The lounge was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of neon signs from outside that flickered through the large windows, casting long shadows across the sleek leather furniture. The low hum of music throbbed in the background, adding to the uneasy air that had settled in the room like a thick fog. Damon's lounge—usually a place for casual conversation and easy camaraderie—now felt suffocating, each corner brimming with an unspoken tension that seemed to pulse in the air.
Gilbert's fingers drummed impatiently on his thigh as he glanced at Xavier, who stood stiffly near the door, his jaw clenched tight. His presence was like a storm on the horizon, dark and unyielding. Xavier's eyes were locked on Alexander, whose tall figure leaned against the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Despite the tension that crackled in the air, Alexander's posture was casual, his arms crossed, his face the picture of calm indifference. But there was something dangerous about that calm—like a predator watching its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Gilbert, sensing the impending explosion, took a slow breath and shot Alexander a glance, barely suppressing his own frustration. He was well aware of the simmering animosity between the two men. He'd hoped to avoid this confrontation, but it was inevitable. Xavier's gaze was a razor-sharp edge, narrowing as he took in Alexander's presence.
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Xavier's voice cut through the air, rough and seething with barely contained rage. His words hung in the room, heavy with hostility. His fists clenched at his sides, and his body was coiled, ready to pounce.
Gilbert rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where this was headed. He leaned back against the bar, one hand massaging his temples as he tried to think of a way to defuse the situation. "Bro, take a sip. Alex offered to help."
"Of course, I did." Alexander's voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it—like the glint of a blade in the dark. He straightened, meeting Xavier's glare head-on. His stance was relaxed, but there was a coldness in his eyes, a quiet defiance. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Xavier didn't hesitate for a second. His chest puffed up as his anger flared, and his voice cracked like thunder. "Of course, I fucking do!" He took a step forward, his eyes burning with venom. "I don't want to take any chances this time around. We do it ourselves, no outsiders."
Gilbert's exasperation boiled over, but he kept his tone controlled, fighting to keep the situation from spiraling. "Despite the misunderstanding between you guys," he began, his voice measured but sharp, "we can't ignore the fact that Alexander is skilled at observing and digging up information. Don't ruin this for all of us because of some petty shit between you two."
Xavier's eyes narrowed, his lips pulling back in a sneer. His breath came faster now, the anger turning into something darker. "Silly beef?" he spat. His voice dropped low, dripping with disdain. "I'm not fucking doing anything with this betrayer!"
Alexander's reaction was immediate—a flash of anger that flickered across his features, quickly masked by a calm smirk. "Betrayer?" he shot back, voice like ice. "You know nothing about what happened."
The tension in the room snapped tighter, and both men took a step toward each other, as if drawn into a magnetic pull of rage. Gilbert could feel the air growing thick, the space between them crackling with impending violence. His pulse quickened, and he braced himself for the explosion.
He stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture, voice firm and unwavering. "Back off," he commanded, his eyes locking with both of them, his tone carrying an unspoken threat. The force of his presence temporarily halted the two men in their tracks.
The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on the room. But just as the storm seemed to have momentarily calmed, a voice cut through the heavy atmosphere.
"Where the fuck is Damon?"
It was a question, but it felt like an accusation, a reminder that the tension between them wasn't the only thing threatening to boil over. The room seemed to shift, the moment teetering on the edge of something even darker. Gilbert shot a glance toward the door, his thoughts racing.
Xavier's eyes flickered with something close to annoyance, but his body remained tense, as though every muscle was still coiled, waiting to spring. Alexander, too, looked toward the door, but there was no doubt in his mind that whatever Damon had been doing, it wasn't something that would alleviate the rising tension in the room.
Meanwhile in a hotel room Damon's body was alive with heat, the woman beneath him intoxicating in every sense. The room hummed with tension as their bodies moved in sync, the world outside forgotten. She arched into him, her breath a soft, desperate sound against his skin. Her hands roamed over his back, pulling him closer, urging him deeper, her body a perfect match for his. Her curves felt soft under his palms, each stroke and caress sending a shiver through her that she couldn't contain. His fingers slid along her waist, then down to her hips, drawing her even closer. She responded in kind, her hands tracing the muscles of his chest before moving lower, a delicate, teasing exploration of him that drove him wild.
His lips found the curve of her neck, his kiss hot and hungry, and she shuddered in response, her nails lightly digging into his shoulders. "Damon…" she breathed, her voice thick with need.
The room was spinning with the intensity of their connection, and just as the world seemed to tip over the edge into oblivion, the shrill sound of his phone ringing sliced through the atmosphere like a razor. Damon groaned in frustration, cursing under his breath. His hands lingered for a moment, gripping the sheets as if trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer, before he rolled off her, his gaze flicking to the phone on the bedside table.
She exhaled sharply, disappointment flashing across her features. Damon didn't miss it. She sat up slowly, drawing the sheet over her body, her expression unreadable. Her eyes met his, a silent question lingering there: Really?
He ran a hand through his hair, swearing again as he reached for the phone. "Shit," he muttered to himself, before answering.
"Damon, bro, where the fuck are you?" Gilbert's voice crackled through the speaker, impatient and annoyed. "Did you forget we had a meeting?
Damon's jaw clenched, irritation flashing in his eyes. His fingers tightened around the phone as he struggled to refocus. The woman beside him let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, her eyes flicking toward the door, a slight frown tugging at her lips. The mood had shifted, and she didn't hide it.
Damon shot her a look—his eyes apologetic but determined, a silent promise to return when this was over. "Oh, shit. I'm getting my ass right there."
Gilbert's tone turned sarcastic. "Better do, and drag your dick along, 'cause I know exactly what you're doing."
Damon didn't reply immediately. He stared at the phone for a second, a wave of frustration crashing over him. Why did these things always happen when he was right on the edge of something good? He sighed, tossing the phone aside, his gaze still locked on the woman in front of him. He could see the disappointment etched on her face, and it made his chest tighten. He knew he was the one to blame for the interruption, but he couldn't let it get to him.
His eyes softened for a moment, and he leaned in to kiss her once more—passion igniting between them, but it was fleeting. He pulled away slowly, whispering against her lips, "Sorry, baby, but we've got to cut this short."
The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He hated leaving things unfinished, especially when she was so responsive, so eager. But duty called, and the weight of responsibility had always been heavier than his desires. He gave her a half-smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll make it up to you."
She didn't respond with words, just a faint nod, her lips pressing into a thin line. He could tell she was frustrated, and who could blame her? It wasn't the first time he'd pulled away for work, and it probably wouldn't be the last. She wasn't angry, but she didn't look thrilled either.
Damon stood, grabbing his clothes and quickly pulling them on, his movements quick but absentminded. His gaze kept flicking back to her, the disappointment in her eyes gnawing at him, but he couldn't linger. The call had taken precedence, and there was no room for regret.
He gave her one last look as he finished dressing. "Take care," he said, but the words felt hollow. She gave him a small, nonchalant wave as she adjusted the sheet around her body, the connection between them slipping away like water through his fingers.
As he walked out, his mind was a whirl of thoughts—mostly guilt and frustration. The phone call had been an unwelcome intrusion.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the room fell into an unsettling silence. The woman lay back against the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her chest rose and fell with a deep, drawn-out sigh, as if she, too, had been holding her breath. Then, her fingers moved toward the bedside table, where she'd left her phone, the screen lighting up as she slid it open.
"Hello?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Is everything in place?" the voice on the other end asked, sharp and clipped.
"Yes," she replied, her expression cool, betraying none of the emotions churning inside her. "They're making their move."
"Okay," came the voice, a quiet, almost indifferent response. "Proceed as planned."