Page 28 of Mystic's Sunrise

That bitch better enjoy her last days on earth. I’ve been dreaming of the ways I’ll end her. All I need is the chance, and I swear to God, it’s coming.

I stood, and the girl at my feet flinched, stumbling backward as I walked away from the party without a word. Let them drink, let them fight, let them fuck. They’d still be there in the morning, hungover, bloodstained, loyal. Or scared. Didn’t matter which. Fear worked just as well.

My boots thudded through the hallway, the music fading behind me like a dying heartbeat. I didn’t bother with the light when I stepped into my room. I didn’t need it. My steps moved to the closet in the corner—the one nobody touched unless they had a death wish. Inside, behind stacked boxes and forgotten club ledgers, sat a small cedar chest. It wasn’t locked, but no one would ever be stupid enough to open it. Not if they wanted to keep their hands.

I crouched and opened the lid slowly. The scent hit me the same way it always did—faint, floral, the last ghost of her perfume soaked into the fabric folded neatly on top. Zeynep’s scarf. My thumb ran over the edge, soft and worn from the way she used to twist it between her fingers when she was nervous. I’d watched her do it more times than I could count. Always quiet. Always thinking. She never knew I kept it.

Beneath the scarf was her hairbrush. Black. Curved. There were still a few strands tangled in the bristles—long and red, like silk kissed by sunlight. I should’ve tossed it. Should’ve burned everything she left behind. But I didn’t. Because this? This was proof. Proof she’d been mine. Proof she still was.

And that was enough to let the rage settle in my gut just long enough for the thoughts to come in clear.

I clenched the brush in my hand and pictured her again, head down, barefoot on cold floors, brushing her hair while humming that quiet Turkish tune she always clung to like it could save her.Annem seni bekliyor.She told me once it meant “Mother is waiting for you.” I never figured out if it was a memory or a warning. She looked so damn sad when she said it.

She doesn’t need her mother. She doesn’t need friends. She needs me—not in the fragile way people mean when they say “need.” No, Zeynep needs the truth carved back into her soul. She needs the rhythm of my voice in her head again, needs to feel the weight of my hands to remember who gave her fire a place to burn. And if someone’s trying to rewrite that truth, if some asshole is slipping soft lies into her ears while pretending he’s her salvation?

Then he’ll die screaming.

I placed the scarf back into the chest, closed the lid carefully, and rose to my feet. It wouldn’t be long now. Lucy wouldn’t stay quiet. That bitch was never built to keep her mouth shut, not for long. And Zeynep?

She’ll learn, same as everyone else has. My love doesn’t loosen—it tightens. It holds.

There’s no leaving Drago. Not when I’ve chosen you.

Not alive.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MUSIC THUMPED HARDenough to shake the walls.Laughter bounced off the ceiling, fake and forced. I sat in the corner booth, legs stretched out, bottle in one hand, smoke in the other.

The women in the corner were whispering as they looked at me. I wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t new.

They looked at me like I’d bite if they got too close, then flinched if my gaze swept past them. They huddled near Thunder and Wrath, all giggles and glossy lips. Not one of them would ever meet my eyes.

Probably scared I’d call one over.

I wouldn’t.

“Place is alive tonight,” Chain muttered, dropping into the chair beside me, sliding me a new bottle without asking. “You look like you’d rather be gettin’ a root canal.”

“Least that comes with painkillers.”

He smirked. “You're good at clearing space.”

I didn’t respond. Just watched the brunette continue to whisper something into her friend’s ear and scurry past me, clutching her drink like it was a shield.

Chain leaned back, tilting his bottle toward me. “Maybe you should smile more. Show ‘em you’re not a mean son of a bitch.”

“I don’t give a fuck what they think.”

He snorted, giving me a knowing look. “Yeah, I know. Just keep that attitude for every bitch that fucks with you.”

I took a slow drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.

“Something botherin’ you?” Chain asked after a pause, more serious this time.

“Always.”

“You know what I mean.”

---