Page 69 of The Collector
People scurried around backstage as she took her position inside the bird cage suspended from a hoist high above her. Mynx hadn't attempted anything this elaborate before in her dancing career. She reminded herself to thank Destiny after the performance; without her, this wouldn't have come together.
She rose like a whispered promise—slow, deliberate, untouchable. Her fingers pressed to her lips, still tender from Raven's last kiss.
Her fingers curled around the cold metal bars as the cage ascended, her breath steady but deep, each inhale a preparation, each exhale a declaration. The dance wasn't just a spectacle. It was a strategy—seduction wrapped in a pretty design.
She and Destiny had built this fantasy step by step, not for shock, but for Mynx to gain her own power. Every inch of her performance was calculated to command—desire, envy, reverence. To get her back to her family. To erase her debt without giving more than she was willing to give. But she feltthe strength of Raven's claim on her overshadowing it. Raven claiming her wasn't just about her anymore. It was about them.
From high above, she had the room in her palm before she even moved.
They wouldn't just want her.
They would need her.
They'd pay for proximity, but she knew—Raven knew—that what the members craved most could never be bought. Because she now belonged to him.
The curtain rose, and she was bathed in a soft, glowing light.
She scanned the room of hungry faces below, but her eyes sought only one. The one whose gaze already claimed her, and now, watched with the kind of hunger that power rarely allowed itself to feel.
This was her moment.
To become the thing no one could touch without trembling beneath his strength.
In all honesty, the true gift he had given her was the ability to soar over the problems her father had laid on her, forget momentarily the burden of her mother's health and her sister's needs. To break free of the shell of the broken, bitter girl she had once been and become his butterfly. Strong, confident, and full of grace.
As the music began and her body moved, it wasn't just choreography—it was transformation.
Butterflies emerge and enrapture.
Raven was the only one she cared to enrapture now. But he hadn't stopped her from taking the stage. She was sure he had his reasons. Maybe so the room would see her and know she was his. So she would do the dance, but the reason why had changed for her. It wasn't about enrapturing them. It was about showing them who she was.
As she emerged from the cage, thousands of wings scattered like a whispered rebellion against gravity, each butterfly a symbol of release, of transformation, of herself. The crowd didn't move, didn't blink, as she stepped from the cage with the kind of grace that felt earned—not gifted. Her hips spoke in rhythms older than language, her body carrying the truth she hadn't needed to voice.
You will remember me— and know I'm his Butterfly from this moment on.
The way he looked at her made the air shift. Made men recalibrate their approach. Made women reconsider her. His eyes claimed her, yes—but it was more than possession she saw in them. It was a declaration. Not just to the room, but to Mynx that he intended to keep his word.
She touched her hand momentarily to the choker, her public acceptance of the claim.
Mine.
Mynx felt it hit her like gravity—that this wasn't just performance anymore. This was her future. A transformation of herself to something that combined their fates. She wasn't escaping her past anymore—she was writing her future mid-stride, wings spread wide with Raven and the Kings.
The butterflies had scattered. But the room had already fallen under the spell of the one who'd emerged. Most of the members now seemed to look at her with respect instead of lust.
He sat down. The room jolted back into motion. Guards moved, members whispered, and the tension that had held everything still broke like glass. The moment passed, but its weight lingered. Raven didn't speak. He didn't need to. His presence reshaped the air around him.
Everyone adjusted. Everyone watched.
He had become the center. It made Mynx's smile broaden as she continued the performance. She closed her eyes and felt themusic; let it wash over her as she performed not for them, but him.
Halfway through the first dance. A commotion at the door drew Mynx's eyes to it. Three men dressed in all black, wearing leather vests, were escorted by guards to the table that Raven and his father already occupied. The heated discussion visible across the room between the two came to a halt as the men approached. Tension seemed to breathe into the room, covering the Kings as the men sat across the table from them.
Raven's father extended a hand to what must be the leader of the crew. The two shook, and the conversation started. Mynx's attention was pulled from Raven to a man who stood at the edge of the stage, waving at her, trying to get her to notice him. He was tall and thin, with a long, thin nose. Not bad on the eyes. But his gaze made her feel dirty. She closed her eyes, trying to recall his face from the binder. Pierre La Grange, she was pretty sure that was his name. The man she'd met in Cabo.
She looked back over to the table. Files slid across the table, hands moving with practiced ease. Servers stepped in with trays of drinks, their movements smooth, unobtrusive.
"Hey, —" Pierre called over the music, trying to pull her attention back to him.
