CHAPTER 046: My Bunny
I pull into a discreet driveway tucked between two abandoned buildings and kill the engine.
Inside, I nod once at the receptionist–part security, part front–desk illusion–and head for the private elevator at the back.
Swipe my black access card across the scanner.
The elevator hums to life and carries me down.
The second the doors slide open, the air changes.
Denser. Warmer.
The basement is packed, even in the middle of a weekday.
People lean against dark wood–paneled walls, sipping drinks that cost more than most people’s rent.
Some wear masks. Others don’t bother.
Laughter spills from private rooms–throaty, dark laughter punctuated by the occasional sharp slap of skin against skin.
There’s a constant low thrum of music, more vibration than sound, designed to stir the blood without distracting from the real show.
I move through it without blinking.
A man is on his knees in a glass room to the right, hands cuffed behind his back, while a woman in leather heels circles him like prey.
Another door opens briefly across the hall, revealing two figures locked together, shadows devouring each other hungrily.
This place isn’t for the faint of heart.
It’s not for tourists.
It’s for the ones who understand hunger and shame and pleasure as two sides of the same sharp blade.
And it’s mine.
I step out, boots heavy on the floor, heading toward the second corridor where my private office waits.
Sage, one of the club’s managers, intercepts me halfway there.
Good–looking, early thirties, olive skin, a jawline that belongs on a billboard.
He’s been with me since the beginning.
Before the club had walls.
Before it even had a name.
To me, he’s not just staff.
He’s family.
One of the few I have left.
“Boss,” he says, falling into step beside me. “We had a situation.”
I don’t break stride. “I assume you’ve handled it.”
“We patched it for now. Some asshole thought he could bring a knife in and slice up a submissive.”
I grunt. Typical. I can already picture him at his doorstep with a few bruises as a souvenir. Okay, maybe not a few.
We reach my
office.
I swipe my card again, the heavy door unlocking with a soft click.
The moment the door closes behind us, I toss my keys onto the massive steel desk and sink into the leather chair.
Sage doesn’t leave.
He lingers.
Shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s building up to something.
I glance up. “What?”
He hesitates, then says, “Are you still single?”
“What?”
Successfully unlocked!
“Look, you know I’m married, right? My missus thinks I’m an artist.”
I snort. “I don’t know why you bothered getting married to someone you have to lie to.”
He shrugs. “I like her. I don’t want to scare her off.”
CHAPTER 046: My Bunny
“Alright,” I say, leaning back. “So how does this concern me?”
“She’s forcing me to throw a barbecue this weekend. Family and friends. She’s insisting I bring some of my single artist friends along to set up her daughter.”
I stare at him.
Waiting for the point to drop.
“You’re the only one who looks remotely normal enough for me to bring home. I figured you’d pass inspection. You know. If you… hide the murdery vibes.”
I chuckle. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“It’s just an hour. Tops. You owe me for ditching my wedding.”
I stare at him, deadpan.
Even if I didn’t already have a girl, there’s no fucking way I’m acknowledging an invitation like that.
Seduce some poor, unsuspecting daughter of his wife?
Probably a decent little thing too, if Sage has to lie this hard about what he does for a living.
And if the mother’s the kind of woman he has to tiptoe around, then the daughter’s either a clone of her or worse–some bright–eyed optimist who thinks every stranger is a good man deep down.
I’m not doing that.
Besides, crowds aren’t my thing.
The only gathering I can tolerate is the one at my club, where nobody’s pretending.
Where everyone’s already halfway naked and nobody’s asking polite questions about what you “do for work” while passing the potato salad.
No.
The real world?
The clean, sunny, barbecue–in–the–backyard world?
That place isn’t built for men like me.
“Sage, you’re my brother,” I say. “You know I value you.”
“Uh–huh.”
“But there’s no way in hell I’m doing that.”
He sighs dramatically. “I knew you’d say that. I’ve already rounded up the other guys. Told them to look decent.”
I smirk and turn to the invoice on my desk.
“Tell me how it turns out. I’ll place bets on who succeeds in wooing your stepdaughter.”
“You’re not even a little bit curious to meet my family?” he says, mock–offended.
“Should I be?”
He leans against the edge of my desk. “Come on. I want my wife to meet my boss. Wow her with your big words. Convince her I’m not working for a mobster.”
“Answer’s still no.”
He groans. “You’re missing out. Her daughter’s not bad either. I’ve met her a couple of times. Sloane’s a wiseass. Kinda like you.”
Something in my chest goes tight.
“Your stepdaughter’s name is Sloane?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
“What’s her surname?”
He squints, trying to dig it out of whatever half–functioning part of his brain stores real information. “Uh… something with an M. Mercer, maybe? I dunno. My wife took my last name. I didn’t pay attention.”
“Show me a picture.”
Sage frowns, confused, but pulls out his phone anyway. Starts scrolling.
I can already feel it.
That slow, inevitable punch of fate winding up in the pit of my gut.
He finds what he’s looking for and thrusts the screen in front of me.
CHAPTER 046: My Bunny
There she is.
Pressed awkwardly against an older woman’s side–hair shorter, glasses perched on her nose, mouth fighting a real smile. A girl who clearly didn’t want to be in the picture.
A girl who was clenching around my cock less than an hour ago.
Sloane Mercer,
My Bunny.
And apparently?
My club manager’s stepdaughter.
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