Chapter 155: Our Night Out

IVY’S POV

His smirk widened like he’d just stepped into the world’s easiest game.

I slid my phone out from my thigh holster, tapped furiously with both thumbs, and held it up like a shield.

Back off. I don’t want any trouble.

He read it, then tilted his head.

“Trouble?” His voice was mocking silk. “Sweetheart, I’m giving you an opportunity to redeem yourself.”

And before I could even shove the phone back into my pocket, he smacked it out of my hand. It hit the ground with a crack.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint.

“You little—” Nyxara snarled inside me, claws itching to taste blood.

The guy stepped closer, leaning in, breath stinking of cheap whiskey. “Don’t you remember me at all? Or are you just playing dumb ‘cause you wandered too far from Daddy’s precious protective wings? Now you’re out here all… scaredy cat?”

I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just glared.

He chuckled, like my silence was some kind of green light. “How could the perfect, clean, classic, role model heiress end up in a dump like this? What is this…your little social experiment? Seeing how the other half lives? How messy the nightlife is?”

I bent down to retrieve my phone. His boot swung in, kicking it across the alley until it clattered into a shadowed corner.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart,” he drawled, eyes raking over me like I was already his meal. “Say the word, and I’ll teach you everything you clearly don’t know about the nightlife… nice and slow.

Deep breath, Ivy. Don’t let him get to you.

Remember what Daniel said: No transforming in front of humans. Labs. Dissection. Bad.

“Hey,” he drawled, suddenly grabbing my arm. “You seriously don’t remember who I am?” He bared his teeth in a grin. “John Rodney. The one and only. And you…” he jabbed a finger at me “pretending you don’t remember me? Now that's offensive."

I didn’t answer. My face was carved from stone.

That’s when his grip tightened. Too tight.

Something inside me… clicked.

I stepped back. Just a little.

Nyxara’s voice dripped through my skull like molten gold. Partial control. Just a taste.

He didn’t see it coming.

One second, he was sneering down at me.

The next…his arm was wrenched so far behind his back it looked like I was trying to fold him into origami.

He screamed.

“WHAT THE—!”

Nyxara didn’t even bother answering. She slammed him chest-first into the alley wall, then ripped his shirt down the middle in one clean motion.

“HEY!” he yelped, but it came out high-pitched and panicked.

“Oh, please,” Nyxara muttered in my head. If you’re going to act like a villain, at least dress like one. Polyester? Really?

She shoved the torn fabric into his open mouth and tied it behind his head so tight it muffled every curse.

Then…because apparently humiliation was part of the menu…she yanked his belt out with a snap, spun him like a carousel, and lashed him to the nearest rusty pole like she was gift-wrapping him for the city sanitation crew.

By the time she stepped back to admire her work, John Rodney was shirtless, gagged, and trussed up like a bargain-bin piñata.

Nyxara dusted my hands off with smug precision. Voilà.

I retrieved my phone, typed with exaggerated slowness, and held it up in front of his red, furious face.

Go fuck yourself, John Rodney.

Then I turned and walked into the night without looking back.

So… home now? I asked, already feeling the exhaustion drop over me like wet cement.

Why? We’re just getting started, Nyxara purred.

Because one night out was enough to convince me this lifestyle is not my thing. Clubs are exhausting. Loud. Overrated. I was bored out of my mind.

Nyxara gasped dramatically. Oh, what you just said would have made sense… if it made sense. But it doesn’t. I like clubbing. It’s like inhaling pure oxygen.

We’re going to have to come to an arrangement.

Later, I told her firmly. Right now, we’re just… walking. Aimlessly.

Fine. A pause. Oo….how about shopping? Your wardrobe back home screams ‘board meeting at ten, funeral at two.’ I need my own.

What do you mean “my own”? I am you.

Exactly. Which means my taste deserves respect. Now take me to the mall.

I glanced at the empty streets. “Do you think the mall is open?”

She scoffed. Of course it’s— She faltered. …what time is it?

I checked my phone. One a.m.

Ten minutes later, after discovering every mall in the city was dark, we ended up wandering into the glow of a 24-hour convenience store.

Water. And something sweet, she told me, like I work for her.

I pushed the glass door open. The bell above jingled. And a hand clamped over my mouth.

Cold steel pressed against my side.

A second figure stepped into view, masked, gun aimed steady at my chest.

“Well, well,” the one in front murmured. “What do we have here?”

The gunman in front cocked his head, eyes scanning me like he was cataloguing parts.

“You lost, princess?” he asked, voice muffled behind the black mask.

The man behind me tightened his grip over my mouth. The cold bite of the barrel against my ribs was a warning…don’t move.

Nyxara’s growl rolled through my chest like distant thunder. One wrong twitch from either of them, and I’ll paint this store in their insides.

No transforming, I reminded her sharply. Remember Daniel…labs, scalpels, dissection.

Then I’ll be creative, she replied, fangs flashing in my mind.

The guy in front stepped closer until the muzzle of his gun tapped under my chin. “Purse. Phone. Card. Jewelry. Now.”

I didn’t move. Just stared at him, dead-eyed, letting the silence stretch until his smirk twitched.

“Not talkative, huh?” He flicked a glance at his partner. “Maybe she’s one of those rich girls playing mute for attention. I’ll get her to scream.”

Nyxara nearly lunged through my skin. Permission to remove their tongues.

Not in front of the security cameras, I shot back.

That’s when the one behind me made the mistake of dragging his hand down from my mouth to my chest, fingers brushing where they absolutely didn’t belong.

The switch in my brain flipped.

Nyxara surged forward.

My elbow drove back into his ribs hard enough to knock the air out of him. His gasp became a strangled wheeze.

I turned, caught his wrist, twisted…

A satisfying pop followed by his scream.

The gunman in front raised his weapon…too slow. My knee slammed into his thigh, then I swept his legs from under him, the pistol clattering to the floor.

In three breaths, I had one guy pinned to the sticky linoleum, the other gagged with his own ski mask.

Nyxara went to work.

She ripped the belt off the first guy, used it to hog-tie his wrists behind his back. Then she grabbed a roll of duct tape from the impulse-buy rack and wrapped the second guy to the cigarette display like a deranged piece of modern art.

Somewhere in the middle of this, the store’s security camera caught me shoving a Snickers bar into the gagged man’s mouth—not out of kindness, but because his muffled swearing was irritating.

We could make this a tradition, Nyxara mused. Night out, clubbing, gift-wrapping criminals for the authorities.

When the two of them were properly immobilized…one hanging from the cigarette display, the other facedown by the slushie machine…Nyxara dusted off my hands again with smug finality.

I picked up my phone from where it had skidded during the scuffle, typed fast, and held the screen in the hog-tied guy’s face:

Next time, try robbing someone less dangerous. Or better yet…here’s some sisterly advice…don’t rob at all… unless you’re craving a hospital bed.

Then I plucked a bottle of water and a chocolate bar from the shelf, tossed a bill on the counter, and stepped out into the night like nothing had happened.

So… I said, adjusting the cap I’d stolen from one of them, home now?

After that warm-up? Absolutely not.

Nyxara, I’m exhausted. I just fought, danced, and duct-taped people to public property. I’m done.

You’re boring, she huffed. Next time, we’re going skydiving without a parachute…just to see if you scream.

Fantastic. Now, which way is home again before you actually kill us?