Chapter 13
Velvet Eden’s private quarters suffocated with heat and something heavier—desire, maybe, or danger in disguise.
Alke stood at the threshold, his fingers clenched white around the edge of the silk curtain that passed for a door.
Crimson fabric bled through his grip, soft as sin. The scent hit him first—sandalwood, smoke, and something darker, feral. It scraped down his throat and made his mouth go dry. His chest tightened, breath catching despite his best attempts to remain composed.
Inside, Laich waited—like a fallen angel holding court in hell.
Bare-chested, skin bronzed by candlelight, his body was a map of silver tattoos that shimmered with each flicker of the flame.
They curled over his chest, wound down his arms, symbols of a story Alke couldn’t decipher—but burned to trace. The club owner’s long white hair tumbled over his shoulders, catching light on the silver threads woven through like captured starlight.
“You came,” Laich said, voice lower, softer than Alke expected. Genuine surprise softened the edge of his usual predatory drawl. His green eyes held something unsteady—hope, maybe. Or a vulnerability he quickly masked behind a half-smile.
That look struck something deep inside Alke, twisted it.
He’d spent the past three hours pacing his sterile apartment, hands fisted, breath ragged, uniform still hanging untouched like a relic from a life he no longer recognized. In the mirror, he’d seen a man unraveling. Starved for something he never dared name.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. The words scraped out, raw and exposed. His whole body was coiled tight, every muscle ready to bolt. He should’ve turned around, vanished into the shadows, completed the mission like the disciplined soldier he was trained to be.
But Laich smiled. That slow, knowing smile that had plagued Alke’s sleep.
“‘Shouldn’t’ is such a limiting word,” he murmured. He stepped forward, barefoot on the plush carpet, graceful as a predator. “It assumes someone else gets to decide what you deserve.”
The air between them vibrated with tension. Alke could feel the heat pouring off Laich’s body, sense the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the curve of a faint scar along his collarbone like a crescent moon.
Every detail screamed danger. Every inch of him was forbidden. And Alke wanted him like he was drowning—like he’d never wanted anything in his life.
“The government—” he began, but Laich cut him off with a low, velvet laugh.
“The government isn’t here, Marcus.” The alias rolled off Laich’s tongue with practiced ease, turned into something obscene—sweet and sticky like honey over poison. “Just you. Just me. And all this space between us... waiting to be filled.”
Another step. Laich’s chest now just inches from his. The flicker of candlelight danced across his skin, casting shadows like whispered promises.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice dipped in sin. “Not what they told you to want. Not what’s safe. Not what’s allowed. Tell me what you want—here, now.”
Alke’s breath came in short, ragged pulls. The silk-draped walls pulsed with heat, heavy with secrets. Beyond the curtain, the muffled sounds of pleasure bled through—gasps, moans, the soft rustle of skin on silk, the quiet symphony of surrender.
“I want…”
The words caught in his throat like broken glass. How could he explain it?
That he needed to be touched so badly it hurt?
That he’d spent his whole life building walls so thick, the idea of lowering them—of letting someone in—was more terrifying than war.
Laich moved closer still. His breath ghosted over Alke’s skin, warm and intoxicating.
“You’re safe here,” he whispered, and those three words nearly undid him. The gentleness in them—a mercy Alke had never been offered—burned more than any cruelty.
Laich raised a hand, slowly, palm open, not quite touching. But Alke could feel the ghost of it, like static at the edge of his cheek.
His body screamed for contact, even as his mind screamed retreat.
“One touch,” Laich said, voice a low hum. “One real touch, and I’ll show you what paradise feels like.”
Alke trembled. His orders echoed in his head: Arrest him. Complete the objective. Stay in control.
But then Laich’s thumb hovered over his lower lip—not touching, just there, close enough for Alke to taste the salt and warmth of him in the air.
“Please,” he breathed, before he could stop himself. The word cracked out, desperate and unguarded. Not the voice of a commander. Not a soldier. Just a man unraveling.
Laich’s eyes darkened. His voice dropped to a growl wrapped in silk. “Please what, beautiful?”
He leaned in, voice brushing along Alke’s nerves like a caress. “Say it. Say what you need.”
The music shifted in the background—low, pulsing, carnal. The candlelight danced along the silk walls like flame-kissed ghosts. Their shadows tangled across the floor.
Alke swallowed hard. His gray eyes met Laich’s, molten with something he could no longer deny.
“I need...” His voice cracked. “I need to feel something real.”
Laich's smile turned wicked, sharp enough to carve through resolve.
“Then let me make you feel everything.”
His fingertips finally—finally—brushed Alke’s cheek, and the world narrowed to that single, electric point of contact.
A jolt shot through Alke’s nerves, violent and exquisite, ripping a gasp from his throat. He arched into the touch like a man starved for it, like thirst meeting rain.
Laich’s thumb traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, slow and reverent. His fingers moved with the kind of precision that felt less like seduction and more like worship. And then—
Buzz.
A harsh vibration at Alke’s hip broke the moment like a shattering mirror. The glow of his comm device spilled against his uniform.
Status report overdue. Enforcement teams standing by. Confirm target acquisition.
Everything crashed down in an instant.
The mission. The lie. The inevitable reckoning.
Alke tore himself back, breath hitching. His face drained of color as he read the message that made him the executioner.
Outside, he heard the unmistakable thud of boots on metal stairs. Backup. Early. Inevitable.
Reality crashed back into the chamber like ice water.
Alke jerked away from Laich's touch, his face going pale as he read the words that condemned them both.
Behind him, he could hear the distant sound of heavy boots on metal stairs—his backup, coming to complete the mission he'd abandoned.
Laich's eyes went wide as he saw the device, understanding dawning with horrible clarity. "You're—" he started, but the word died as the first shouts echoed through the outer chambers of his club.
"Government raid! Everyone on the ground!"
