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The heavy bass of Club Les Rêves Noirs had been pounding through the speakers for hours.
Shane didn't recognize most of the songs the DJ was playing, but he didn't really care.
He sat back with a Pornstar Martini in his hand (his second of the night) and quietly watched the crowd below.
He was seated on a slightly raised platform overlooking the dance floor, a secluded section that served as the club's private area.
It wasn't open to everyone.
This part of the club was reserved for the Bratva when they conducted business here.
Down at the bar, Ilya was having an intense discussion with two other Russian men.
Shane recognized one of them. He was part of the Russian mafia as well.
There weren't many people left in the private section tonight. It had been a long day, Ilya had explained earlier, and most of the Bratva members had already left.
Ivan, one of Ilya's personal guards, had been ordered to stay with Shane.
So while Ilya handled business downstairs, Shane sat back, sipping his drink and watching the room.
For once, he wasn't expected to do anything.
He was simply there.
Every now and then, Shane caught his boyfriend's eye.
From across the club, the Russian would look at him from the bar, holding his gaze for just a second longer than necessary.
Shane felt his cheeks heat up.
He tried to keep a poker face, simply raising an eyebrow before taking another sip of his drink.
“Ivan?” the Canadian whispered.
Ivan immediately straightened and turned his attention toward his charge.
“Yes, Mr. Hollander?”
Shane nodded subtly toward the bar.
“Who is the other man Ilya is talking to?”
Ivan turned his head, briefly looking toward the men at the bar.
“Do you mean Vitali? He's one of Mr. Rozanov's financial advisors. He—”
Shane raised a hand, stopping him.
It was something he wouldn't have dared to do months ago. But things had changed.
By now, Shane knew which people in Ilya's circle he could trust.
“No, I know Vitali. He and his wife eat at our place all the time.”
Shane nodded toward the other man. “I mean the other one. The guy with the black hair.”
Ivan stepped closer to Shane and lowered his voice.
“That is Egor. He and his wife, Tanja, have recently moved to Canada and came to see Mr. Rozanov's father.”
Ivan paused.
“Apparently, Egor needs help with his billion-dollar business back in Russia.”
“Oh?” Shane asked, genuinely surprised. “What kind of business does he have?”
Ivan shrugged. “I'd guess oil.”
Shane laughed softly. “It's always oil.”
Before Shane could ask another question, a waiter approached.
Shane knew most of the staff by now. They came here often enough that many of the employees recognized him.
But this one was new.
“Would you like another drink, Mr. Hollander?”
The man had blond hair, almost platinum white, and wore the club's uniform: a black suit with a red tie.
Shane shook his head.
“I think this will be my last one. I need to stay somewhat sharp tonight.”
The waiter smiled, revealing teeth that were almost as white as his hair.
“We insist, Mr. Hollander. My boss would like to offer you one of our signature cocktails.”
He gestured toward Shane's glass.
“To celebrate Mr. Rozanov's successful business tonight.”
Shane sighed softly.
One of his biggest responsibilities as Ilya's partner seemed to be nodding politely and looking pretty during business deals.
That also meant accepting the gifts that came with it.
Including another cocktail.
“Okay,” Shane admitted. “I'm actually kind of curious.”
The waiter nodded.
“Of course, Mr. Hollander. I'll prepare it for you right away.”
He gave Shane another bright smile before disappearing back into the crowd.
Shane watched him leave for a moment.
Something about the man felt strange. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
Then he shrugged it off and took another sip of his drink.
Shane looked back toward Ilya, who was casually throwing back a beer.
The Canadian smiled.
It was these little moments that reminded him of the difference between Ilya, the Bratva boss, and his Ilya.
Within a minute, the waiter returned carrying two drinks. They were bright blue and pink, fizzing gently beneath the lights.
“I made an extra one for your friend here,” the waiter said, gesturing toward Ivan, who was standing behind Shane's chair.
Ivan immediately looked like he wanted to protest, but Shane raised a hand.
“They look beautiful. And Ivan could use a drink too.”
“But, Hollander—”
“We're almost ready to go home, Ivan. Just have a little fun.”
Shane winked at him. “I won't tell Ilya.”
The waiter placed both drinks on the table but didn't leave.
Shane noticed. It was almost as if he was waiting for their reaction.
Shane handed Ivan his drink and waited for him to taste it first.
Ivan took a large sip. His eyebrows lifted.
“Very sweet,” he said. “But good.”
Shane nodded and took a sip of his own.
The sweetness coated his tongue, sticking slightly to his teeth, while the fizz tingled against his tongue. It wasn't bad.
Not the best cocktail Shane had ever tasted, but certainly drinkable.
“It's delicious,” Shane told the waiter with a smile.
The waiter smiled back.
“I'm glad you like it, Mr. Hollander.”
The waiter placed his tray on a nearby table before pulling out a chair and sitting down across from Shane.
“My name is Louis.” He extended his hand. “Is he your boyfriend?”
Louis nodded toward Ivan.
Shane immediately snorted with laughter and shook his hand. “No. Ivan is definitely not my boyfriend.”
Louis smiled. “No?”
His eyes flicked toward Ilya downstairs before returning to Shane. “Your boyfriend is more important, isn't he?”
Shane frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Louis shrugged. “Would you like to come with me?”
Shane stared at him, confused.
He glanced at Ivan, who had stepped a little closer. “Where exactly, Louis?”
Ivan's voice was calm, but there was a warning underneath it. “I don't think you realize who you're talking to. Your boss isn't going to be happy about this.”
Louis grinned. “Oh, I'm pretty sure my boss will be very happy that I'm talking to you.”
He leaned forward.
Before Shane could react, Louis reached out and gently brushed his fingers over Shane's knee. “You're beautiful.”
Shane immediately pulled his leg away.
Ivan stepped between them.
“Don't touch him.” The warmth in his voice was gone.
Louis laughed and leaned back, pulling his hand away. “It won't be long now.”
Ivan took another step toward him, but before he could say anything, an enormous commotion erupted downstairs.
Shane immediately looked toward the bar.
And screamed.
Several men were standing with guns drawn, pointing them at each other.
Including Ilya.
The Russian had his weapon aimed directly at another man. Then the first shots rang out.
Before Shane could even process what was happening, Ivan threw himself over him, shielding him with his body.
But something else happened.
A sudden, crushing headache exploded behind Shane's eyes.
He squeezed them shut. His hearing became nothing but a high-pitched ringing.
Everything around him seemed distant.
Muffled.
Far away.
Ivan looked down at him, then toward the chaos below.
His eyes widened.
“Shane?”
Shane tried to focus.
He could barely hear him.
“Ivan…”
His voice sounded strangely distant, even to himself.
Ivan looked toward Ilya again.
Shane forced himself to sit up.
“Go to Ilya, Ivan.”
Ivan hesitated.
“I'll be fine.”
Ivan clearly didn't believe him.
He gestured to another guard, ordering him to stay with Shane.
Then he hurried toward the stairs, moving slightly unsteadily as he disappeared into the chaos.
Shane tried to follow him with his eyes.
But his focus was slipping.
The music.
The shouting.
The ringing in his ears.
Everything seemed to blur together.
And suddenly, Shane couldn't remember the last time he had taken a breath.
Before Shane could say anything to his new guard, the man collapsed to the floor.
Blood spread beneath him.
Shane frowned.
He stared at the body, but somehow, it didn't fully register.
He wanted to say something.
Anything.
But his thoughts wouldn't come together.
His gaze drifted toward Louis.
The waiter calmly slipped his gun back beneath his jacket.
Shane's eyes widened slightly. Had Louis just shot his new guard?
“Come with me, Shane,” Louis whispered.
He reached down and pulled Shane to his feet.
Shane tried to resist.
He tried to speak.
But nothing happened.
No words.
No scream.
Not even enough strength to pull away.
“The drinks…”
The words barely left his lips.
Louis laughed softly as he practically dragged the Canadian along.
“Yes.”
He leaned closer.
“My drinks.”
His smile widened.
“Your precious bodyguard will be feeling it soon enough too.”
Shane frowned, his thoughts drifting in and out of focus.
There was only one person he could think about.
Ilya. Please let him be okay.
The thought repeated itself over and over.
But beneath the fear for Ilya, another thought began to take shape.
Louis wasn't taking him because he wanted Shane. He wanted something from Ilya.
Something important.
Shane tried to swear. He tried to force the words past his lips.
Nothing.
His body felt heavy, almost disconnected from his mind.
Fuck.
He needed to warn Ilya.
He needed to tell him what was happening.
But for the first time in his life, Shane couldn't even make his own body listen to him.
“Come on, Shane. Just come with me,” Louis said softly.
Something about his tone made the hairs on Shane's arms stand on end.
No. Don't touch me. He tried to say it.
“Don't… touch…” The words came out slurred and uneven.
Louis gently shushed him. “Easy. I'm just taking you somewhere safe.”
No.
Shane tried to resist, but his body refused to cooperate.
Then he felt cold air against his bare arms and face. They were outside. Had they already left the club How had no one stopped them? What had happened to everyone inside?
Ivan. He had drunk the same cocktail.
He must be out of it too. Maybe Ilya had found him. Maybe Ilya would realize that something was wrong with Shane.
If Ilya was still…
Shane shook his head weakly.
No.
He couldn't think like that.
Ilya was alive.
He had to be.
And Ilya would figure this out.
He always did.
Louis guided Shane against the wall of a narrow alley and pulled his phone from his pocket.
He dialed a number.
It was answered almost immediately.
“I have the target.”
Louis began pacing nervously in front of Shane.
Shane's eyes followed him sluggishly.
“Yeah, we're at the location.”
Louis glanced toward the mouth of the alley.
“But there's no fucking transportation!”
A pause.
“What do you mean they haven't finished dealing with everyone inside the club yet?”
His voice rose.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with him?”
Shane's stomach twisted.
Another wave of fear went through him, and a tear slipped down his cheek.
Louis listened for a moment before his expression changed.
“I could hurt him.”
He looked directly at Shane.
“He's already barely worth anything to them.”
Then he hung up.
For a moment, he simply stared at Shane.
“They're apparently not finished at the club yet.”
A cruel smile spread across his face.
“Your man is making things difficult for us.”
Shane's heart pounded.
“But that's okay.”
Louis stepped closer.
“I can ruin you for him now. Then he won't want you anymore when he gets here.”
Shane swallowed.
He tried to lift his arm.
His right hand rose only a few inches, trembling violently.
“No…”
The word barely escaped his lips.
“Please.”
Louis smiled.
“It's okay, Mr. Hollander.”
He reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Shane's face.
“You're a beautiful man.”
His fingers closed around Shane's chin, forcing him to look up.
“A beautiful face…”
His smile disappeared.
“…that I'm going to ruin.”
Before Shane could even process what was happening, Louis struck him across the face.
A second blow caught him across the nose.
Blood immediately began to run from his nostrils.
Shane cursed under his breath.
“Oh,” Louis said softly. “That hurt a little, didn't it?”
Shane gathered what little strength he had left and spat the blood directly into Louis's face.
“Ilya will come for you.”
Louis slowly wiped the blood and spit from his face.
Then he grabbed Shane and pulled him upright. “I know.”
Shane's stomach dropped when Louis's hand moved toward his belt.
“No.”
Fear shot through him.
“Wait. Stop!”
He tried to pull away, but his body barely responded.
His voice came out weak and slurred.
“Please… stop…”
Louis moved too quickly for Shane to process what was happening.
Shane tried to move his arms, but they felt impossibly heavy.
“No,” he begged again.
The word was barely more than a whisper.
“Stop moving,” Louis growled.
Shane squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't fight him. His body simply wouldn't listen.
And then, somewhere in the distance, he heard shouting.
Not Louis.
Men. Several of them.
Shane's heart stuttered.
Ilya.
He forced his eyes open, desperately trying to focus through the haze.
Louis froze.
For the first time, the confidence disappeared from his face. “Fuck.”
Shane didn't know what was happening. He only knew one thing.
Someone had found them.
The Russian came running into the alley and stopped dead.
For one second, he didn't move.
Ilya's hazel-brown eyes locked onto Shane's.
Shane's entire body changed the moment he saw him.
Relief washed over him so intensely that he nearly broke down.
But in Ilya's eyes, Shane saw something else.
Panic.
Stress.
Grief.
And a fury so deep it frightened him.
For that single second, neither of them moved.
Ilya simply stared at Shane, as if he couldn't quite believe he had found him alive.
Then his gaze dropped.
To Shane's open jeans, hanging halfway down his hips.
To the blood running from his nose.
To his tear-filled eyes.
To his disheveled hair.
“Ilya…”
Shane's voice was barely a whisper.
A plea.
It snapped Ilya out of his trance.
His eyes finally moved away from Shane.
And landed on the man still crouched in front of him, one hand gripping Shane's belt.
Louis froze.
Ilya's expression changed.
Whatever panic had been in his eyes disappeared.
There was nothing left but cold, terrifying rage.
“Take your hands off him.”
His voice was quiet.
Far too quiet.
“And if I don't?” Louis asked.
Ilya’s eyes darkened. “Then you won't be using them again.”
Louis moved in a single swift motion.
A knife appeared in his hand.
He pressed the blade against Shane's throat, just hard enough for a thin line of blood to trickle down his skin.
“I think we should have a little conversation,” Louis said calmly.
Ilya's hands curled into fists.
“If you're smart, you'll put the knife down.”
His voice remained frighteningly controlled. “This is between you and me. Leave Shane out of it.”
Shane trembled.
His eyes remained fixed on the blade against his throat.
Louis pursed his lips. “But your little toy could be our toy too, Rozanov.”
He smiled. “Didn't anyone ever teach you how to share?”
His free hand slowly brushed through Shane's disheveled hair. “He's beautiful, isn't he?”
Shane shuddered.
He looked at Ilya, silently begging him to do something.
“Ilya…” His voice cracked. “Please.”
And that was enough for Ilya.
He lunged at Louis. Within seconds, the two men were locked in a brutal fight.
Ilya managed to avoid the knife, landing several hard blows of his own.
Shane wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to curl up and wait until it was over.But he couldn't.
He had to keep watching.
Suddenly, the knife flew from Louis's hand and skidded across the pavement, coming to a stop only a few feet away from Shane.
Neither man noticed. They kept fighting.
Shane stared at the weapon.
He needed to get to it. He pushed against the ground.
Nothing.
His arms felt impossibly heavy, and his legs barely responded.
He tried again. A few centimeters. That was all.
But it felt like an enormous victory.
He dragged himself forward another centimeter.
And another.
Every movement took everything he had.
But Shane kept going.
Because Ilya was still fighting.
And Shane refused to be helpless anymore.
After two more breaths, Shane finally managed to reach the knife.
He let out a weak groan and tried to get Ilya's attention, desperately attempting to move far enough into the Russian's line of sight.
But Ilya was completely focused on the fight.
He dodged another punch and landed one of his own.
Blood ran from the corner of Ilya's mouth and from a cut above his eyebrow. His knuckles were already bruised, red and swollen.
Shane tried to call his name.
“Ilya…”
But everything happened at once.
Ilya and Louis exchanged several more blows before Louis suddenly lost his balance.
He stumbled backward.
Straight into Shane's legs.
Shane barely had time to react.
Louis fell backward, and landed directly on the knife Shane was still holding.
For a second, everything went completely silent.
Shane stared at him in horror.
The knife was gone from his hand.
His eyes immediately found Ilya's.
“Ilya…”
His voice broke.
“I didn't-” He couldn't finish the sentence.
Louis choked, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.
His body jerked once.
Then again. And then it went still.
Shane started trembling.
A scream tore from his throat as he desperately tried to crawl out from underneath him, but Louis was too heavy.
“Shane. Shane, moya lyubov.” Ilya's voice was soft. Steady.
He tried to calm him down, but Shane was completely panicked.
“I didn't mean to!” His voice broke. “Ilya, I didn't mean to!”
“I know.” Ilya immediately rolled Louis's body away from Shane and pulled the Canadian into his arms.
“Look at me.”
Shane clung to him, shaking violently.
“I didn't kill him,” he sobbed. “I didn't- I was just trying to get to you.”
“I know.”
Ilya held him tighter.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
Shane buried his face against Ilya's chest, still trembling.
Ilya wrapped one arm firmly around him and gently stroked the back of his head.
“I've got you.”
His voice remained calm.
“You're safe now, moya lyubov.”
Only then did Shane finally allow himself to break down.
The moments flashed through Shane's mind in broken fragments.
Louis.
The knife.
Ilya.
Blood.
A scream.
Then everything blurred together.
Within moments, Ivan was standing in front of them.
He looked terrible, his face pale and his clothes disheveled. He said something quietly to Ilya, but Shane couldn't understand a single word.
He couldn't hear anything anymore.
Just a dull, distant ringing.
Two more of Ilya's guards arrived.
Shane recognized them.
He knew their faces.
But he couldn't react.
He barely even noticed when Ilya lifted him into his arms. He didn't notice being carried. Didn't notice being placed into a car.
All he could feel was a hand gently stroking his hair.
Ilya.
Somewhere deep inside, Shane knew it was him.
He wanted to open his eyes.
Wanted to tell Ilya that he was sorry.
That he loved him.
But his body was exhausted.
His thoughts were disappearing.
The last thing Shane felt was Ilya's hand wrapped tightly around his.
And then everything went black.