23. A Dance with Wolves

And finally, after devouring her with their eyes, they rose from their seats.

Their movements were slow, deliberate. Like hunters closing in on their prey.

Loraine remained oblivious until she felt it—the presence of someone too close.

A deep voice slithered near her ear.

"Didn't expect to see a woman like you here."

Loraine turned sharply, only to find herself blocked by a towering man, his smirk laced with something ugly. Her instinct told her to step back—only to collide with another body behind her.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. How had she not noticed them closing in?

"Easy there," Another voice chuckled, this one to her right. "No need to be scared, sweetheart. We just wanna talk."

"Not every day we see a beauty like you in a place like this," The third one added, his gaze shamelessly raking over her.

Their words were casual, but their intent was anything but that.

Still, Loraine forced herself to remain composed.

She offered a polite but firm smile. "I appreciate the interest, gentlemen, but I'm not looking for company."

One of them laughed—a low, mocking sound. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that. We're just being friendly."

Friendly?

Then why did it feel like an ambush?

Loraine took a slow breath, suppressing the irritation rising in her chest. "And I'm politely declining."

She moved to step away, but a hand shot out, fingers grazing her wrist.

And that was a mistake.

Before he could react, Loraine twisted her body, her free hand snapping up and locking around his wrist. A sharp turn, a downward yank—his arm bent at an unnatural angle as he let out a pained grunt.

In one smooth motion, she pivoted and grabbed another by the collar, yanking him forward and off balance. A quick step behind his leg, and he was sent crashing onto the floor.

The third one barely had time to react before she shifted her weight, snaking an arm around his, twisting it behind his back with just enough force to make him wince.

By the time the men realized what had happened, Loraine was already stepping back, adjusting her dress with practiced ease.

The room paused, followed by a round of applause.

Several club-goers who had witnessed the exchange began clapping, a few even whistling in admiration.

"Damn!" Someone called out. "That was badass!"

Loraine simply offered a small, composed smile before turning on her heel. She was done here.

Behind her, the three men slowly pulled themselves together, rage flickering in their eyes.

"You have no idea who you just messed with," One of them snarled.

Loraine barely spared him a glance. "Then it's a shame you weren't smart enough to act accordingly."

And with that, she walked away.

"Damn it!" He slammed his fist on the floor. "I will not spare you bitch!"

By the time Loraine reentered the VIP lounge, the atmosphere remained as relaxed as before.

Rowan was still engaging the group effortlessly, keeping them entertained, while Mila laughed at one of Samir's jokes.

But Selene's eyes immediately locked onto her.

"You took your time," She remarked, setting down her glass.

Loraine merely smiled, smoothing a hand over her dress. "I decided to take a little tour of the club. It's quite… lively."

Selene studied her for a second longer, then nodded.

The conversation continued, the group none the wiser... well, except one.

Rowan's gaze flickered over to Loraine, subtle but sharp.

He noticed the slight shift in her breathing. The faint crease in her dress, as if it had been gripped too tightly.

And the way she carried herself—she was a bit alert.

Something had happened.

But she wasn't saying.

And Rowan didn't ask. 

Instead, he picked up a fresh glass, poured a slow stream of whiskey over ice, and slid it toward her.

Loraine glanced at him, brow raising slightly.

"On the house," Rowan said smoothly. "You look like you need it."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, a small chuckle. Loraine picked up the glass and took a sip. "I suppose I do."

Half an hour later, the atmosphere in the VIP lounge had settled into a comfortable ease.

Drinks were finished, discussions concluded, and the investment decision had been all but finalized.

Selene leaned back in her seat, her piercing steel-blue eyes landing on Rowan.

"Tell your boss to expect a call soon," She instructed, her tone firm yet satisfied.

Mila, beside him, released a barely noticeable sigh of relief. If the guests had left unsatisfied, she and Rowan would have been in for a hell of a scolding from Silas.

But just as they were about to leave.

BANG.

The VIP lounge door flew open, crashing against the floor with a violent force.

A gang of thugs stormed in, their presence an instant disruption. They were carrying steel pipes and knives with menacing grins carved onto their faces. 

The once-relaxed atmosphere evaporated, replaced by something thick, and unforgiving.

Mila let out a startled gasp while Natalie stiffened.

Samir's lazy posture straightened and Selene's expression turned cold.

Rowan's eyes swept over the newcomers, his sharp gaze immediately recognizing most of them—Steel Vipers.

One of the more aggressive street gangs that lurked around in the neighborhood. 

However, what stood out more than the gang itself was the three bruised and enraged men standing at the front.

Recognition flickered in Rowan's mind instantly. He had suspected something after noticing Loraine's slight dishevelment, her quickened breathing—but now, it was confirmed.

So that's what happened.

His gaze drifted to Loraine, her posture stiffening slightly as the three thugs pointed in her direction.

"That's the bitch!" He spat, voice venomous. "Take her! She humiliated us! We'll teach her a lesson she won't forget!"

His meaning was sickeningly clear.

Rowan saw it in Loraine's eyes.

The flicker of disgust... of restrained fury.

Selene stood abruptly, her expression one of sheer rage.

"You have five seconds to turn around and leave," She snapped, voice sharp as ice. "Or you won't be walking out of here at all."

The leader of the thugs, a scarred man with dead eyes, sneered at her. "Or what? You think a bunch of pretty little rich kids scare me?"

His gaze dragged over the women in the room.

Rowan hated that look.

The way it slithered over their figures, like they were possessions, not people.

Samir slowly rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. The playful charm was gone, replaced with a pure, quiet menace.

"You don't know who you're messing with," He said, his voice deceptively smooth. "If you touch her—if you even breathe in her direction the wrong way—you won't live to regret it."

"Hahaha..."

The thugs laughed.

"Brat, you talk too much," One of them sneered.

Selene's lips curled into a smirk.

"You have no idea how dead you are," She murmured. "One call to the Black Order, and you and your entire gang are wiped off the map."

The room fell silent for a fraction of a second.

Even the most clueless street trash knew that name.

But the leader forced a laugh, covering his uncertainty with bravado. "Bullshit. The Black Order doesn't waste time on people like you."

Then, he licked his lips and motioned to his men. "Take all the girls."

That was their final mistake.

The two gang members lunged but they were immediately taken down for underestimating them.

Samir moved first, sidestepping a steel pipe aimed at his ribs. He grabbed the thug's wrist, twisting it with brutal force before delivering a sharp knee to his stomach.

The man collapsed, gasping for air.

Loraine, fast and efficient, ducked under a wild punch. She seized the second thug's arm, twisted, and sent him crashing into the floor. A swift kick to his ribs ensured he wouldn't be getting up soon.

The gang hesitated.

They weren't expecting a fight.

Selene, unimpressed, picked up a glass bottle from the table and hurled it. It shattered against a thug's face, sending him staggering backward with a cry.

Rowan observed, noting their movements.

Hmm... they were trained. Not amateurs. Not just self-defense. They had combat experience.

But things were far from over.

With a roar, three more gang members charged forward.

Selene blocked a pipe with her forearm, gritting her teeth against the impact before delivering a swift palm strike to her attacker's nose.

"You fucking bitch! I'm going to kill you." He reeled back, cursing.

Loraine was handling herself well, her movements calculated, until one of the thugs pulled out a knife.

The thug lunged, knife arcing toward her exposed side.

Loraine, still locked in combat with another enemy, couldn't turn in time. The blade whistled through the air, descending toward her exposed back.

She braced herself.

But the pain never came.

A second passed. Then another.

Clang!

A sharp gasp echoed in the tense air.

Eyes darted toward the source of the sound, and there, standing amidst the chaos, was a hand—fingers wrapped around cold steel like a vice.

The thug's breath hitched. His pulse spiked. Slowly, almost fearfully, he followed the arm upwards, his gaze locking onto the owner of that unyielding grip.

A chill shot down his spine.

Rowan.

But this wasn't the calm, composed Rowan they knew. No. His eyes—those normally warm, teasing embers—had turned into a chaotic storm, swirling with something raw and bloodthirsty. They burned, deep and endless, like a hurricane ready to tear through everything in its path.

Mila let out a strangled gasp.

Selene's breath hitched, her fingers trembling.

Samir froze mid-motion, his mind struggling to process what he was witnessing.

Loraine—who had nearly been struck—stood rigid, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared at him.

And Rowan...

He didn't flinch. Didn't waver.

His hand remained clenched around the blade, unmoving. Blood welled from his palm, spilling between his fingers, thick and crimson, dripping onto the floor below with soft, wet splatters.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The thug snarled and yanked at his weapon, desperate to retrieve it.

But it wouldn't budge.

Rowan's grip tightened.

The thug's breath came in short, panicked gasps as he yanked harder.

But... still nothing.

"You shouldn't have come here," Rowan murmured, voice dangerously low.

He moved like a phantom, his hand a blur.

Thwack!

His fist smashed into the thug's throat, cutting off his breath in an instant. The man's eyes bulged, a strangled gag escaping as spit flew from his mouth. He stumbled, clutching at his neck, gasping like a fish out of water.

But Rowan wasn't done.

Before the thug could even register the pain, a brutal kick crashed into his knee. Crack! His leg buckled. A choked scream tore from his throat as he collapsed, falling helplessly onto the cold floor.

BAM!

Rowan's knee slammed into his face with bone-crushing force. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth, his face twisting into something barely recognizable.

The thug twitched once.

Then, silence.

Knocked out cold.

The entire room froze.

Two seconds. Just two seconds

That's all it took for Rowan to finish him for good.