“What?” Rhen murmured, a sharp smirk cutting across his mouth. “I’m not pretty enough?”
He brushed past Dax with a sharp, dismissive glance.
“Oh, you’re pretty enough,” Dax called after him. “But you fucking stink.”
Once Rhen disappeared through the doorway, Dax’s smile faded. He understood the need for release, even if he rarely indulged it with Rhen’s appetite for destruction. He preferred the safer arrangement: a willing body, enough blood to blunt the edge, and a clean departure before either side mistook hunger for attachment, with nothing promised, nothing claimed, and nothing carried into the following morning.
* * *
Later that night, the brothers moved like shadows through the rain-slick streets of New Orleans—silent and charged with purpose. Storm clouds hung low over the city, drizzle silvering old brick and wrought iron before turning the pavement to black glass beneath their boots. Their footsteps struck in near unison, swallowed by alleyways and the steady hiss of rain.
They were headed for Bar X.
Not for indulgence—at least not the kind mortals came for. Bar X was a hunting ground, and rogues were arrogant enoughto return to familiar dens when they thought the city belonged to them.
Sule wanted them brought in alive—questioned and, if necessary, torn apart for information about the heretics.
Rhen wanted them dead.
Either way, the brothers had come to flush them out.
Rhen led the way, stride sharp and purposeful. His black jacket clung to him like a second skin, weapons concealed beneath it like promises waiting to be kept. Silver eyes swept the streets ahead, jaw tight, hunger simmering beneath restraint.
Behind him, Dax moved like water—calm on the surface, lethal underneath. One hand rested near the blade strapped beneath his coat, fingers tapping a slow rhythm only instinct understood.
Cole and Malakai followed at the rear, quieter but no less dangerous. Cole’s focus stayed fixed on the streets ahead, measured and intent. Malakai watched everything—the rooftops, the alley mouths, the mortals lingering too close to the dark.
Four brothers. Four different weapons. Bound by blood. Sharpened by war.
Bar X loomed at the corner of a crumbling street, its neon fighting the rain beneath rusting iron balconies. Music pulsed through the walls—a low, heavy throb that carried through brick and bone alike.
Outside, dealers and low-level enforcers lingered beneath flickering lights alongside oblivious prey too drunk to recognize danger. A girl in silver heels stumbled past laughing, brushing shoulders with a male who wouldn’t survive until dawn.
Bar X wasn’t just a nightclub. It was a sanctuary of sin where nobody asked questions and nobody walked out clean. The brothers slipped through the side entrance, bypassing the line of mortals waiting beneath the rain. Inside, heat struckimmediately—thick with sweat, perfume, and lust—and beneath it all lay the faint metallic scent of blood.
Bodies swayed beneath fractured light, drunk on music and alcohol, blind to the predators moving among them. They slid into their usual booth: a shadowed alcove cut into the far wall. Leather seats, dim lighting, and a full view of the room. From here, they could see everything.
Rhen leaned back, one arm draped along the booth, fingers tapping absently. His silver gaze swept the room—sharp, patient.
He wasn’t hunting prey. He was hunting wrongness—movement, scent, a shift in the air that would tell him the rogues were close.
Near the bar, a woman in a sprayed-on black dress stood like she owned the place. Dark hair. Wicked grin. Eyes bright with synthetic courage and reckless intent. Her gaze snagged on Rhen like a hook. She smiled—unflinching, daring.
Rhen’s mouth curved, slow and cruel.
Temptation was rarely worth the time. But tonight he wanted his edge honed. Wanted his hunger quiet enough to think.
Dax slid in beside him, tracking Rhen’s line of sight. The bass thrummed low and hard, mirroring the tension sparking under Rhen’s skin.
Across the room, the brunette held his gaze, then began to move—hips swaying in time with the music, lips curved in a knowing smile.
Rhen didn’t rise. He didn’t need to.
He only tilted his chin and jerked his head once—a silent command aimed at the back-alley door.
No charm. No words. Just permission—and warning.
She followed anyway, heels clicking, too eager to care about the signs she should’ve feared.
