mistake that cost him his balance. I caught his arm, twisted, and drove my knee into his gut before slamming his head against the doorframe.

They were both on the floor, groaning, before the music had even shifted beats.

I opened the door.

The room was dim, lit only by a low amber glow. Noah was slumped on a velvet lounge chair. Alex was beside him… entirely too close. His arm was draped over Noah’s shoulders, his fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of Noah’s neck in a way that was sickeningly possessive. Noah looked terrible. His eyes were glassy, his tie was undone, and his movements were sluggish.

Noah’s eyes widened as they landed on me. “Oh… shit,” he muttered, the words slurred.

I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t yelling. I was merely… irritated. Which was far more dangerous.

I didn’t look at Alex. I looked at Noah. “Where are your things?”

“I—what?” Noah blinked, trying to focus.

“Your phone. Your wallet. Where are they?”

Alex remained sitting, a calm, mocking smile on his face. “Cassian. We were just having a conversation about—”

I finally looked at him. The look I gave him was a silent promise of a shallow grave. Alex’s smile faltered, and for once in his life, he shut his mouth.

“Get up,” I told Noah.

“I’m not—you can’t just—” Noah tried to resist, his voice slurred and defiant. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled.

I didn’t wait. I reached down and grabbed his arm, pulling him upright. I wasn’t rough, but I was unyielding. I swept the table, snatching his phone and his discarded blazer.

“I don’t want to—I’m fine here—” Noah protested, trying to pull away from my grip.

I ignored him, half-guiding, half-dragging him toward the door. As we passed Alex, the man had the audacity to lean back and say, “I’ll see you soon, Noah.”

I didn’t even acknowledge him. He was already a dead man; he just didn’t know it yet.

The drive back to the hotel was silent. Noah was slumped in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the blurred lights of the city. He was mumbling protests that grew quieter with every mile, eventually fading into a heavy, drunken stupor. My hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, my jaw set so tight it felt like granite.

When we arrived at the hotel, I rounded the car and pulled him out. He stumbled, his weight falling against me. I caught him, throwing his arm over my shoulder to keep him upright.

One of my security detail met us at the elevator, holding the box from Cyan’s office. “Take that up,” I commanded.

The elevator ride was a claustrophobic eternity. Noah’s eyes kept drifting shut, his head lolling against my chest. I held him there, my grip firm, the scent of Alex’s cologne clinging to his clothes and making my blood boil.

I kicked the suite door open. The guard set the box on the marble table and disappeared, closing and locking the door behind him.

I let Noah go. He stumbled toward the sofa, caught himself, and then saw the box sitting on the table.

“What’s… that?” he asked, his voice thick and confused.

I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. His hair was a mess, his shirt was wrinkled, and there was a faint, red irritation on his neck… a reaction to whatever Alex had put in his drink, or perhaps a mark from where Alex had touched him.

I stepped closer, the space between us vanishing. The air in the suite was static.

“You wanted my attention, Noah?” I asked, my voice quiet, controlled, and vibrating with a dark promise.

Noah tried to respond, his lips moving, but only a soft, broken sound came out.

I leaned down, my face inches from his. “You have it now.”

I looked at the box, then back at his frightened, glassy eyes. He’d wanted to play a game with me. Now, he was going to learn exactly what happens when I decided the game is over.

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