Chapter 29 My Tesoro
“Can you get the lady another drink?” Jace says to the bartender.
I shake my head hard, panic fluttering in my chest, but my lips won’t cooperate. My tongue feels heavy, unresponsive.
The sound of glass hitting marble echoes too loudly as a drink is placed in front of me—something darker, stronger.
“No,” I whisper, though I’m not sure it comes out right.
“Just one more,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath hot and unpleasant against my ear. “Then you can come with me. I’ll take very good care of you.”
Fear slices through the fog.
I push at his chest, using what little strength I can muster. “Stop,” I try to say, but the word dissolves before it fully forms.
I slide off the stool, desperate to put distance between us, but I don’t get far.
A large hand clamps around my waist, yanking me backward. I crash into him, my balance completely gone, my body pressed against his as his grip tightens.
Dizziness slams into me.
“L—let me g—” I slur, my eyelids unbearably heavy.
“Relax,” he whispers. “You’re safe with me.”
He isn’t.
I know that instinctively, even as my body betrays me. His lips press against my neck, and I flinch, a weak sound tearing from my throat as he doesn’t let go.
Something is very, very wrong.
My limbs feel like they don’t belong to me anymore. Like the strength has been drained straight out of them, leaving me hollow and unsteady. I try to push him away again, but it’s useless. His hold only tightens.
Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and humiliating.
Why isn’t anyone seeing this?
The room feels distant, the music muffled, the edges of my vision blurring as a high-pitched ringing fills my ears. I can’t hear myself think. I can’t hear anything at all.
“Dam—Damien,” I try to call, his name breaking apart on my tongue.
The next moment happens too fast to process.
There’s a violent tug, a sudden release of pressure, and I’m stumbling forward as Jace is ripped away from me. I fall to my knees, pain shooting through them as they hit the hard floor.
I cry out weakly.
I try to lift my head, to see what’s happening, but my eyelids are impossibly heavy. Darkness creeps in at the edges, pulling me under.
All I know is that I’m falling—and this time, I don’t know if I’ll be able to catch myself.
~ DAMIEN ~
He was there.
Right in the middle of them—men dressed alike in perfectly tailored tuxedos, laughing too loudly, smelling of old money and entitlement. I would recognize him anywhere. I always did. His face was flushed the way it got when he drank too much, his eyes that particular shade I despised—not because of the color itself, but because of everything it represented.
Arrogance. Carelessness. A man who believed the world existed for his taking.
For a split second, our eyes met.
And then—nothing.
Like smoke, like a bad memory you try to grab only for it to dissolve, he slipped away.
Just like that.
My jaw clenched as I scanned the room, anger simmering beneath my skin. I moved through the ballroom with purpose, my gaze sharp, calculating. I checked every corner, every group, every exit within sight. The bastard had vanished, and the fact that he’d done it so easily sent a dangerous thrill through my blood.
I hated loose ends.
I hated rats.
Before I could continue the search, voices intercepted me—familiar, unwanted.
“Damien!”
I stopped, forcing my expression into something neutral as a group of older men closed in around me. Friends of my father. Or rather, men who had benefited from his reign and now watched me like hawks, waiting for proof that I was either worthy—or weak.
“How’s the empire?” one of them asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Running smoothly?”
“As it should,” I replied evenly.
“Of course,” Coal Jones boomed, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I’d expect nothing less from the son of Dick Harrison Blackwood.”
The name sat bitterly on my tongue.
Kris leaned in, grinning like he knew something he shouldn’t. “Heard about that pretty little personal assistant of yours. Tell me—was she one of Dick’s products, or did you pick her yourself?”
The urge to break his nose was immediate and visceral. I imagined it clearly—the crunch, the blood, the satisfaction. Instead, I gave him nothing. No reaction. No warning. Just a cold, empty look.
“Oh come on,” another chimed in with a laugh. “A girl like that? Definitely Dick’s doing.”
Something dark twisted in my chest.
They had no idea how wrong they were. And they never would.
I had taken over the business to end that legacy. To burn that custom to the ground and rebuild something cleaner, something controlled. The thought that they believed I would continue my father’s sins made my stomach churn.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” I said, my voice calm, lethal in its restraint. “I need to find my date.”
I didn’t wait for a response.
As I walked away, a familiar image crept into my mind—Jasmine, tipsy, her cheeks flushed, her laughter softer than it should have been. Despite everything, a faint smile tugged at my lips.
My tesoro.
I had left her at the bar longer than I should have. The realization hit harder than expected, unease settling in my gut. I picked up my pace, eyes already searching for her as I approached the area where I’d last seen her.
Then I heard it.
A sound that didn’t belong.
Muffled. Broken.
A cry.
My blood ran cold.
The noise cut through the music, through the chatter, straight into my chest, tightening something deep inside me. Instinct took over. I didn’t think—I moved.
I ran.
The sight that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks, and whatever restraint I had left shattered instantly.
Rage exploded through me, hot and blinding.
Jace.
His hands were on her.
On Jasmine.
I don’t remember crossing the distance between us—only the moment my hands were on him, tearing him away from her like he weighed nothing. I had him by the throat, lifting him clean off the ground, my grip iron-tight.
“Fucking prick!” I roared, the sound tearing out of me raw and unfiltered.
His eyes widened in panic as his feet dangled uselessly.
“I warned you,” I snarled, my voice dropping into something dark and deadly. “I told you never to lay a hand on what is mine.”
The words weren’t about ownership.
They were about protection.
They were about lines you do not cross.
“And now,” I continued, tightening my grip until his face began to darken, “you’re going to pay.”
The rage was unlike anything I’d felt in years. It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t controlled. It was primal. All-consuming. One singular thought dominated my mind.
He must die.
I felt something in me snap.
I grabbed his arm—the one that had touched her—and twisted.
The sound was sickening. A sharp pop followed by a scream that echoed through the ballroom.