The Debt Bride

Chapter Nine

  The neon lights of the nightclub pulsed in time with the heavy bass that reverberated through the walls. Rhysand Archer moved through the sea of bodies, his eyes scanning the crowd with the precision of a predator.

  He was here for one reason: to find Gilbert, the man responsible for his father's current state. Clad in a tailored black suit, his presence commanded attention and respect, even in the dim, chaotic environment of the club.

  His men spread out, blending into the throng, their discreet earpieces linking them to Rhysand's command. He moved with purpose, every step calculated, his gaze sharp and unwavering. Despite the throbbing energy of the club, Rhysand's mind was singularly focused on his target.

  Suddenly, a woman stepped into his path. She was striking, with a bold confidence that matched the provocative outfit she wore. Mike Collen, a notorious flirt in the city's nightlife, had her sights set on him. She smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she moved closer, brushing her hand against his arm.

"Hey there, handsome," she purred, her voice barely audible over the music.

"Looking for some company?"

  Rhysand barely spared her a glance, his eyes continuing to scan the room for any sign of Gilbert. But Mike was persistent. She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards a darker, quieter corner of the club. Reluctantly, and with a low growl of annoyance, he followed, his mind still on his mission.

  Once they were secluded, she pushed him against the wall with surprising strength, her body pressing against his. Her hands roamed over her own curves, a show meant to entice, but Rhysand's expression remained cold and detached. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered suggestive words, but his focus never wavered.

"What's the matter?" she asked, a pout forming on her lips. "Am I not tempting enough for you?"

  Rhysand's patience was wearing thin. His eyes were searching for Gilbert, she grabbed his chin, her touch meant to dominate, but he felt nothing but irritation. When she boldly undid the knot of her dress, his annoyance turned to fury. In one swift motion, he pulled out his gun, pressing the cold barrel against her forehead. Her eyes widened in shock, the playful glint replaced by fear.

"Get lost," he growled, his voice as cold as steel.

  She stammered an apology, backing away with her hands raised in submission before turning and fleeing into the crowd. Rhysand holstered his gun, his jaw clenched in frustration. His distraction had cost him precious time.

He activated his earpiece, the urgency in his voice cutting through the static.

"Status report. Have you found Gilbert?"

  One by one, his men reported negative. Gilbert had slipped through their fingers, leaving Rhysand with nothing but the lingering anger of a missed opportunity. He stood there, in the shadows of the club, his mind racing through possible leads, strategies, and the promise of retribution.

  Rhysand's resolve hardened. He would find Gilbert, no matter how long it took. The man had made a fatal mistake, and Rhysand would ensure he paid for it. Tonight was just the beginning.