Chapter Six
The gunshot echoed through the underground cage like a divine punctuation — the kind that closed a chapter permanently. Ziko’s body slumped forward, lifeless, crimson blooming across his chest like a cursed rose. Hunter stood still as his men: trained, merciless, silent, stepped in and cleaned up the mess. Not a single command was needed. They knew the drill. Blood was part of the foundation down here.
Hunter lit a cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips like a hissed warning to anyone daring enough to cross him next. The bitter flavor of rage hadn’t dulled at all. If anything, it grew sharper with every passing second.
Ziko had betrayed him; sold him out, after everything. Secrets passed to Geret, the bastard running dirty counter deals across the East. And for what? A woman? A paycheck? A foolish taste of power?
He'd remember once before he fucked Geret’s woman. She was a pretty little slut who didn't hesitate to be fucked by him. He had no idea she was Geret's woman at first, until Geret sent words to challenge him in the ring. In the ring, Geret had angrily mentioned that he'd slept with his woman. He never regrets because if he had known, he would still have done it.
Hunter’s jaw clenched. His temple pulsed.
Tobias approached him from the shadows. "It’s done boss. The crew’s cleaning out his things. Geret’s next, just give your orders."
"Let him wait," Hunter muttered, tossing the cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his boot. "I need something else first."
He stalked out of the cage, past the thick steel door, his boots echoing against the cement floors as he emerged into the shadowy underbelly of The Devil’s Den — the club's true face.
Above ground, it looked like any other elite lounge: clean lines, pulsing lights, and perfect cocktails. But below? That’s where his world came alive. Where billionaires crawled in with leashes, kings knelt before pain, and women sold not just their bodies—but their souls. A haven of ruin. A kingdom of dominance. And Hunter Groves ruled it all.
The music deepened to a sultry bass. Strobes flickered red.
He walked past cages where bodies tangled in ritualistic madness and sex, past silk curtains that shielded elite sins, and paused before the stage.
A stripper spun slowly on the pole, skin slick with oil, eyes half-lidded in pleasure as she played to the rhythm. Her movements were seductive, fluid, begging. Hunter’s eyes locked on her. She wasn’t his type — but she would do. Tonight wasn’t about preference. It was about release.
He walked to the stage, grabbed her by the hair without a word. She gasped, but her eyes lit up with awe and submission when she realized it was him. Every girl on this stage dreamed of being chosen by The Devil.
He sat down on the sleek leather couch at the back of the crowd, the throne from which he reigned over this chaos. With a gleam in her eye, the stripper dropped to her knees, already knowing what he needed.
She unbuckled his belt, slow at first, tongue darting out to wet her lips, anticipation heightening every movement. Her hands shook slightly both from fear and worship. She used her hand to pull his hard rod out. And as she lowered her head, he groaned deeply, leaning back, his eyes dark and unreadable.
His hand threaded through her hair, gripping hard.
She moaned, gagged, adjusted.
He didn’t stop her. Didn’t guide. Just watched, letting his fury ease with every second of use. Her devotion was silent but raw, like a prayer wrapped in filth. And she offered herself with every flick of her tongue.
He wasn't satisfied with her pace, so he grabbed her head and jacked his him, thrust hard into her mouth.
She gaged, scratched as if pleading for him to let go, but just got started. He fucked her mouth hard, fast, deep, pushing deeper to the back of her throat.
After a while, he let go of her mouth, stood and bent her over the couch. She was still trying to catch her breath as he ripped the thin straps of her lingerie down.
The first thrust made her gasp. She braced herself, nails digging into the couch.
He rammed into her — no rhythm, no build-up, just raw, powerful dominance. It wasn’t about her. It was solely about him. His fury. His release. And still, she whimpered in delight, arched back into him, desperate to be used by the Devil himself.
The room spun with heat and shadows.
His hand wrapped around her neck.
She moaned harder.
“Don't make a sound bitch.”
“Take everything I give you silently,” he growled, getting irritated by the sound she was making. He wasn't in the mood today.
She obeyed, barely. Because each thrust he made went deeper than the other. Like a punishment.
When he has poured his juice inside of her, he zipped up without wasting time. She collapsed onto the leather, trembling and satisfied — like someone who’d finally been branded by the fire they’d always chased or craved.
Hunter straightened his shirt and looked down at the girl. "Tell Mario to bring me something cold."
"Y-yes, sir," she breathed.
He walked away, his fury dulled but not dead. He needed a drink.
Few minutes later, Mario, the old bartender with rolled sleeves and a weathered face, handed Hunter a fresh glass of whiskey. "Rough night?"
Hunter gave a tired chuckle. "You could say that."
Mario nodded. "You keep cleaning the shadows, Devil, but they’ll always crawl back."
"Then I’ll keep burning them out," Hunter murmured.
Just then, Tobias appeared again.
"Geret just bought himself a new mole inside Everlight. We got the name."
Hunter downed the whiskey.
"We pay him a visit," he said.
And the Devil stood to deliver his next judgment.
The next morning, Mirabella sat at the dining table in a loose sweatshirt, her legs folded beneath her. Her dark curls were tied up in a bun, and her eyes — though tired — had a glint of clarity. Aria sat across from her, sipping from a tall mug, while Hilda fussed with plates.
"You sure you slept okay?" Hilda asked.
"Yeah." Mira gave a small smile. "The bed’s comfy. It’s just weird… being back."
Aria leaned in. "We’ll make it feel like home again. Eventually."
Hilda turned with a plate. "You’re not thinking of going back to your family house, are you?"
Mirabella shook her head quickly. "No. I… I’m not ready for that. And honestly, I don't think I ever will be."
She knew that she was never going back home. Home? Far from that. She knew it would never feel like her home ever again. Going back there would only make her lonely, and that is what she was running from. She wants a comfortable and free life. And what was the guarantee that that man was not going to come back to the house. It's been so long, but what if? Her brother had also strictly warned her not to come back to Atlanta, so there was every possibility that the demon was still trailing her. He'd promised to come back for her. A cold shiver ran through her as she remembered his stern face with that promise. But she hoped with everything in her that she would never cross paths with him again. She would live a good life. One her brother would be proud of.
A silence settled for a moment, thick with the weight of unspoken grief.
Mirabella cleared her throat. "Actually, remember I told you that I’ve been applying to a few places. Trying to get something part-time while Aria and I set up the new apartment."
"Anything else in mind, apart from the club?" Hilda asked.
"It’s just a job, Hilda," Mira said softly. "I’m really an adult now. I need to stand on my own. I don’t want you worrying about me forever."
Aria nodded. "Besides, it’s good money. Even if it’s just for a while."
Hilda looked unconvinced. "Just… be careful. There are men who go there for more than just drinks."
Mirabella gave a small smile. "I’ll be okay. I promise."
That afternoon, her phone buzzed.
An email coming in,
From: The Devil’s Den HR
Subject: Application Status
Message:
Mirabella Antonio
Thank you for applying for the lounge/club hostess position at The Devil’s Den. After reviewing your qualifications, we are pleased to invite you for an initial trial shift. Please report next Friday at 7:00 PM unfailingly and on time. Dress code is formal and black. Further details will be provided upon arrival.
We look forward to meeting you.
— Management
Mira stared at the email for a long moment. A strange chill moved down her spine, but she shook it off.
She was both happy and felt another kind of emotion she couldn't explain. But overall, she was happy.
She finally had a foot in the door.
A few nights later…
The lights of Megaton Club glittered over Mirabella’s black dress as she stepped in with Aria on her arm. They had both decided to go clubbing — one last hurrah before Mirabella’s new job started. The club was packed, and the music throbbed through the floor.
Mirabella smiled politely at men who passed by. She wasn’t looking for anything serious. She hadn’t been since… Atlanta.
"You’re too uptight," Aria teased, handing her a cocktail.
"I’m not uptight. I’m just... careful."
"Well, tonight, stop being careful. You start work in four days, and who knows, you might get tied down. Let’s be crazy tonight."
They were halfway through their second round of drinks when a young man appeared by their booth. Tan skin, buzzcut, and a smile like a well-oiled weapon.
“Ryan,” he said smoothly, offering his hand, eyes sliding over both of them. “Mind if I join?”
Aria took his hand first and nodded without even asking Mira. Mira also took his hand politely.
They laughed, joked, and danced. Ryan was flirty without being pushy, and charming in the kind of way that made Mira feel like she was forgetting something important.
But in all, Bryan was fun, easy going and the three of them actually clicked.
"You girls ever been to The Devil’s Den?" he asked while refilling their glasses.
Mirabella tensed. She exchanged a glance with Aria.
"I’m… starting work there next week," she admitted.
Ryan raised his brows, impressed. "Classy. Didn’t peg you for a Den girl."
She blushed. "It’s just a job please."
"Then tonight’s perfect," he smirked. "Come see the vibe. One night. You'll get to walk in as a guest before they slap a staff tag on you."
Aria clapped excitedly. "Yes… Let’s go. I have thought of going to see what goes on there. It's not far from here but we can take an uber there. It'd be faster."
Mirabella hesitated a little. Her gut whispered caution. But the drinks, the music, the laughter, it dulled her edge.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Just for a peek.”
The Devil’s Den club pulsed like a living beast. It was nothing like MegatonClub: red lights, black leather, high-class chaos. The scent of expensive perfume, cigars, and something more primal clogged her lungs. Sex practically clung to the walls.
Women danced in lingerie on elevated platforms, while men lounged in velvet booths, their hands not always visible above the table. Every glance felt like a challenge.
Mirabella clutched her purse tighter.
Ryan led them toward the long marble bar. Behind it stood an older man with silver hair slicked back and eyes like polished knives.
"Mario!" Ryan greeted. “Two for me, and get my girls anything they want.”
“Right on,” Mario’s eyes flicked to Mira and Aria and he gave them a polite nod.
“You girs came out to have fun?” he said, handing them glasses of clear liquid.
The girls nodded.
“You don't look like you belong in places like this.”
“Oh, don't worry about us old man, we are just fine,” Aria said with a side smile.
Mira blinked, unsure what to say.
She turned to Aria. “This place is… intense.”
Aria grinned, clearly enjoying the energy. “It’s fucking amazing.”
Behind them, Ryan was already chatting up a waitress, leaving them to explore.
Mirabella’s gaze wandered across the room. There was something hypnotic about how the place moved; the flashes of thigh, the teasing lips, the slow rhythm of pleasure and darkness. She could feel it crawling under her skin.
Hunter Groves leaned on the upper railing, a glass of dark scotch in hand. He was having a conversation with Gabriel, the club’s manager and an old friend from darker days.
“I want a full sweep done on anyone Geret’s spoken to,” Hunter was saying. “Tobias found encrypted audio in Ziko’s drive. He was giving details about the logistics operation.”
Gabriel cursed. “Fucking Geret. He's getting desperate. This isn’t his style — he’s provoking you. Wants you to move."
“I already have.” Hunter sipped. “Tonight, they’ll feel it.”
As Gabriel replied, Hunter’s attention drifted.
Below. Just near the bar.
A woman.
One he hadn’t seen in years, four years, only in pictures. One his memory never let go of.
She was older now. Curvier. Softer. But the same long dark hair. Oh, that long hair he has so many dark fantasies about. The same mouth he kept having dreams of.
Mirabella fucking Antonio.
He froze, the glass
stilling at his lips.
She was laughing lightly at something Mario said. Unaware.
Hunter Groves didn’t believe in fate.
But he believed in possession.
And the girl who got away?
Was now right beneath him.
In his damn club.
