The line went dead.
I stared at the phone. Then at the door. Then down at my hand, still gripping the drink like it might anchor me to something solid.
My shoes flew across the room first in an explosion of fury that clattered against the closet door. I wanted to scream, to shatter glass, to break something beautiful just because he’d chosen it.
Instead, I stripped. Stepped into the marble bathroom. Turned on the taps until the tub filled with silken bubbles and steam curled around me like a shield.
I slid into the water, vodka in hand, and stared at my own reflection in the gilded mirror above the sink. Desperation hovered behind my eyes.
I let it burn. Then let it go.
What he didn’t understand, what he never had, was that I would always find a way. Even if it was only for one night, I would take back something. My choice. My time. My power.
And I’d start with tonight.
Chapter 2
Loki
The scent of sandalwood and candle wax clung to the air like memory, warm, grounding, and unmistakably Midgard. Even now, before the crowds, the club pulsed with low, anticipatory energy. Dim lighting cast the Viking murals in amber light, their carved warriors watching in silence as the soft bass thrummed through the floor like the slow heartbeat of something ancient and waking.
Investing in Midgard, and the other clubs that followed, had been the brainchild of Thor as he was known at Midgard, Erik outside of the club. He was the only one of us not from money, new, or old. On a whim, he’d hosted a BDSM party in college tohelp pay for his expenses, as accepting a loan from us was off the table for him.
What had started as an almost joke in college, as none of us had expected that first night to turn into four years of success and enough money for Erik to start Midgard, had morphed into a sexy club based on Nordic mythology and bravado. Seven of us, intoxicated by freedom and fantasies of leather and power dynamics, decided to build something permanent. Against all odds, it worked. The money was good. The prestige, better. But the part I hadn’t expected, the part that stuck, was how it kept us tethered, even as life pulled us in different directions.
My career was private. Despite the closeness of the group, they had no clue what I did outside of what they called my private playboy ways. There were questions, unspoken, when I’d offered to use my private plane to transport some of the group on a mission to the Middle East. I’d made the mistake of saying it was untraceable to me, therefore them. My statement had raised eyebrows all around. Respect kept them silent and my secret remained secret, so far.
I adjusted the cuffs of my black button-down, letting my gaze sweep across the vast hall. Dungeon monitors moved with quiet efficiency, prepping stations and equipment. The first wave of guests wouldn’t arrive for at least an hour which offered plenty of time to settle into my role. Familiar. Controlled.
Behind the bar, Rafe was setting up glassware and prepping the premium stock. Something about the crispness of his movements suggested a busy night ahead. I probably should’ve asked what the hell was happening before I agreed to work, but I hadn’t. Habit had taken over, and lately, I’d leaned too heavily on routine.
I wasn’t expecting company.
A sharp flash of silver caught the corner of my eye—tailored, expensive, and smugly still as the man wearing it. I paused mid-stride.
Nikos.
Greek-born bastard of charm and secrets, standing at the bar like he owned it. His charcoal three-piece suit hugged his frame like a second skin, every inch of him polished and dangerous. The last I’d heard, he was elbows-deep in some Italian political scandal and loving every moment of it.
I crossed the room, each step smooth and intentional. Who did he sweet talk to get into the club an hour before opening? I didn’t like that he was here as his presence, like the plane, would raise that questionable eyebrow that I had no intention of addressing. The few people setting up for the evening moved aside as I stalked toward my smirking friend at the back.
“I thought you were in Milan,” I said, letting the words slice through the quiet hum. “Seducing diplomats and ruining wine tastings.”
Nikos turned with the kind of smile that made women lean closer and men double-check their wallets. “Jared,“ he said, lifting a tumbler of something aged and expensive. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
“In this building,” I corrected, slipping onto the barstool beside him, “I’m Master Loki.”
He raised his glass in mock solemnity. “Ah yes, the great and terrible god of mischief. So serious tonight.”
I offered a chuckle. It came easily. Too easily. But it didn’t land where it used to—in that place in my chest where real amusement lived.
“I’ve promised to behave,” I said, reaching for a glass and filling it with still water and a sliver of lime.
Nikos gave me a look. “You? Behaving? Now that’s a plot twist.”
Had something changed?
Yes. Everything.
