Page 12 of Toxic

“Are you sure?” There’s a hint of challenge in his words.

The temptation to agree is strong, but I resist. “Another time, Hawk. Have a good evening.”

After ending the call, a surge of satisfaction washes over me. Holding the upper hand with Hawk, even in this small way, is exhilarating. I contemplate the dynamics of our relationship – both of us maneuvering for control, each hiding secrets from the other.

“Let’s see how badly you want to see me,” I whisper to the empty room, already planning my next move. The city lights twinkle beyond my window, a constellation of possibilities.

The decision crystallizes in my mind. I’ll visit the underground pleasure den Hawk owns. It’s a place where identities are concealed and I can observe him without pretense. I select my disguise with care – a sleek, black mask that will hide my features, its surface adorned with intricate silver filigree. My outfit is a study in elegance and allure – a deep crimson dress that clings to my curves, with a daring slit up one thigh. It’s designed to draw attention while maintaining anonymity.

As I prepare, I equip myself with hidden devices. A small earpiece, nearly invisible, connects me to Max for real-time updates. A discreet camera no larger than a pinhead is embedded in the intricate design of my necklace, ready to capture anything of interest. And, of course, my emerald ring I never take off.

“Max,” I speak into the comm as I apply a final touch of deep red lipstick, “Get me more details on the attack on Rivers financial. I want to know who keeps trying to take them down. Also, I need you to monitor Hawk’s movements. Alert me the moment he arrives at the den.”

“Understood,” Max replies, his tone neutral but I can sense his unease. “Devin, you’re playing a dangerous game here. Thesepeople... they’re not to be trifled with. Hawk isn’t like a regular guy. He’s ruthless. You know this.”

I dismiss his caution with a wave of my hand, even though he can’t see it. The cool metal of my bracelet slides against my wrist, a reminder of the barriers I keep between myself and the world. “I know what I’m doing, Max.”

As I leave my apartment, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirls within me. The addictive pull of my obsession guides my actions, drowning out the small voice of reason that warns me of the risks. The night air is crisp against my skin as I slide into the waiting car, the city lights blurring as we speed toward the den.

The pleasure den’s concealed entrance is hidden behind an innocuous storefront. I approach, my heels clicking against the pavement, and murmur the password to the stone-faced guard. The door slides open, revealing a world of shadows and secrets.

I step inside, and the atmosphere envelops me like a velvet glove. Dim lighting casts everything in a sensual glow, and the air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, aged whiskey, and an underlying current of desire. The murmur of hushed conversations and soft, sensual music creates a cocoon of hedonistic indulgence.

I move gracefully through the crowd, my senses heightened as I search for any sign of Hawk. Bodies press close in the narrow corridors, a tangle of silk, leather, and bare skin. I observe it all with detached interest, noting the play of power and submission that unfolds around me.

A woman in a golden mask giggles as she’s led away by two men in matching black suits. In a darkened alcove, I glimpse a scene of elaborate rope work, the bound submissive arching in ecstasy. It’s all so predictable, so mundane. None of it stirs anything within me.

I settle at a secluded corner table, the plush velvet of the seat cool against my skin. A waitress clad in little more than strategically placed strips of leather approaches.

“What’s your pleasure tonight?” she purrs, leaning in close.

“Scotch, neat,” I reply, my tone neutral. Her proximity, meant to entice, leaves me cold.

As I wait, sipping my drink, my eyes never stop scanning the room, alert for Hawk’s arrival. The amber liquid burns a path down my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the fire Hawk ignites within me. The thrill of the game invigorates me, pushing aside any doubts or fears.

A man approaches my table, his mask adorned with peacock feathers. There’s a confidence in his stride that speaks of wealth and influence. As he draws closer, I recognize him as James Holbrook, one of Hawk’s business associates.

“Good evening, beautiful,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here all alone. Care for some company?”

I regard him coolly, taking in the expensive cut of his suit, the glint of his Rolex in the low light. “I’m quite comfortable as I am, thank you.”

He’s undeterred, sliding into the seat opposite me and reaching out to touch my wrist. “Come now, surely you didn’t come to a place like this to sit alone. I have a private room upstairs... I could show you pleasures you’ve never dreamed of.”

A sardonic smile plays at my lips. If only he knew the depths of my dreams, the complexity of my desires. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Holbrook, but I’m not interested.”

His eyes widen slightly behind his mask. “You know who I am?”

“I make it my business to know many things,” I reply, taking another sip of my scotch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I prefer my own company.”

James opens his mouth to respond, but his words die on his lips as a hush falls over our corner of the room. I feel it before I see it – a shift in the air, a prickling awareness along my skin.

Hawk.

He moves through the crowd like a shark through water, people instinctively parting before him. His mask is simple but elegant, black leather that accentuates the sharp lines of his jaw. Our eyes meet across the room, and even from this distance, I can feel the intensity of his gaze.

His gaze shoots to where James is touching my wrist.

James, sensing the shift in power, stands quickly. “Raptor,” he says, his tone full of nervousness. “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”

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