Chapter 84
Drake's POV
In the end, I achieved nothing at all. Seething with anger, I stormed out of the Packhouse and went off to look for Irene.
The pounding bass of The Moonbleed Taproom hit me before I even opened the door. Inside, the club was as packed as ever—Irene's combination of expensive liquor and exotic dancers ensuring a full house every night.
I pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring the enticing dancers on platforms throughout the room. Their bodies gleamed under the pulsing lights, drawing the attention of wealthy patrons who waved stacks of cash. Irene knew how to separate fools from their money.
I bypassed the main floor, heading straight for her private office. The bouncer outside—a massive wolf with more muscle than brain—crossed his arms when he saw me approaching.
"She expecting you?" he grunted.
"Move," I said flatly. "She'll want to hear what I have to say."
He hesitated, then pressed his earpiece, muttering something I couldn't hear over the music. After a moment, he stepped aside, opening the door.
I found Irene practicing her putting on the mini golf setup she'd had installed before, her pure white hair catching the light as she lined up a shot.
"Well?" she asked without looking up, tapping the ball into the hole with perfect precision. Only then did she turn, her ice-blue eyes assessing me coldly. "By that pathetic expression, I assume you failed. Again."
"Just a minor setback," I forced a smile, trying to project confidence. "Turns out Cassian doesn't really care about me trying to bait him. He's too focused on your ex-girlfriend."
The crack of the golf club against my abdomen made me double over in pain. I hadn't even seen her move—one second she was standing calmly by her putting green, the next she was swinging the club into my gut with surprising strength for her delicate frame.
"Fucking hell!" I wheezed, collapsing to my knees, clutching my stomach.
"Language, Drake," she chided softly, her voice melodic and sweet despite the violence of her action. "You know I hate vulgarity."
She walked back to her desk, setting the golf club down carefully before perching on the edge of her glass desk, crossing her legs elegantly. She looked like an angel—flowing white hair, porcelain skin, delicate features that belonged on a renaissance painting. But I knew better. Angels didn't have eyes that cold.
"You promised me results," she said, examining her perfect manicure. "I've given you access, information, resources... and what have you given me in return? Failure after failure."
"Irene, I—"
"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," she interrupted, her voice still soft but razor-sharp. She sighed, a sound of delicate disappointment. "You know, when I opened this place, people said a woman couldn't run a successful club in this territory. That I'd need protection, backing." She smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes. "Now, I'm the most profitable establishment in a fifty-mile radius, and those same wolves are begging to get past my door."
She stood, moving toward me with fluid grace. "Do you know why I succeed, Drake? Because I don't tolerate incompetence."
She snapped her fingers, and immediately two of her bouncers appeared in the doorway.
"You useless piece of shit," she said, her voice returning to its usual soft, melodic tone that somehow made her words more terrifying. "Get out of my club."
"Wait," I gasped, panic rising. "Irene, please. I'm still useful to you."
"Remove this waste of space," she instructed the men, her voice sweet as honey. "He's no longer welcome here."
I struggled against the bouncers' grip as they hauled me to my feet. "The pack's annual ball is coming up!" I shouted desperately. "They haven't announced Elowen as their mate yet—you still have a chance! I've discovered something about them, a weakness we can exploit!"
Irene raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, holding up a delicate hand to pause her bouncers. "Why should I believe you? The last time I trusted you, all you managed to do was embarrass yourself."
"I was targeting the wrong twin," I explained quickly. "Everyone's always said one of them has a compromised wolf. I assumed it was Cassian, but I was wrong. It has to be Casper!"
She tilted her head, studying me. "Explain."
"Have you ever seen Casper shift? Really shift?" I pressed. "He's always the charming one, the distraction. What if that's on purpose? What if he can't fully control his wolf?"
"And how exactly does this help me get Cassian back?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft.
"I've got a new plan," I pleaded, desperation clawing at me. "If it fails this time, you can kill me yourself. Just one more chance."
I lunged forward, breaking free from the bouncers momentarily to grab her ankle, my fingers clutching at her pristine white heel.
Her beautiful face twisted with disgust. "You're dirtying my shoes," she hissed, looking down at the smudges my fingers left.
"I'll do anything," I begged, hating myself for the desperation in my voice. "Irene, you know how much I want her. And you want him. We need each other."
A slow, cruel smile spread across her face. "Anything? Well, now." She glanced down at her shoe. "Clean it."
I stared up at her, confused.
"With your tongue," she clarified, her voice soft but her eyes hard as ice. "Lick my shoes clean, and maybe I'll consider giving you another chance."
The humiliation burned through me. If she weren't so well-connected, so wealthy, so useful to my plans, I'd tear her throat out for this.
"Are you deaf?" she sighed, nodding to one of the bouncers. "Hit him."
A fist connected with my ribs, sending fresh pain spiraling through me.
"I'll do it! I'll do it," I gasped, lowering my face to her shoe, swallowing my pride along with the bitter taste of leather polish.
"That's it," she murmured, watching with satisfied disgust as I licked the smudges from her shoe. "Good boy."
When I finished, she pressed the heel painfully into my shoulder, forcing me to look up at her.
"Let me make myself perfectly clear," she said, her voice suddenly intense with obsession. "Bring Cassian back to me. I don't care what methods you use. He is mine, and I will not allow that whore to have him."
For a moment, her perfect mask slipped, revealing the madness beneath. Her eyes flashed with a dangerous light, her delicate features contorting with rage.
"You've seen them together," she spat. "Tell me, is he happy with her? Does he look at her the way he used to look at me?"
"He'll never love her like he loved you," I lied smoothly, seeing what she needed to hear. "She's just a distraction, a novelty. Once we separate them, he'll remember where he belongs."
Her expression softened slightly, the mask of angelic beauty slipping back into place. "One more chance, Drake," she said, removing her foot from my shoulder. "Fail me again, and I'll feed you to my wolves. Piece by piece."
Looking up at her beautiful face with its gentle smile, I saw the true monster behind the angelic façade. Irene might look like heaven, but her soul was pure hell.
"I'll get him back for you," I promised, knowing my life depended on it. "Whatever it takes."
"Good," she said simply, turning away. "Now get out of my sight. You disgust me."
As I limped out of her office, I couldn't help but wonder which of us was more pathetic—me for crawling back to her after every failure, or her for being so obsessed with a man who'd clearly moved on.
"Both of you," Ragnar answered my unspoken question. "But at least she owns her madness. What's your excuse?"
I had no answer for that.