She moved with purpose, heading toward the back of the hotel, where a large metal door loomed, marked in bold letters: STAFF ONLY.
Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a black card and swiped it against the scanner. A faint beep. The lock clicked open.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, lined with towering cabinets filled with premium wines, imported liquors, and expensive snacks. The scent of aged whiskey and polished wood filled the air. Blaze didn't spare a glance at the lavish selection. She strode toward the farthest end of the room, where a massive white cupboard stood, blending seamlessly into the wall.
She reached for one of the cabinet doors and flipped the hidden metal switches inside—each in a precise order. A quiet click. The entire cupboard shuddered before sliding aside, revealing a concealed stone wall behind it.
Without hesitation, Blaze pressed her fingers against specific bricks—each a slightly different shade than the others. The sequence had to be exact. One wrong move and the mechanism would lock for hours, possibly triggering an alarm.
She exhaled slowly, her fingers moving with precision. One. Two. Three. Four.
A faint click.
A hidden compartment in the wall slid open, revealing a small biometric scanner. She pressed her palm against the smooth glass, and a green light flickered to life. A thin metallic panel slid aside, revealing a keypad. She quickly entered the passcode.
The wall groaned as hidden gears shifted, stone grinding against stone. Then, slowly, the wall parted, revealing a narrow stairwell that spiraled downward into darkness.
Blaze didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, her boots barely making a sound as she descended.
Behind her, the wall sealed shut with a final, echoing thud.
---
The underground of the hotel was a sanctuary for outlaws and outcasts, a place where laws held no weight and identities were fluid.
None of the occupants were human—at least, not entirely. Most were Lycans, their sharp senses ever aware, their powerful forms blending into the dimly lit space.
Among them, nymphs of varying categories moved with eerie grace, their presence almost hypnotic.
Then there were the banshees, pale and spectral, their laughter occasionally slipping into haunting echoes that sent chills down spines.
Blaze moved through the entrance without hesitation, stepping past the guards stationed at the main hall pass.
She leaned in close to one, her voice a low whisper. "Here's the key. Grab the goods from the car parked at the back of the hotel."
The guard, a tall, broad-shouldered Lycan with a scar across his chin, gave a curt nod before signaling another to follow him.
The main hall was alive with activity. Every table was occupied, small groups of three or four huddled together, deep in discussions, exchanging goods, or simply drinking away their troubles. Some were partners in crime; others were rivals forced into uneasy alliances.
Blaze moved silently, weaving through the maze of bodies. From the right corner, a bartender called her name. "Blaze!"
She turned her head briefly, catching sight of the familiar face. He gave her a friendly wave. She returned the gesture hastily before continuing on her way.
The hallway stretched ahead, lined with private VIP lounges where secrecy was paramount. Dim golden lights cast long shadows, flickering against the polished black marble floors.
She passed a billiards room where a tense game was in progress, the sharp clack of balls colliding breaking the hushed murmurs.
A subterranean theater played old noir films, its patrons cloaked in darkness.
Further down, a lavish cave pool and spa shimmered under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, steam curling in the air.
A casino bustled with life, the sounds of chips stacking, dice rolling, and hushed bets filling the space.
Beyond that, a techno music hall pulsed with energy, flashing neon lights illuminating bodies lost in wild dance.
The bass vibrated through the walls, the chaotic rhythm in stark contrast to the sleek, high-tech business office next door, where people sat at computers, focused on deals, data, and digital transactions—some legal, most not.
At the very end of the hallway, Blaze stopped in front of a door—larger than the others, unmarked but unmistakable. She slid her card through the scanner, and with a faint beep, the lock disengaged. The door opened swiftly.
Inside was a posh, luxurious waiting room designed for the elite. The walls were lined with deep emerald velvet, gold accents gleaming under the warm lighting.
A crystal chandelier hung above, casting fractured rainbows across the black marble floor. Plush leather chairs were arranged neatly, a glass coffee table in the center holding a selection of rare spirits.
Along the far wall, a floor-to-ceiling window overlooked an underground garden illuminated by bioluminescent plants, their eerie glow adding an almost ethereal touch.
Near the entrance, a sleek white counter stood beneath the soft glow of recessed lighting. Behind it, a woman sat typing, her manicured fingers moving swiftly across a holographic keyboard.
She looked up as Blaze approached, her lips curling into a wide, knowing smile. She had fair skin, sharp blue eyes, and long blonde hair pulled into a perfectly styled bun. Heavy makeup masked her delicate features—ruby-red lipstick, flawless contouring, dark lashes that framed her gaze like a doll.
Blaze grabbed the logbook from the counter and signed it swiftly. "Who's in?"
The secretary leaned forward slightly, her voice honeyed with amusement. "Hey there, Blazy. The deputy's not around tonight. Just the boss."
Blaze's fingers tightened around the pen for a fraction of a second before she set it down.
The boss.
Of course.
Blaze groaned, rolling her shoulders in irritation.
The secretary—Elsa, that was her name—barely spared her another glance as she turned back to her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. "Every A-Class worker fears checking in for their pay today because he's the only one around. Think you can handle it?"
A-Class workers. The elite of the underground. There were only thirteen of them, handpicked for the most dangerous missions—tracking, hunting, and eliminating criminals too powerful or elusive for anyone else to handle. They were also the only ones who received their payment directly from the higher-ups.
Blaze exhaled sharply. "I just need my pay."
Elsa chuckled, her lips curving into a smirk. "Good luck with that. You'll need more than luck, though."
Blaze ignored her and strode toward the door written RED in bold black letters.
She knocked.
Silence.
She knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Her patience wore thin. With an irritated sigh, she pushed the door open.
And there he was—the majestic bully himself. Red Devour.
His office looked nothing like a traditional workspace. No desk, no rigid formalities. Instead, the entire room exuded a lazy sort of luxury, a personal lounge designed for indulgence rather than business. Plush black leather sofas were arranged in a semi-circle, facing a massive flat-screen monitor mounted on the wall.
A sleek glass fridge hummed softly in the corner, stocked with expensive liquor and imported energy drinks. Against the back wall, a gaming station was set up, multiple high-end computers positioned in an arc, screens glowing with real-time data.
And in the center of it all—sprawled across the couch like he had all the time in the world—was Red Devour.
Headphones covered his ears, his long legs stretched out, arms lazily crossed over his chest. The soft glow of the monitors reflected against his sharp features, casting shadows over his chiseled jawline.
Blaze walked up to him without hesitation and tapped his forehead.
He jolted upright, ripping off his headphones. "The heck?! What the hell are you doing?"
He ran a hand through his deep black hair, pushing it back as his cold grey eyes locked onto her, sharp and piercing.
Blaze met his stare evenly. "I did the gig assigned."
Red blinked once, then scoffed. "So what?"
He walked to the fridge, pulling out an ice cream bowl as if they weren't even having a conversation.
Blaze clenched her jaw. She hated dealing with him.
---
"I need my pay," Blaze said, her tone sharp with impatience.
Red barely glanced at her as he popped open the fridge, scooping out a bowl of ice cream like he had all the time in the world. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he gestured toward a sleek black cabinet across the room. "Help yourself."
Blaze shot him a glare but stalked over to the cabinet anyway, opening it to reveal neatly stacked gold bars.
"You killed him?" Red asked, his voice dripping with nonchalance as he sank back onto the plush sofa, one leg draped lazily over the other. He scooped a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, watching her with mild amusement.
"Nope. He's just heavily asleep," Blaze replied, grabbing two gold bars without hesitation. "He'll wake up in three days."
She shoved the bars into her shoulder bag, her movements efficient and unfazed. She had done this a hundred times before.
Red's gaze flicked to her bag, and his lips curled into a smirk. "You took two bars." He rested his arms along the back of the sofa, his entire posture oozing arrogance.
Blaze shrugged. "That's my pay."
She turned to leave, but before she could take a step, Red let out a low whistle.
"Nice ass, by the way."
Blaze froze mid-step.
Her fists clenched at her sides, heat rising to her face—not from embarrassment, but from anger. Whipping around, her brown eyes flashed dangerously as she snarled, "Red. Devour. Flake. Mind your damn manners."
His grin widened, completely unbothered by her reaction. "Relax, sweetheart. It's a compliment."
But Blaze didn't take it as one. She was sensitive about her body, and Red damn well knew it.
She had always been trashed-talked for it, ridiculed for being curvy and chubby. At 148 cm (4'10") and 70 kg (154 lbs), she had thick thighs, full hips, and a bust that made men stare a little too long. She wasn't willowy or delicate like other women in her field, and she had spent years dealing with insults disguised as "jokes."
Red, of course, lived to push her buttons.
A big, satisfied smile spread across his face as he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "I'll have you know, I'm the boss here. No one—apart from people close to me—calls me without honorifics."
Blaze tilted her head mockingly. "Oh? And what should I call you? Mr. Red? Alpha Red? Boss Red?"
Red's grey eyes gleamed with amusement as he lazily ran his tongue over his spoon. "Which one do you prefer?"
Blaze pretended to think deeply, tapping her chin. "Hmm… I think I prefer… Red. Just Red."
His smirk faded slightly. His fingers tightened around the spoon, and he placed the ice cream bowl down on the glass coffee table with deliberate ease.
"You love daring me, don't you?" His voice dropped an octave, low and edged with something dangerous. "You really like playing with fire."
Blaze rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed. She turned on her heel and walked out, throwing the door open with a little more force than necessary.
The moment she stepped into the hallway, she started muttering curses under her breath.
"That idiot. Son of a bitch. Hound dog. Bastard. Stupid, spoiled brat—"
Behind her, Red heard every word.
And yet, he let her go.
His smirk returned as he leaned back into the sofa, shaking his head.