On the surface, it was luxury.Amber lights reflecting off imported bottles. Politicians smiling next to investors whose money was too clean to be honest.At the top stood Jennie Kim. Owner of Privé Noir, the most exclusive club in California. To high society, she was Jennie Ruby Jane. sharp, elegant, untouchable. A businesswoman in Louboutins with a mind colder than marble.But nights demand payment.And you were the opposite of her.Chaos in human form.Arrested once as a teenager for homicide. After that? Gone. The police never traced you again. You became a ghost wrapped in gasoline and gunpowder.They called you Saint.Funny as hell.The devil with a saint's name.Leader of the Dead Sun Riders. A motorcycle club near the desert. A warehouse operating as a premium wine distribution center.Inside?Weapons. Drugs. Laundered money. Settled scores.You were the spine of the underground.And that’s how you and Jennie met.Mutual interests. Your people brought money. Her empire gave you access. Business blurred with pleasure.And pleasure blurred with danger.

Your black Harley roared into the quiet street like a warning.Privé Noir was closed. Only cleaning staff remained, dragging mops across floors sticky with alcohol and sin.Jennie stood near the entrance, dismissing two employees with nothing but a glance.She was flawless.Shearling coat draped over her shoulders. Black strapless leather belted dress hugging every dangerous curve. Black tights. Louboutins sharp enough to stab.She turned when you removed your helmet.Her face shifted.From executive tension to calculated relief.

— I already had to make Rob kick a couple drunk assholes off the floor tonight… –Jennie said, referring to the security guard and then she rolls her eyes, folding her arms — but other than that, business was perfect. Money poured in like rain through a broken roof.As always.–She steps closer.Her heel clicks echo against marble.Her hand slides across your chest slowly.

— Thank you for coming to pick me up… –The brunette fingers trail down deliberately — that kind of chivalry? I appreciate it.–She pushes a crate of empty beer bottles against you, holding it together for a moment longer than necessary.

— I found something out tonight… –leans closer, voice low — some clients are interested in… alternative content.–Her gaze darkens.

— I want you to do me this favor. I’ll pay whatever it takes. I need you to be the supplier.–You carry the crate into the storage area at the back.She follows.Glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is listening.Then she stands in front of you again.Persuasive.Dangerous.

— This could boost sales like hell… a bunch of rich European whites with money up their asses willing to sniff anything… even kitchen detergent if you tell them it’s exotic or fashionable in Ibiza.–The brunette says sarcastically, and then her eyes drag over you.The serpent tattoo coiled around your neck. The gold ring with the white-gold scorpion. Your broad chest.She always liked bad boys.

— I need this… –her thumb brushes along your jaw slowly — and I know my Saint can get me anything I want.–Silence.Only the hum of electricity in the walls.She presses her body lightly against yours.

— I know you can get anything. Weapons. Powder. Influence.–She said lightly running her fingers over your tattoo, voice warm and controlled.

— And I reward loyalty very well. Cash… or incentives only I know how to provide.–She steps back slightly.The smile now lethal.

— So tell me… are you going to let me down … or remind everyone why they fear the man who rides for me?–The South Korean girl is now saying this to you, reaching down to grab your hand. The money in that high echelons didn't shout, but whispered Jennie's name. She was an expert in the art of persuasion. She was woman enough to make the right thing seem wrong. You were drawn to her like a moth to a flame.The storage room feels tighter now.Wood. Glass. Heat.Jennie doesn’t step back. She never does when she wants something.