Chapter 11 - The Rat Returns
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A week later, the memory of the loading dock faded, replaced by the chaotic rhythm of running the club.
It was a packed Friday night. The music was deafening, the strobe lights pulsing through the heavy smoke. I was walking the floor, ensuring the VIP tables were well-stocked with champagne, when a cold shiver ran down my spine.
I turned around.
Standing near the edge of the bar, holding a whiskey glass, was Ethan Caldwell.
He looked disheveled. His tie was loose, and his eyes were bloodshot and manic. He spotted me immediately and pushed his way through the crowd, heading straight toward me.
Panic seized my chest. I reached for the radio clipped to my hip, pressing the button to call Marco.
Before I could speak, Ethan lunged forward and grabbed my arm, his grip bruising and desperate.
“You think you’re so smart, you little bitch?” Ethan slurred, his breath reeking of expensive liquor and poor choices. “You think hiding behind DeLuca makes you untouchable?”
“Let go of me, Ethan,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the terror spiking in my veins.
“My father’s stocks are plummeting because DeLuca’s pulling strings behind the scenes,” Ethan snarled, shaking me slightly. “You ruined my life over a glass of water!”
“You ruined your own life,” I shot back, struggling to pull my arm free.
He raised his free hand, his face twisting into an ugly mask of rage. He was going to hit me. Right there in the middle of the crowded club.
Suddenly, a massive hand clamped down on Ethan’s wrist, stopping him mid-air.
It wasn't Marco.
It was Victor.
Victor didn't say a word. With a sickening crack, he twisted Ethan’s wrist backward. Ethan screamed in agony, dropping his whiskey glass, falling to his knees on the sticky club floor as his wrist snapped.
The music pounded on, the oblivious crowd dancing just a few feet away, entirely unaware of the violence unfolding in the shadows.
Victor looked down at the sobbing billionaire’s son.
“I told you what would happen if you ever touched her again,” Victor whispered coldly.
Victor released Ethan’s broken wrist, only to grab him by the throat, lifting him an inch off the floor.
“Drag him to the basement,” Victor ordered his men, who had materialized from the crowd.
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My heart pounded. I grabbed Victor’s arm. “Victor, no! Don't kill him.”
Victor looked at me, the demon warring in his eyes.
