Chapter 3 It's time

ROMAN'S POV

The place is a pit. Reeks of sweat, desperation, cheap perfume, and something darker....greed. The kind that festers in the bones. I can feel it clinging to my skin, crawling over me like ants under the surface. This is what humans reduce themselves to. A roomful of men, eager to hand over paper for the illusion of intimacy.

Fucking pathetic!

Damien settles beside me with a smug grin, stretching an arm across the booth like he owns the place. “ She must really be something,” he murmurs. “ Crowd like this on a Tuesday night.”

I don’t answer. My jaw tightens.

Then the lights cut, blood red, and the music starts. Something slow and sultry. Designed to drop inhibitions and open wallets.

There's a roar from the crowd, then she steps onto the stage.

My body goes still.

She moves through the fog and light like she’s carved from temptation itself. Legs that go on forever, hair cascading in red waves, that red scrap of nothing clinging to her like it was sewn on in hell. Her hips roll to the beat, fluid and intentional. Her hand curls around the pole, and she twists, back arched, thighs flexing. Every move screams 'look at me'. And they do. Every man in this godforsaken building is drinking her in like she's the cure for whatever useless life they’re trying to forget.

I don’t look away.

Not because I don't want to. Because I can’t.

Damien smirks at me. “Striking, isn't she?”

Striking isn’t the word. She’s lethal.

And not because of her body....though, objectively, it’s flawless. No, it’s the way she wields it. Like a weapon. She knows what she’s doing. She’s not just performing. She’s hunting, drawing them in like prey. That kind of calculated seduction is manipulative. It’s dangerous.

And it pisses me off.

I lean back, fingers steepled in front of my mouth as I study her.

Typical human female. Pretty face, venom in her smile, poison in her touch. The kind who knows exactly how to twist a man up inside and leave him begging for more. And this one? She’s good at it. Too good.

My lips curl into a faint sneer.

Disgusting.

The bass rumbles like a warning beneath the floor, rattling through the soles of my shoes as the red lights bathe the stage in sin. Her body glows under it...shimmering skin, curves that were practically engineered for lust, and a face that knows exactly how to wield it. She’s playing them like she’s played a thousand before.

I lean back in the cracked vinyl booth, arms crossed, jaw locked. Damien’s still running his mouth about something, God knows what, but I’m not listening. I’m watching her.

A guy walks up to the edge of the stage now. Tall, dripping cologne, suit jacket undone like he wants to pretend he’s not a regular. He holds up a thick stack of bills, flashy and slow, like he’s doing something noble.

Her eyes snap to him instantly. Of course.

Like a hound to bloody raw meat.

She drops to all fours, slowly crawling across the stage. Her hips sway, her chest pushed forward, tongue swiping over her bottom lip like she’s starving and he’s the buffet. And the way she smiles at him... The manipulative little devil. It’s a trained smile, hungry and sweet and just fake enough that it makes my blood run hot.

Something uncoils inside me.

I shift in my seat.

“What?” Damien’s head turns toward me, brows raised. “You good?”

I don’t take my eyes off her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The man throws the bills in the air and they flutter around her like confetti. She moves beneath them, still on her knees, hips rolling, hair falling like fire over her shoulder as she puts on her show.

The crowd fucking erupts, wolves to blood.

She rises, arms running down her sides like she’s touching herself for the first time. Still right there at the edge, close enough I could reach her if I took a few steps.

Damien leans closer, voice low. “So? When do we strike?”

I don’t even glance at him. “You’re here to watch, nothing more.”

He scoffs. “Careful now, Roman. You seem to forget more and more these days that I’m not one of your foot soldiers. I rule the second largest vampire region, same blood runs through me as you.”

I finally turn, slowly locking eyes with him. “Exactly. Second, Damien. Try not to confuse proximity with power.”

His jaw tightens. Good. Let him stew in it.

I return my attention to the stage, where the little temptress is still flaunting herself like she was bred for it.

“We wait for her to finish her little show,” I say, voice cool. “Then I’ll deal with her backstage. Quick and clean.”

I flick a hand toward the curtain. “You can stay out here and enjoy the rest of the bloody circus if you’re so desperate for entertainment.”

My gaze trails over her body, tracing every inch of skin she’s showcasing. If I weren’t here for business, if she weren’t who she was, I’d have bent her over that stage and given her something to really perform to.

Humans. At the very least, they’re good for that.

Then she stops, turns...and looks right at me. Our eyes lock. The noise fades. My muscles tense. She shouldn't be able to see me, not with how deep in the shadows I’m sitting, but something in her narrows, like she knows. Her lips part slightly, chest rising with her next breath.

And fuck if I don’t feel something press against my ribs,m. I swallow, jaw ticking. I look away first.

I need this job done. I need to get the hell out of this godforsaken hole before that look in her eyes starts meaning something. Because she’s nothing. Just a stripper with a pretty face and the wrong blood in her body.

And she’s going to die for it.

She finally wraps it up, slinking off stage to weak applause and half-drunk howls. I watch her crouch to gather the money, bending in a way that’s so calculated it barely feels accidental. Her ass is fully on display, shameless, like she knows exactly what it does to the men watching, and clearly doesn’t care so long as it keeps the bills coming.

For a split second, a thought slinks in....should I have a little fun with her first?

I crush it just as fast.

No. Absolutely not.

She’s not a person anymore. She stopped being one the moment I marked her. Whatever she used to be, it doesn’t matter now. She disappears backstage, arms loaded with cash, hips swaying like some kind of victory lap. The cheap scent of desperation clings to the men begging her to come back out.

I feel Damien’s stare burning into the side of my face and turn to meet it, then I stand

“It’s time,” I say, my voice final.

And I walk.