Page 14 of His Ruthless Vow

"Is that how you answer all your calls, or am I special?" I keep my voice low, controlled. The same tone I use when I'm about to destroy someone—or when I'm genuinely amused. Few can tell the difference.

Instead of answering the question, she sighs. "You're really calling in a favor already?" Her voice shifts from irritated to wary, and I can practically see her spine straightening.

"You belong to me now. Time to start acting like it." I run my hand over Penny's fur. There's amusement in my voice, but the words aren't a joke. They're the simplest truth—a contract sealed the moment she agreed to my terms.

The silence from her end tells me everything. I know exactly what's happening on the other side of this call: the conflict between pride and necessity battling behind those sharp brown eyes. I can only imagine that she thinks she can get out of this now that her friend is gone.

"I didn't agree to late night booty calls," she finally says, but the fight in her voice is measured. Controlled. She's weighing her options.

"I don't recall specifying hours of operation in our arrangement." I stand, walking to the window. Paige lifts her head, watching me with attentive eyes. "And if we're being technical, I haven't actually told you what I want yet."

"Fine." Kendra's voice hardens, that professional edge taking over. "What do you want?"

"I'll text you an address. Be there in an hour."

Another pause. "For what?"

"For whatever I want." I let the implication hang between us. "Unless you'd prefer I call in the full debt immediately. Griffin owes—or rather, you now owe—quite a substantial amount."

"I'll be there in an hour." Each word sounds like it's being dragged across broken glass.

"Smart choice, Kendra." I can't help the satisfaction that colors my voice. "And wear something nice. You're representing me now."

I end the call before she can respond, slipping the phone into my pocket. She won't back out. Not after what Griffin did. Not with what's at stake.

Paige rises, stretching before padding over to nudge my hand with her nose. I scratch behind her ears, looking out at the city spread before me.

"Good girl," I murmur. "Just don't go getting attached."

I'm not entirely sure which one of us I'm talking to, though.

I send the text with the address five minutes after I hang up, then make a few more calls before leaving the house. Penny gives me those anxious eyes—the ones that say I'm abandoning her for life—while Paige simply flops on her side, already over my departure.

"I'll be back," I tell them, adjusting my cuffs. I've chosen a charcoal suit tonight, perfectly tailored to emphasize the breadth of my shoulders, the power in my frame. My watch—an understated Patek Philippe that cost more than most people's cars—gleams against my skin.

I arrive at Elysium thirty minutes before Kendra is due. The club is high-end, exclusive—the kind of place where the rich and powerful come to play without worrying about cameras or consequences. The owner owes me favors, which means I get the best table, the best service, and absolute privacy when I want it.

The VIP section is elevated above the main floor, glass walls providing a perfect view of the club while maintaining separation. I settle into the curved booth, my back to the wall, eyes on the entrance. Old habits.

When she walks in, I know immediately.

Even without seeing her, I can feel the shift in energy, the way heads turn. And then she's there, at the bottom of the stairs that lead to VIP, speaking to the security guard who nods and steps aside.

She's wearing a sleek black dress that hugs every curve while somehow remaining elegant. Her hair falls in those perfect curls around her face, and her lips are painted a deep red that makes me think of sin and satisfaction. There's a hardness in her posture, though—shoulders back, chin high. She's armored herself for battle.

I don't stand when she approaches. I simply watch her, letting my eyes trail over her form with deliberate slowness.

"Right on time," I say, gesturing to the space beside me. "I appreciate punctuality."

Kendra slides into the booth, maintaining a careful distance. "Let's not pretend this is a social call. What kind of deal am I here to witness?"

I smile, signaling the waitress who appears almost instantly. "Macallan 25 for me. And for the lady?"

"Vodka martini. Three olives." Kendra's voice is clipped, professional.

When the waitress leaves, I turn my body toward Kendra, one arm stretching across the back of the booth. Not touching her, but close enough that she can feel my presence.

"I’ve already handled my deals for tonight tonight," I say, watching her reaction carefully.

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