Jaxon Voxx
The quiet click of the pen echoed louder than it should have.
Astrid Wilder. Her name now sat beside mine, etched on legal paper, binding us in a lie worth fifty million dollars and one cold-blooded legacy. Her signature was neat, hesitant at the start, but firm at the end—like she made peace with her decision mid-stroke.
"No sex," she had written in bold, underlined twice like it meant something.
I smirked.
Cute.
She had no idea what world she just stepped into. No clue that the man sitting across from her wasn't just a businessman. He was a monster carved by blood, betrayal, and centuries of ruthless evolution.
She'd learn eventually.
Luca stood by the door, arms folded, waiting. "I'll take her home. Let her gather her things," he said.
I nodded without looking up. "Make it quick."
As they walked out, I stayed seated, fingers tracing the edge of the paper. Her scent still lingered in the room—warm, clean, like cinnamon and vanilla. She didn't wear expensive perfume. She wore desperation and quiet fire. It clung to her skin.
And I hated how much I noticed.
A buzz broke the silence. My phone vibrated.
Victor.
I swiped. "Talk."
"You need to come down to the warehouse. We've got movement. Shipment's ready—and you'll want to see this."
"Give me ten."
By the time I rolled into the warehouse, the sun was hiding behind thick clouds. The air smelled like sweat, oil, and secrets. My boots echoed off the concrete as I walked past the crates—every one of them packed with narcotics that could fund a small country.
Victor met me at the loading bay. Tall, broad, silent when he needed to be—he was Luca's right hand but loyal to the Voxx bloodline. Mine.
"All set. Discreet packaging, double-checked. We're using the North Atlantic route. Security's tight."
"Good," I muttered. "Ship it to New York tonight. Not a second later. I want eyes on it the whole damn way."
Victor nodded.
But I wasn't done.
I turned toward the far end of the warehouse—toward the rusted metal door with reinforced locks. "Take me to him."
Victor didn't speak. Just led the way.
Inside, the room was dim. The only light came from a bare bulb swinging above a metal chair. And in that chair… was the traitor.
He was slumped, bloodied, eyes swollen. Hands tied behind him, breathing shallow. But not dead.
Yet.
I stepped forward slowly, letting the sound of my boots fill the silence.
"You tried to sabotage my empire," I said. "That takes guts."
He didn't respond.
I crouched down, forcing him to look at me. "But you see… guts only impress me when they stay inside the body."
He spat blood, defiant. "Go to hell."
I smiled.
"Victor."
Without hesitation, Victor pulled a blade from his belt and made a clean slice across the man's chest. The scream was immediate.
It continued for a while.
Cuts. Burns. Pressure to the ribs. Every scream echoed against the walls like a twisted symphony. I didn't flinch.
Finally, the bastard whimpered, "I was paid..."
"By who?" I growled.
He shook his head. "You'll kill me anyway."
"True," I said calmly.
Then I let the shift come.
My claws extended, sharp and silver-tipped. My eyes burned gold. I grabbed his chin, leaned close.
"This was your last chance."
With a swift slash, I cut his throat. Not deep enough to kill instantly. Just enough to make it slow.
He gurgled and slumped forward.
"Take care of the body," I told Victor coldly. "No trail. No trace."
Victor nodded. "Yes, Alpha."
I drove aimlessly after that. The fury wouldn't leave me. My blood ran hot, my beast close to the surface. I needed control. Release.
So I went where I always went—The Den. My private club.
Melissa was already there.
Blonde. Slender. Mouth like sin.
She knew what I wanted without words.
I didn't touch her gently. I didn't need softness. I needed to fuck the rage out of me.
She dropped to her knees in seconds, her lips wrapping around me with practiced ease. I grabbed the back of her head and thrust deep, not caring if she gagged. Not caring if she could breathe.
She moaned around me, her nails digging into my thighs.
"Up. Bend over," I ordered.
She obeyed, dress riding up her ass, no panties.
I slammed into her hard, one hand on her hip, the other yanking her hair back. She cried out, loving the pain.
"You missed me, didn't you?" I grunted.
"Yes—God, yes—Jaxon—harder—"
I gave it to her. Brutal. Fast. No mercy.
Just the way she liked it. Just the way I needed it.
By the time I came, I was panting, sweat running down my back. Melissa collapsed forward on the couch, legs shaking.
But the anger… it wasn't gone. Just muted.
I left her there without a word.
Home was quiet.
I poured myself a drink, dark whiskey that burned all the way down. I loosened my shirt, leaned back on the leather couch. But something pulled at me.
Something soft.
I walked down the hall and paused at her door.
It was slightly open.
Astrid.
She was curled up on the bed, chest rising gently, her arm hugging a pillow. She looked… small. Fragile. Nothing like Melissa.
I stared for a moment.
No makeup. No walls.
Just her.
I closed the door softly and walked away.
But her scent still followed me.
Vanilla. Cinnamon. A quiet fire.
I finished my drink.
Tomorrow, I'd remind her exactly what she signed up for.
And eventually… she'd realize that "no sex" clause?
It wouldn't survive us.