Page 27 of The Collector
"Our club manager will help you set up everything in that arena. You won't be alone. He let the words settle, observing her. "Blood Lust is designed to give you control over how you navigate this world. And, if you manage it well, to see your contract fulfilled quickly."
She sat in stunned silence.
"Sexual services here are a broad term. Desire comes in degrees—some subtle, some ravenous. Our members span a wide spectrum, including women, men, and individuals who don't fit easily into categories. Their tastes vary, and many will offer you their attention, and it won't always be for sex. What you choose to give is yours alone. You can offer everything. Or nothing"
The anger left her face, and she looked at him blankly as she digested what he was saying.
"The only contractual requirement is that you perform at the club. If my math's right, you could walk out of here in just under three years without ever accepting a single invitation for... extra services. Without your father's contributions. However, I'll warn you—temptation is an inherent part of the architecture. These people aren't used to hearing no. They're filthy rich, entitled, and bored. When you refuse them, they hear a challenge. So, if that's the route you plan to take, be ready to hold your ground."
"You did the math?" She eyed him suspiciously. He adjusted in his chair under her scrutiny.
"I like to be prepared for any questions that might arise? Not what you expected?"
"No."
It was all she said. Her eyes stayed on her hands, unmoving, as if the word had startled her as much as it did Raven. It was quiet, but not soft—weighted with hesitation, laced with something raw. Not defiance. Not surrender. Just the shock of hearing herself say it aloud. A single syllable that cracked the air and left everything else unsaid.
"But then neither are you." Her voice was quiet, almost gentle, but the words landed with precision. She looked at him—not with anger, but with something softer. Something like understanding. Then her gaze dropped back to her lap, as if the truth had cost her more than she'd expected to say it aloud.
Raven studied her carefully, watching the way her fingers traced invisible patterns against her palm, her gaze locked onto her own hands as if searching for an answer within them. She wasn't merely considering the terms—she was reckoning with the reality of what they meant: the contract, the choices, the price of stepping into this world.
Raven leaned back slightly, giving her the space to process.
"Then tell me, "He said, voice steady, controlled. "What did you expect?"
"A lifelong sentence as a prostitute for starters, but in the back of my mind, I expected worse, if you want honesty." She worriedly gnawed at her bottom lip. Her soft blond curls framed her face in a way that lent her an almost innocent appearance. He could detect a faint glimmer of relief flickering across her features.
"Well, as you can see, I have taken great care to make sure the people employed at this club truly have a choice as to what happens to their mind, body, and soul. The world will always take what it wants from people. I've just given my people more of a choice over what they will allow it to take for their survival." The softer expression on her face revealed it was not an answer she had anticipated. Her only response was a quiet, subdued nod.
"There is also a second option to consider— which may lead to you leaving the mansion and Blood Lust sooner if you choose it. You can accept a marriage proposal from one of the members. The details of the arrangement are also yours to work out. The dowery that the member pays on your behalf for the marriage needs to cover at least the amount you owe us. If you choose to add additional money to the contract terms, a check will be issued to you upon completion of your contract with them for that amount as well. We handle all the legal paperwork and ensure everything aligns with the terms. We vet every personbefore they enter the club. We know who and what they are. Shelby can give you that information to study before you decide on a proposal," he continued.
His heart sank as he watched her mull over the tidbit.
She rose swiftly, the motion fluid and decisive. Her voice, steady yet tinged with quiet determination, broke the momentary silence. "You sound like a lawyer, and a dowery, what is this, the 1800s?" She huffed. "The second option isn't for me. I'll find real love someday—on my own terms, and I won't have it tainted by a shadowed past."
There she was, his Butterfly. A smile tugged at the edge of his lips.That means I have time. Time to try to make a place in her heart for myself outside of the fucked-up terms of her contract.
He observed her closely, his eyes tracing the steady rise and fall of her chest as she stood before him with an air of calm defiance—unafraid, unyielding, and unbroken by her new situation.
She was captivating. Raven could already see it—the slow unraveling of her chrysalis, the moment she'd stretch into something untethered and vast—fierce beauty. Relentless will. She wouldn't just survive this—she'd emerge transformed. She wasn't stepping into a new life; she was claiming it, wings unfurling toward a future that refused to be ordinary.
The soft fabric of her dress clung to her figure as she stood at the edge of his desk, accentuating the gentle curve of her waist and the elegant line of her hips. The way the material shifted with her movements seemed almost deliberate, a testament to her confidence and poise.
What I wouldn't give to touch her right now. To show her how much I want her—not just the body, but the fire, the fight, the fragile parts she keeps hidden. To tell her that all of this—the club, the debt, the danger—is just a means to an end. That none of it matters as much as she does.
But we're not there yet.
She needs time to find her footing. And I need time to make sense of what she's doing to me. This ache hits places I wasn’t built to carry.
She reached for the pen and hovered over the contract, pausing one last time before she committed to the path they forced on her. Then, with a firm stroke, she signed her name, sealing her decision with grace and conviction.
She was delicate, yet resilient—captivating him in ways he couldn't begin to understand. The emotions stirring inside him felt foreign and unsettling, as if her presence had unlocked a part of him he'd buried before it ever had the chance to grow. He was a hardened man, shaped by violence and survival, a life that carved out tenderness and left no room for softness. But she was different. She carried a strength that mirrored his own, not in brutality, but in endurance. And that—more than anything—forced him to question everything he thought he knew about himself.
As her eyes met his, something settled in him. She could change more than his heart. She could rewrite the architecture of who he was. Not just the way he felt, but the way he was built.
And he wasn't ready for that. Not even close.
Chapter 8
