I kept waiting for “ALPHA”, you know, the guy they called Alpha, to show up again. Night after night, I slid into sequins, strapped on stilettos, and danced under the dim lights and fake smoke. But no luck, he never showed up.
And damn it, that pissed me off way more than I was willing to admit.
He crashed into my life like a freakin’ hurricane, sniffed me like some damn animal, called me ‘mate’, and then poof – disappeared.
No name. No trace. No warning. Just… gone. So I did what I do best. I dug.
Maybe it’s the journalist in me. Maybe curiosity isn’t just second nature, it’s basically my damn DNA. Fake IDs? Yeah, those can only get you so far. But when you’ve got backdoors, contacts, tools, and a VPN trail deeper than my last breakup’s emotional baggage? That’s when the magic happens.
I didn’t sleep for three nights straight, digging through security footage, city registries, club VIP logs, anything, everything that might match his face. And finally, there it was. I found his name.
Pierce Leneghan.
I froze when the file loaded. A grainy mugshot. Old, faded. No charges. Just a long list of whispers: arms trafficking, black market intel, mafia connections with Western District ties.
Untouchable. Untraceable. And feared.
What the hell did I just drag myself into? But still, something shifted in my gut. Maybe Renshaw wasn’t my biggest story here. Maybe this Pierce was the real key to bringing the whole thing down.
I started a second file, separate from my main one. Password encrypted, of course. Every sighting, every associate, every location. Anything and everything that could lead me closer to the heart of whatever the hell Pierce Leneghan was involved in.
But he was like smoke, always slipping through my fingers. Never the one speaking in the room, just the guy everyone looked to when things got real.
Then, four nights later, I walked into The Burning Sun and Jasmine caught my eye across the room. “Room Three. They want you as usual.”
“Renshaw again?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
She hesitated, her face going a little pale. “And someone else.” My heart jumped into my throat.
I adjusted my mask in the mirror, smoothing down my skirt like I wasn’t about to get hit by a freight train of trouble. “Let’s do this.”
The room was darker than usual. Renshaw lounged in the center, glass in hand, laughing about something I didn’t even catch. And in the farthest corner… there he was.
Pierce. Same suit. Same cold, unreadable stare.
The moment I stepped onstage, our eyes locked. He didn’t move. Just… watched as I danced. Slow. Controlled. Calm. Not for him this time.
This wasn’t about him, it was about the job. The mic in my garter. I had to catch something, anything that would bring me closer to Renshaw and his mess of a business.
But before I even hit the final turn, Pierce stood… and walked out. Just like that, so suddenly. He was… gone.
My mind screamed at me to finish the routine. Wrap it up. But my instincts were already two steps ahead. I wrapped the set, slipped backstage, and ducked out toward the hallway exit.
If he was still here, I had maybe thirty seconds to tail him. I moved fast. Quiet. Skimming past the bar, ducking under the blind spot of the cameras. I was almost to the back of the corridor when…
“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice slurred. I turned. Renshaw and two of his buddies. All glassy-eyed, grinning like they’d just figured out the world was their personal amusement park.
“We were just talkin’,” one of them said, reaching out to grab my waist. “Thought maybe you’d give us a private encore.”
“Sorry, guys, not tonight,” I said, stepping back with a fake smile plastered on my face.
Renshaw chuckled, swirling his drink. “Come on, mystery girl, don’t be shy. I pay good money for good company.” One of his buddies grabbed my arm. Hard.
“Just a little fun. No one’s watching. Bet that tight pussy of yours is already dripping and begging for a nice cock.”
I gritted my teeth. “Let. Me. Go.” My other hand slid to the blade hidden in my thigh holster and that’s when everything went wrong.
A blur of motion. No warning, no sound. One of Renshaw’s guys slammed against the wall like he’d been hit by a freight train. The plaster cracked on impact.
Pierce.
Before I could blink, the second guy lunged at him, stupid move. Pierce ducked, grabbed the guy by his jacket, and tossed him across the hallway like a rag doll. The crash echoed.
“Jesus Christ!” Renshaw’s voice cracked. Panic replaced the smugness that usually danced on his face.
But Pierce didn’t stop. He walked straight up to Renshaw, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him off the ground.
“Hey!” I stepped forward as fast as my heels would allow. “Stop!”
I didn’t even register the screams until after. Glass shattered behind me, one of the bodyguards slammed against a table. The girls were scrambling, stilettos skidding across the floor. In the center of it all, Pierce had Renshaw pinned against the wall by his throat, feet dangling, eyes bulging.
“Sir, please!” I shouted at him again. “You’re going to kill him!”
I’d seen rage before. I’d seen men lose control. But this? This was carnage in a suit. Something barely tethered to civilization, and it had chosen now to snap.
“I told you,” he growled, voice low, guttural, rattling through the floor. “She’s mine.”
Renshaw clawed at his wrist, gasping, kicking, turning a lovely shade of panic-purple.
“Mr. Leneghan, please– Just stop!” He didn’t even flinch. Like he couldn’t hear me. Like he was gone.
I did the only thing I could think of. I ran up to him and grabbed his shoulder with both hands, trying to pull him off. It was like yanking on a wall.
“Sir, let him go!” I shouted, nails digging into his coat. “This isn’t how– Damn it– This isn’t helping!” Nothing. No response. He was completely locked in so I shoved harder this time. “Look at me, goddammit!”
His eyes snapped to mine. Wild, dilated and electric.
“Kiss me… now,” he said. His voice was rough and breath was sharp, “or I swear I’ll rip him apart.”
I froze. “That’s not–”
“Now.” No humor, no drama. Just lethal command.
I should’ve told him to go fuck himself, should’ve walked away from the chaos he was spewing. But I didn’t. I stepped closer, so close I could feel the raw, untamed energy radiating off him, his body vibrating with a fury that made my skin prickle.
And then—I kissed him. My lips smashed against his like I was trying to brand him, and he met me with the same ferocity, his mouth crashing into mine like a goddamn storm.
He let go of Renshaw like the man was nothing but trash, his focus zeroing in on me with an intensity that made my knees weak. Before I could even process what was happening, I was now the one slammed against the wall.
Pierce’s body boxed me in, every muscle taut and trembling. He was everywhere—his chest crushing against my almost naked tits, his thigh wedged between my legs and I could feel how his already hard cock grinding against my hip.
Fucking shit.
With one hand he was gripping my ass like he owned me, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled me even closer. The other one was braced against the wall, caging me in, and his mouth—fuck, his mouth—was relentless. His tongue plunged into mine, hot and demanding, tasting me like he was starving for it.
I couldn’t tell where the heat in my chest ended and his began.
Our mouths collided like a detonation. It wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was desperation, fire, madness. I didn’t even know which hand grabbed his face, but his mouth was still on mine, like he couldn’t get enough of me.
Finally, he pulled back, just enough to breathe. His eyes burned into me—hot, unreadable—but no longer wild. Controlled. Dangerous.
Behind him, Renshaw was crumpled on the floor, choking, forgotten.
Pierce looked at me one last time. That same flicker of something—dark, amused, maybe even satisfied.
I blinked, dazed. My lips were still tingling when, without a single word, Pierce stepped back and then he was gone, disappeared like smoke, leaving chaos in his wake.
