Chapter 9: The first strike

The number Michael had given me burned a hole in my pocket. I hadn't called it. Not yet. But I carried it with me everywhere, like a secret, like a weapon I wasn't sure I was ready to use.

Because once I did, there would be no turning back.

Damien had made that clear.

Michael had made that clear.

And I was stuck in the space between them, walking the edge of a knife.

---

I was behind the bar at Edenwhen the first sign of trouble arrived.

It was a man I had seen before—one of Damien's enforcers. Big, mean, the kind of guy who had never heard the word "no" and didn't know what to do when he did. His name was Carter, and he wasn't here for a drink.

He leaned against the bar, giving me a lazy smile. "You've been quiet."

I poured a drink for another customer, ignoring him. "Didn't realize I had to check in."

Carter chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Damien wants to see you."

My stomach twisted.

I glanced around the lounge. Selene was watching from across the room, her expression unreadable. She knew better than to get involved.

I exhaled slowly, then met Carter's eyes. "Why?"

He smirked. "Come find out."

I didn't have a choice. Not really.

So I nodded, untied my apron, and followed him out the back door into the humid night.

---

Damien was waiting in his office, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

I had been in this room too many times before. It smelled like leather and smoke and power. The kind of place where decisions were made, where people were used up and discarded.

He looked up as I entered, his dark eyes sweeping over me like he was measuring something I couldn't see.

Then he smiled.

"Sit."

I didn't want to.

But I did.

Carter leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching.

Damien flicked ash from his cigarette. "Do you know why you're here?"

I kept my expression neutral. "No."

He exhaled smoke, tilting his head. "You've been spending a lot of time with Michael Devereaux."

There it was.

I forced a smirk. "Is that a problem?"

Damien leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "That depends."

"On what?"

He took another drag, watching me through the smoke. "On whether you remember who you belong to."

Something cold slid through me.

I clenched my fists under the table. "I don't belong to anyone."

Carter chuckled. Damien didn't.

He just smiled, slow and knowing.

"Don't lie to me, Winnie." His voice was almost gentle. "You wouldn't like what happens if you do."

I swallowed hard.

This was a warning.

A reminder that I was still trapped.

That no matter what Michael had promised, I wasn't free.

Not yet.

I forced myself to meet Damien's gaze. "What do you want from me?"

His smile widened. "I want you to prove your loyalty."

My blood turned to ice.

He leaned back, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray. "Michael Devereaux is a problem. And problems need to be handled."

I stared at him.

He couldn't be saying what I thought he was saying.

"You want me to…?"

Damien smirked. "Get close to him. Find out what he's planning."

I exhaled slowly, my pulse hammering.

He wasn't asking me to kill Michael. Not yet.

But he wanted me to betray him.

To sell him out.

To prove that I still belonged to Damien.

I forced myself to nod. "Okay."

Damien smiled like I had just told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

But as I walked out of that office, I knew one thing for sure.

I wasn't going to betray Michael.

I was going to destroy Damien.

And for the first time in my life, I had a way to do it.

I pulled the slip of paper from my pocket.

And I made the call.

---

Michael answered on the second ring.

"Winnie."

I swallowed hard. "I need to see you."

He didn't ask why.

He just said, "Come."

So I went.

---

Michael's penthouse was dark when I arrived, the city glowing beyond the glass walls.

He was waiting for me, leaning against the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He studied me as I walked in, taking in the tension in my shoulders, the way my hands shook.

Then he set his glass down.

"Damien made his move," he said. It wasn't a question.

I nodded. "He wants me to spy on you."

Michael didn't react.

He just walked to the window, staring out at the city.

Then he said, "So what are you going to do?"

I took a deep breath. "I want out, Michael."

He turned his head slightly. "We've already talked about that."

"I know," I said. "And I'm ready."

He was silent for a long moment.

Then he finally turned to face me, his expression

unreadable.

"Once we start, there's no going back."

"I know."

Michael walked toward me, slow, deliberate.

He stopped just inches away, close enough that I could see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Then he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

And he said, "Then let's end this."

I swallowed hard.

Because I knew what that meant.

War.

There would be no second chances.

No mercy.

Either Damien fell.

Or I did.

And I had already made my choice.