His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms

Ember’s POV

I walked for hours. The city air was biting, a razor wind slicing through the thin silk of my dress, but I couldn't feel it. I was numb, frozen from the inside out.

My phone buzzed against my palm.

Uncle Sal.

My uncle was a Capo in a different crew, a man who had only "welcomed" me back into the fold when Chace began his meteoric rise. He was a parasite, feeding off whatever power he could graze.

I answered.

"Ember," his voice was gravel grinding on smoke. "There is a Sit-Down arranged. Tomorrow night. The Onyx Club. You need to sign the papers."

"What papers?" I asked, my voice a hoarse croak.

"The transfer," he said, his tone devoid of empathy. "Mosley contacted us. He’s taking your father’s debt. And he’s taking you. We finalized the terms an hour ago. You’re marrying the Don."

It was real. I had done it. I had sold myself to save a ghost.

"I'll be there," I said.

"Good girl. Don't embarrass us." The line went dead.

I was staring blankly at the neon cross of a 24-hour pharmacy when my phone vibrated again.

Chace.

My thumb hovered over the decline button, trembling. But then a text popped up.

Help. Sick. Onyx Club. Can't drive.

Old habits don't just die hard; they scream. For four years, I was the designated savior. I was the one who picked him up when the whiskey drowned him, the one who cleaned the vomit and the blood.

Panic, cold and sharp, flared in my chest. If he was at the Onyx Club, he was exposed. Vulnerable. A target.

In a heartbeat, I forgot the betrayal. I forgot the wedding dress. I just remembered the man who had once taken a bullet for me.

I hailed a cab, practically throwing myself inside. "The Onyx Club. Fast."

I sprinted past the bouncers who knew my face, ignoring their surprised looks. I pushed through the heavy double doors, instantly assaulted by the thumping bass and the disorienting strobe lights of the VIP section.

"Chace!" I screamed, my voice swallowed by the music.

Then I found him.

He wasn't sick. He wasn't hurt.

He was lounging on a velvet couch, a bottle of vodka swinging loosely in his hand, laughing his head off.

Karyn was perched on his lap, facing him, her legs wrapped possessively around his waist.

They were surrounded by his soldiers—men I had cooked Sunday dinners for, men I had laughed with. They were all cheering.

Chace looked up. His eyes locked onto mine, and his grin widened. It wasn't a smile of relief; it was sloppy, cruel, and triumphant.

"See?" he shouted to his men, gesturing at me with the bottle. "I told you! Loyal like a dog. Whistle and she comes running."

The soldiers roared with laughter.

I stood frozen, panting, my hair windblown and tangled, my mascara likely carving black tears down my cheeks. I must have looked like a wreck. A desperate, pathetic wreck.

"You said you were sick," I said, my voice barely audible over the beat.

"I am sick," Chace slurred, his eyes heavy. "Sick of you moping. Come here. Join the party."

Karyn turned her head, looking at me with predatory amusement, like a cat toying with a mouse.

"We're playing King's Cup," she purred. "Chace just drew a card. But since he's busy..." She ground her hips against him, staking her claim. "...you can take his turn."

"I'm leaving," I said, spinning on my heel.

"Stay!" Chace barked. The command cracked like a whip, freezing my feet. "Don't disrespect me in front of my men, Ember."

I turned back slowly. "You're disrespecting yourself."

Karyn reached for the deck of cards scattered on the table. She flipped one over with a flourish.

King.

"King's rule," she announced, her voice cutting through the noise. She pointed a manicured finger at me. "The King orders the peasant to... entertain the troops."

She shifted her gaze to a soldier named Marco. A man who had always looked at me a little too long, with eyes that made my skin crawl.

"Marco," Karyn said. "Go touch her. Just a little. Let's see if she's soft."

Marco hesitated, glancing at his boss.

I looked at Chace, pleading silently. "Chace. Stop this."

Chace shrugged, taking a swig of vodka. "Karyn drew the King, babe. Hierarchy. She outranks you."

He wasn't going to stop it. He was going to watch.

Marco stood up, a smirk playing on his lips as he stepped toward me.

"Don't touch me," I warned, backing up until I hit a table.

"Or what?" Marco laughed, closing the distance. "Daddy's not here to save you."

"Drink the punishment cup," Karyn called out, bored. "If you don't want to play, drink the center cup. That's the rule."

I looked at the center of the table. A large glass stein filled with a vile mixture of everything everyone had been drinking. Beer. Vodka. Whiskey.

And the red wine. The cheap stuff. The kind loaded with sulfites.

I looked at Marco, his hand reaching out. I looked at Chace, who was nuzzling Karyn’s neck, bored with my distress.

Poison or him. It wasn't a choice.

I grabbed the stein.

"Cheers," I whispered.

I drained it.

The liquid was sludge, burning all the way down. It tasted like bile, ash, and regret.

I slammed the glass onto the table, the sound cracking through the tension.

Marco stopped, impressed. "Damn, girl."

I turned to leave.

I made it three steps before my throat began to seize.

It started as a tickle, then instantly morphed into a vice grip crushing my windpipe. My chest tightened as if bound by iron bands. My vision swam.

I stumbled, my legs turning to water.

"Ember?" I heard a soldier say, his voice sounding miles away.

I fell to my knees. The floor was sticky with spilled alcohol.

I couldn't breathe. No air. I needed air.

I clawed at my throat, my nails digging into my skin, trying to tear away the invisible hands choking me.

Through the haze, I saw Chace stand up. He looked annoyed, swaying slightly.

"Get up, Ember. You're not that drunk."

I collapsed onto my side, cheek pressed against the grime. Darkness was creeping in at the edges of my vision, a vignette closing the scene.

The last thing I saw was Karyn rolling her eyes, and Chace looking down at me, not with concern, but with the inconvenience of a man forced to clean up a spill.