Page 1 of Doomed
1
KNOX
The bass thrums through my chest like a second heartbeat as I lean back in the plush leather chair, watching Candy—or was it Crystal?—work her magic on my lap. The VIP section of Purgatory flashes with crimson light, casting everything in the color of sin. Perfect for a Blackwood establishment.
“You know what’s funny?” I call over to Vane, who’s got his own entertainment courtesy of a brunette with legs for days. “We own this place, and we tip like we’re broke college kids.”
Vane shoots me that look—part amusement, partshut the fuck up, Knox—before sliding a twenty into his dancer’s G-string. “Speak for yourself. Some of us have class.”
I bark out a laugh that makes Candy’s—definitely Candy, she’s got that sweet-but-deadly vibe—hips stutter against mine. “Class? Brother, you literally motorboated her five minutes ago.”
“That was research,” he deadpans, taking a swig of his whiskey. “Quality control.”
God, I love fucking with him. Vane tries so hard to be the serious one when Xavier’s not around, but put him in a room with naked women and good bourbon—my brother becomes another guy with impulse control issues. Landon, on the otherhand, would probably be analyzing the dancers’ psychological profiles, or Xavier would turn this into some twisted power play.
The music switches to a heavier beat, and I feel Candy’s rhythm change with it. Professional. I respect that.
“Ten bucks says I can make mine laugh before yours even cracks a smile,” I challenge, because everything’s more fun with stakes.
Vane’s eyes light up with that competitive fire that makes him dangerous in the field and insufferable everywhere else. “You’re on, little brother.”
I flash Candy my most charming grin—the one that’s gotten me out of more trouble than it’s caused, which is saying something. “Hey, beautiful, what’s the difference between a Blackwood brother and a shooting star?”
She raises an eyebrow, playing along.
“The star only grants one wish. We make all your dreams come true.”
Her laugh bubbles up genuine and bright, cutting through the club’s sultry atmosphere like sunshine through storm clouds.
“Fuck.” Vane reaches for his wallet.
“Pay up, asshole.” I hold out my hand expectantly while Candy settles back into her rhythm, giggling at my terrible joke.
Vane flips me off but slides a ten across the small table between us. “That was luck.”
“That was charm, my friend. You’d understand if you weren’t such a brooding pain in the ass all the time.” I pocket the bill. “Maybe try smiling once in a while. It won’t kill you.”
“Have you seen his smile?” Candy chimes in, shooting Vane an appraising look. “Pretty sure it would kill me.”
I snort. “See? Even the professionals think you’re terrifying.”
“Terrifying gets results,” Vane counters.
“So does being likable. Revolutionary concept, I know?—”
The VIP section door swings open with enough force to rattle the frame, and Xavier strides in like he owns the place. Which, technically, he does. The dancers don’t miss a beat, but there’s a subtle shift in the air—electricity crackling with the kind of danger that follows our eldest brother wherever he goes.
“We need to talk,” he announces without preamble.
I pat Candy’s hip gently. “Rain check, sweetheart?”
She slides off with grace, scooping up her tips before melting back into the club’s shadowy depths. Vane’s brunette follows suit without needing to be asked. Smart woman.
Xavier settles into the vacant chair across from us, all sharp angles and controlled violence in his perfectly tailored suit. “We need new artwork commissioned for the back rooms. The existing pieces are getting... dated.”
“And?” Vane prompts.
“And I don’t give a shit about art.” Xavier’s jaw ticks with irritation. “Colors, composition, whatever the fuck makes people want to spend money while they’re getting their rocks off. It’s not my area.”
