Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
Ronan
The thick smoke of a Cuban cigar drifted lazily through the violet haze of the room, slicing through the dim glow leaking from the red neon lights hidden behind velvet curtains. On the back wall, a muted projection pulsed slowly, silhouettes dancing in slow motion, while the music throbbed low in the background like the heartbeat of something sinful.
The black leather couch looked made for sins.
And sprawled across it sat Ronan Warrington.
Leaning back with one arm stretched casually over the backrest, he watched the scene like it belonged to him.
In a way, it did.
To his right, a blonde with overfilled lips and a dress that challenged every known standard of decency slid her long fingers beneath his black shirt, unbuttoned down to his chest. To his left, a caramel-skinned brunette with dark eyes brushed her lips against his neck with calculated slowness, as if whispering a forbidden prayer onto his skin.
On the table in front of him sat a crystal glass filled with aged whiskey, two perfectly lined trails of cocaine, a pack of expensive cigarettes, and a phone vibrating for the fifth time.
He didn’t even glance at the screen.
Ronan wasn’t the type to let himself be interrupted when he controlled the room.
-Ron… want me to pour another line?, the blonde whispered in a raspy voice, reaching toward the small bag of white powder.
He slowly turned his head toward her, his sharp, icy gaze cutting through her like a blade.
-You don’t ask, baby… he murmured.
-You do it.
She smiled awkwardly, blushing like a schoolgirl caught cheating, and obeyed immediately.
Ronan dragged his tongue over his lower lip, almost bored. His black eyes, deep, unreal, devastatingly beautiful, revealed absolutely nothing.
He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t high.
Just… empty.
And inside that silent emptiness lived all his power. All his anger.
The phone vibrated again.
Without fully sitting up, he reached for it and lifted the screen.
Next week. First race.
His eyes moved slowly over the text. A nearly invisible twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth.
The blonde laughed mindlessly beside him while the brunette’s hand slipped beneath his belt. The music pulsed harder. Red light twisted the shadows around them.
-Perfect… he whispered to himself.
He lifted his glass, clinked it against the empty air, and swallowed the whiskey in one smooth motion.
But his stare remained still. Cold. Beautiful as sin.
-I want a show, girls… not a circus, Ronan said, his voice low, lazy, and razor-sharp all at once.
It wasn’t a request.
It was law.
The two women exchanged a glance.
The blonde stood first, peeling the dress off her body like a second skin and letting it fall dramatically onto the floor. Her tiny bra followed as she stepped forward slowly, turning for him like she was dancing for an audience of one.
The brunette tossed her hair over her shoulder, smiling wide as she rose too, her hips moving to the rhythm vibrating through the walls. She approached the blonde and, with hypnotic grace, pressed her lips against her neck… then lower, along her collarbone.
They started kissing slowly, hungrily, their bodies tangled together, stripped of both fabric and inhibition.
Ronan watched them with his elbows resting on his knees, the whiskey abandoned on the table beside him. He ran his tongue over his lips and smirked faintly.
His gaze was a knife cutting through the smoke.
Every movement they made was for him. A performance of desire. An act of submission.
-Closer, he murmured.
-I don’t want to blink and miss something.
The girls laughed softly, dizzy from alcohol, desire, and the thrill of simply being near him. They climbed onto the massive bed covered in black silk sheets and continued their teasing dance while kissing greedily, hands roaming across skin, thighs, and curves in a choreography born from pure shamelessness.
Ron rose slowly.
Carefully.
Like a predator.
Fluid. Silent. Precise.
He undid the first button of his shirt. Then the next. And the next.
Until the fabric slipped from his athletic shoulders entirely.
His pale skin contrasted against the darkness of the room. Black hair fell rebelliously over his brows, and his eyes…
God, those eyes.
Ronan’s eyes weren’t merely dark.
They were darkness itself.
And tonight, inside that room, they carried only one emotion:
Control.
He stepped toward the bed, letting his pants slide down with the same sensual slowness.
The girls had stopped dancing now.
They watched him. Waiting.
And he smiled.
Satisfied. Lazy. Dangerous.
His stare promised something that couldn’t be spoken aloud… Only felt.
Through skin. Through breath. Through every nerve that didn’t yet realize it was about to burn.
-Let me show you what a real show looks like…
And then the darkness swallowed them whole desire, muffled moans, tangled kisses, wandering hands, and protected sex dissolving into the night like a sinful ritual.
The private room door opened slowly, releasing a trail of smoke and the lingering scent of sex back into the club.
Ronan stepped out first, buttoning his black shirt with slow, distracted movements. He ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall into that perfectly careless mess over his eyes, and glanced around with mild amusement.
The stop had been brief.
But intense.
Exactly the way he liked it.
Behind him, one of the girls giggled weakly while the other adjusted her clothes with a dazed expression. Ronan never looked back at them.
And he had no intention of doing so.
As he descended the three steps leading back into the main area, the club lights wrapped around him in violent waves of color, violet, electric blue, burning red.
The music pulsed through the floor. Through skin. Through blood.
-RON!
The voice came from somewhere to his right.
Kevin, his oldest and loudest friend, was waving a drink in the air with a redhead draped all over him like a living accessory. Her hair was braided into dozens of thin plaits hanging almost to her waist, swaying like snakes every time she laughed.
-Man! Kevin shouted over the music, laughing like a lunatic.
-You spoiled yourself with two tonight! Two! I swear to God, you’re gonna walk straight into heaven through pure sin!
Ronan approached lazily.
He snatched the drink from Kevin’s hand and brought it to his lips without asking what was inside. To him, everything was consumed with the same carefully crafted indifference, women, alcohol, friends.
A luxury reserved for people who no longer felt anything.
-Heaven? he murmured mockingly.
-Too far from my taste.
Kevin burst into even louder laughter, shoving the redhead toward Ron for a second. She touched his chest instinctively, but he caught her wrist and lowered her hand without aggression, yet with a clarity sharp enough to destroy any illusion.
-One at a time, doll.I don’t waste myself that easily.
Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared onto the dance floor.
Two blondes had already spotted him.
They pressed themselves against his sides like elegant predators sensing blood in the water. Ronan moved with lazy confidence, his body swaying to the beat like a man who knew exactly how badly he was wanted, and knew he had all the time in the world to decide who deserved his attention.
Their hands slid over his shirt, his chest, the length of his arms.
He smiled.
None of them mattered.
But they played their roles perfectly.
Everyone wanted to be around Ronan.
To touch him. To be seen beside him. To feel his gaze land on them, even for a second.
No one knew that inside his mind, only one word echoed endlessly:
Race.
And the word rolled across his thoughts like an insult flavored with adrenaline.
The knocking came far too early.
And far too aggressively.
The bedroom was almost completely dark, thick curtains keeping the daylight outside with military discipline. On the massive bed beneath a heavy cashmere blanket lay a figure dressed in black and silver shadows. One leg hung carelessly over the edge, a silent testimony to last night’s chaos.
The door opened quietly.
Jose stepped inside, impeccably dressed as always. Without hesitation, he walked straight toward the window and pulled the curtains open wide.
Sunlight exploded into the room like a miniature nuclear bomb.
-Close the damn curtains, Jose, growled the voice from beneath the blanket, deep, rough, and poisonous.
-Unless you want me to shove them up your ass.
Jose stopped immediately, though he didn’t seem remotely impressed.
-Sir, when you returned home at 2:45 a.m., you instructed me to wake you at ten o’clock for your online course. He paused briefly.
-Extended Marketing in Digital Business.
The blanket was violently thrown aside.
Ronan dragged a hand down his face with a long, exhausted sigh before sitting up, hair disheveled and expression hollow, the face of a man who no longer believed in anything.
He stared at Jose like the poor man was personally responsible for every bad decision he’d ever made.
-Get out.
The tone was low. Short. Completely devoid of patience.
-Of course, sir.
Jose vanished like a discreet ghost, closing the door silently behind him.
Ronan climbed out of bed heavily, stripping his clothes off as he walked toward the bathroom. The shirt reeked of smoke and sweat. The pants still carried traces of whiskey and feminine hands.
He tossed everything onto the floor in disgust before stepping directly beneath the shower.
Cold water crashed against his skin, and he exhaled with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had survived yet another pointless battle against his own hangover.
Then his phone started ringing somewhere in the bedroom.
Persistently.
-Seriously…? Ronan muttered through clenched teeth.
He stormed out of the bathroom, snatching a towel from the rack and wrapping it carelessly around his waist. Water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders, and his black eyes were darker from irritation than lack of sleep.
By the time he reached the bed, the phone had stopped ringing.
Missed call.
Dad.
Ronan frowned.
His touch against the screen was strangely hesitant.
A new message appeared.
He opened it.
And his expression froze into something twisted between disgust, disbelief, and bitter amusement.
Ron… I got married. I know, sounds insane. I wanted to tell you over the phone, but you never answer.
I’m coming back married, Ron. To the most extraordinary woman in the world.
And you’re finally getting the brother you always wanted. He’s twenty-four.
A muscle twitched violently in his jaw.
The brother you always wanted.
Ronan laughed.
Short.
Dangerous.
Almost theatrical.
Then he threw the phone onto the bed and collapsed onto the edge of it, wet, furious, and deeply offended by the absurd idea that somewhere, somehow, someone could genuinely believe he had ever wanted…
A brother.
