Chapter 2 Prologue 2

Niklaus

Jenny stares at the entrance of the club through the car window. Anxiety and fear radiate off her in waves so palpable I can smell it.

"You don't have to do this," I say, my voice measured.

She turns to look at me, her expression shifting from uncertainty to grim determination. "No. But I need to." Her hand grazes the diamond collar around her neck. "We've suffered long enough. It's time to end this."

I smile. "I knew you were perfect for the job."

Stepping out of the car, I walk around and open the door for her. Offering her a hand, I help her out. Jenny unties the belt of her long coat, letting it slip from her shoulders and tossing it back inside the car.

She stands before me in a red mesh dress that barely covers her, the fabric completely sheer and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Her blonde hair falls in loose, seductive curls, the tips brushing against the swell of her breasts, teasing where the fabric clings tight to her chest. Beneath the dress, a black lace bra strains to conceal her, lifting her breasts and accentuating her gravity-defying cleavage, drawing all eyes to it.

Her panties match the bra, a tiny strip of lace that hides only what's necessary, the thin fabric clinging to her hips. I run my fingers along the waistband, adjusting it higher up her hips.

A shiver runs through her body and goosebumps rise on her skin. She bits down on her lip.

"It's a bit chilly. We'll head in quickly." I tighten my grip on her hand, spinning her around. The back is just as I imagined-a thong that leaves her completely exposed.

Her legs are encased in black stockings, attached to a garter belt that wraps around her thighs, framing them perfectly. The heels she's wearing are so high they make her legs look impossibly long.

Jenny looks at me, her eyes full of uncertainty. "Do I look okay?"

"You look perfect," I reassure her.

The doubt fades from her face, replaced by a confident smile. "Thank you."

"Ready?"

She nods.

I playfully tug a lock of her hair. "High protocol, Jen."

She bites her lip and whispers, "Yes, Master, I'm sorry. I'm ready, Master."

"Good girl." I smile, satisfied by the submission in her tone, and start toward the entrance. Jenny falls into perfect step beside me, just a pace behind.

The 'club' is hidden in plain sight- a large, unmarked shipping container, one of many, at the edge of a sprawling yard by the dock. The entrance is a small, unassuming door guarded by a burly man with his arms crossed, his face stern and unwelcoming. That's why this place has gone unnoticed for so long by the authorities.

As we approach, the man notices me, recognition settling it. But then he spots Jenny beside me, and his posture relaxes.

He steps aside. "Have a good evening, Prince Niklaus," he mutters as I pass.

"You too," I respond coolly, leading Jenny inside.

The smell of alcohol, sweat, and the mingling scents of humans and supernaturals hits me as soon as we step inside. The pounding music pulls me back to my party days. I might have actually had fun tonight if I didn't have a different agenda.

I keep half my attention on Jenny as I scan the room. The interior of the container is surprisingly well-furnished for what it looks like from the outside. The space is spread across two levels, with an open floor plan. On the ground floor, a large bar stretches along the back wall, and most of the crowd is dancing and grinding on the central dance floor. Standing tables line the perimeter, where people drink, chat, or observe the chaos around them. There are two emergency exit doors on each side of the club.

I glance up. The ceiling is high, and a second floor runs around the periphery, reserved for VIPs.

I make my way upstairs, feeling eyes on me as I pass. A man I recognize from my research as the club manager greets me with an eager smile. "It's an honor to be graced by your presence, Prince Niklaus." News travels fast around here. "I'm Frederick, the club manager. Please, allow me to show you to a table."

"Thank you," I reply with a nod.

Frederick leads me to a secluded corner of the upper level, where a plush L-shaped couch offers a perfect view of the action below. "This is your table, Prince Niklaus. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'll be right here to take care of your every need."

"Much appreciated, Frederick," I say, settling into the couch with Jenny beside me. "For now, I'll take a bottle of Macallan and a red-headed slave."

He hesitates before he speaks, his voice laced with unease, "I apologize, Prince Niklaus, but we don't rent slaves here. That's... not legal."

"Come on now, Frederick, we both know that's not true." I place a firm hand on his shoulder, letting my lycan side surface just enough to make my point. He immediately squirms and breaks into sweat. "This club has a reputation. And that's exactly what I'm here for." I pull a bundle of soans from my jacket and slide it into his hand. "I'm sure you can make some concessions for me and my special friend." I nod toward Jenny, who anyone with a shred of sense would recognize as a slave, even without a leash. Just standing beside me, she's a bold statement that I don't care about the anti-slavery laws.

His eyes glaze over for a few seconds, and I know he's mind-linking someone-likely the club's owner. "Of course, Prince Niklaus. As I said, we're here to provide anything you desire."

"Just as I thought."

"We have a special area reserved for our most exclusive guests and their special friends," he says, stealing a glance at Jenny. "Please, allow me to show you."

I nod, wrapping an arm around Jenny's waist and pulling her closer to me.

Frederick leads us to a door guarded by a bouncer, marked 'Private'. We walk down a dimly lit corridor before he opens another door, gesturing for us to enter.

The room is spacious, though not as large as the main area. It's lit in a way that leaves the patrons in shadows while only the common spaces are illuminated. Large U-shaped couches line the perimeter, offering privacy to each table. In the center of the room is a circular stage with a grand piano, where a woman plays softly and sings just loud enough to drown out conversation.

Security guards stand in all corners of the room and at the door. Women wearing lingerie and collars serve drinks to the patrons. They have a number branded into their skin a little above their ass. It's small and the skin is pale and raised, which means it was done a long time ago. They are definitely slaves owned by the club. My blood boils but I reign myself in. All in due time, I remind myself. I look around, hoping to catch Mitch, the owner, but don't spot him. I'm certain he's lurking somewhere nearby.

As Frederick leads me to a table, I pass a few others. At one, a trio of women enjoy a strip show, with young, attractive male slaves giving them lap dances or eat them out. At another, a man fists another male's ass while those around the table casually play poker.

"I hope everything is to your liking, Prince Niklaus," Frederick says as I settle onto an empty couch. "I'll have a bottle of Macallan and a redhead sent over shortly."

"Yes, thank you," I reply dismissively as I slip a hand into my pocket and pull out a leash. I attach it to Jenny's collar and give it a tug.

She kneels at my feet, her body rigid, but her eyes wandering the room, taking in her surroundings.

I grab her chin, turning her face toward me. In her eyes, I see unease and anxiousness. I spread my legs and pat my right thigh.

Her cheeks tint red as she rises and seats herself on my leg, her hands clenched into fists on her thighs. I place a hand on her knee and turn her inward to face me.

"Eyes on me, Jen," I murmur softly. "I've got you."

She lowers her head in a nod.

Moments later, a server appears with a bottle of Macallan and a slave in tow.

"Your order, Prince Niklaus," the server says as she puts down a bottle on the table.

"Pour two glasses," I tell the server before turning my attention to the slave. She is a A tall, striking redhead wearing a simple leather collar and white panties that mark her as a virgin. Her posture is rigid- her eyes cast down, her hands are behind her back, her legs spread shoulder-width apart. It seems that she is new to this scene.

She picks up the bottle, unscrews the cap, and pours two glasses.

"You can go now," I dismiss the server, who bows her head and hurries off.

I hand Jenny a glass. "Drink."

She downs it in one go, her lips twisting as the strong liquid burns its way down her throat. I refill her glass, and she drinks again. Slowly, her shoulders relax, and her pupils dilate.

"How do you feel?" I whisper against her ear.

"Better. Thank you, Master," she responds, her voice soft and more at ease.

With Jenny settled, I focus on the slave. I notice that unlike others, she does not have a branded mark above her ass.

"Do a spin," I command.

Slowly, she spins around herself. Her entirely body is unmarked. Something is off. She's not a club slave.

I glance around the room. Still no sign of Mitch, but I catch the subtle shift in the atmosphere. The eyes of every security guard, the bartender, and even Frederick are fixed on me. They're watching closely, more than usual.

It's time to up my game.

"Pour yourself a drink too," I tell her. "I like my women a little drunk."

Then, I look at Jen. She has sensed the change in my mood, and is looking at me, waiting for my next command.

"Take off your dress, pet," I say, unhooking her collar with a flick of my wrist.

Without hesitation, she moves. The dress slips off her body in a swift motion, pooling on the floor. If I thought that the dress didn't cover her, I was wrong. Because now, in her full glory, her body is delectable.

I grab her ass, lift her from my lap, and place her down beside me on the couch. Her body melts into the cushions, a perfect display of obedience and allure. I wrap my hand around her throat and push her back, pinning her down. Jenny's lips part as her body gives in, hair splaying out around her head like a halo of gold.

"Stay," I command as I pull out a small vial from my pocket, its contents shimmering white under the dim lights. I smile, amused by the familiar temptation.

Uncorking the vial, I carefully pour a thin line of powder across Jenny's tits, and then another from her cleavage down to her abdomen. The way her chest rises and falls betrays the trepidation behind her otherwise submissive posture.

I roll a bill from my wallet and lean in, snorting the line off her tits in one slow motion. Only a fraction of a familiar burn and rush hits me but it still reminds me of nights long past. If only this were supernatural-grade stuff. But this will dilate my pupils and make me look high, which is exactly what I want right now.

I grin nonetheless, savouring the taste that clings to the back of my throat, and then lower myself for round two, pulling the line from her bra down to her panties.

Her back arches and goosebumps rises on her skin. I grab her throat and pull her up to meet my gaze. Her eyes widen, and her chest heaves.

The faint sound of footsteps approaching grows louder.

I grin at Jenny, my grip growing firm and possessive. "I'm going to fuck you unconscious."

I look upwards. A shaved head gleams under the dim light, a neck tattoo peaking form the collar, and a shiny suit. Mitch. I hook the leash back to Jenny's collar and give it a firm tug. She quickly slides off the sofa and kneels by my feet.

I raise my brow at the man.

"Apologies for disturbing you, Prince Niklaus. I'm Mitch Hogner, the owner of this club," he says, extending his hand.

I shake his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine. I hope I'm not disturbing you," he says, stealing a glance at Jenny. "I heard you were here and thought I should come wish you a good evening. And let you know that if there is anything that you need, anything, just say the word and I will do my best to make it happen."

I smile, knowing the kind of power I wield in places like this. "Well then, join me for a drink." I gesture to the couch.

Mitch's eyes gleam with opportunity. No one in their right mind would refuse an invitation from a Prince. He quickly takes a seat across from me. With a snap of his fingers, Mitch summons a server. Moments later, she appears with an empty glass and a slave in tow.

She pours the whiskey for Mitch as I lift my glass.

"To an exciting evening," I toast.

"To an exciting evening," Mitch echoes, his voice laced with anticipation.

I take a sip, feeling the familiar burn glide down my throat, my gaze never leaving his. The mix of awe and subtle calculation in his expression is unmistakable. This is where the real game begins.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a small vial, holding it up between two fingers. "Coke?" I ask.

Mitch hesitates for a brief second, his eyes darting between me and the vial. "Don't do drugs?" I say, my tone laced with judgement.

He quickly shakes his head. "Of course, I do," he replies, almost too fast.

I toss the vial to him. "This is a special blend made by the Royal Chef. It's a higher grade than anything you've ever seen on the market. Go ahead, have some fun."

He catches the vial, intrigued. "I must say, Prince Niklaus, I had believed the media when it portrayed you as a reformed man. I'm very happy to know that's not the case." He unscrews the cap, giving it a quick sniff before his expression shifts into something more appreciative. "Your reputation precedes you," he continues, his voice filled with a mix of reverence and excitement. "I've heard of your chef's special blends, but I've never had the privilege."

"Well, now you have," I reply.

Mitch carefully taps some of the powder onto the table in front of him, rolling a bill between his fingers. With a practiced motion, he leans down and snorts the line, inhaling sharply as he sits back, blinking rapidly.

"Good?" I ask Mitch, though I already know the answer.

He grins, the edge of his unease melting away. "Exceptional," he breathes, his pupils dilating as the effects hit him.

He grabs the slave and pushes her down to her knees between his legs. Half way through opening his belt, he pauses. "Do you mind?"

"She's yours. Go ahead."

He quickly opens his slacks, grabs the slave's hair, and shoves her mouth down his dick. "Ah," he moans, his eyes sliding shut as the slave works him.

I glance over at Jenny, still kneeling by my side, her head lowered. I run my fingers through her hair, a subtle gesture of control and reassurance.

"That's a lovely slave you have there," he mutters.

"Yes, she is. And very, very special," I reply softly.

"I would love to see what makes her so special," he says, eyeing Jenny hungrily.

"That, my friend, is something you will have to experience first-hand. Her training is what has made her so special. She is one of eleven slaves that have undergone four yearlong extensive training to become a royal slave. She is perfection personified."

Mitch raises a brow. "Royal slave training? I thought-"

I laugh. "You don't actually believe all that nonsense, do you? You really think the Royal family doesn't have slaves to do their bidding?"

Mitch's eyes turned calculative as he stared at Jenny. "I always thought that that might be the case. What else are humans good for, right?" He chuckles darkly.

"You're a smart man, Mitch." I take a sip of my drink, savouring the moment. "Let me show you something fun," I say, locking eyes with Jenny.

"Orgasm," I command.

Jenny's body responds instantly. Her breath catches, eyes fluttering shut as a soft moan escapes her lips. A tremor runs through her, her hips subtly rocking as the pleasure builds. Her moans grow louder, turning into desperate gasps, her back arching as her orgasm overtakes her. With a final gasp, she shudders, her body quaking before she collapses at my feet, breathless and flushed. And that's the power of hypnosis and trigger words.

"Show us," I say.

Jenny slides her hand between her thighs, gathering her wetness before holding her fingers up, glistening for Mitch to see.

"Unbelievable," he says, his voice full of awe.

"She will do literally anything I say without hesitation. Watch this. Stop breathing, pet."

Without hesitation, she presses her lips together and pinches her nose shut. As moments pass, her eyes starting to flutter shut and her body strains under the command, but she obeys without question. Another minute ticks by, and she collapses limp at my feet.

"Fuck, that's hot," Mitch mutters, his grip tightening in the slave's hair as he thrusts deeper into her mouth. He gives one final, forceful thrust, burying himself completely as he spills inside her, letting out a low, guttural growl of pleasure. He holds her head in place, forcing her to swallow every drop, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face as he finally pulls away and pushes her aside.

Then, he leans forward, focusing on Jenny who is lying half on the floor and half on my feet. "What if someone wants to get their hands on a slave that has gone through royal slave training...?" Mitch asks, his voice full of curiosity and greed.

"Now that is impossible," I say and lean back.

"I'm willing to pay any price."

"It's not about money. It's impossible because only a royal slave can train someone to become a royal slave. And they are all currently owned by a royal family member," I explain. "But..."

He leans in.

"I can arrange for Jenny to train someone. For a price, of course."

"Name it." He looks at me with such conviction, I know will be able to get what I want out of him. I let the moment hang, tension simmering in the air.

"I want a name. Who is smuggling humans out of Soare-Luna?" I demand.

His expression shifts, and the confidence that once radiated from him falters, if only for a moment. I can see him calculating the risks, weighing the value of his secrets against the deal on the table and the threat I pose.

"I know authorities are cracking down hard on establishments that rent slaves. If your operation wants to stay under the radar, you'd better tell me who's behind the trafficking."

He stiffens but doesn't reply.

I press on. "I'm sure the person behind the smuggling is aware the authorities are after them. If they want to get them off their back, tell them to contact me. We can cut a deal, and I'll handle the rest." I rise, pulling Jenny to her feet. She's conscious now but weak, so I steady her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"What kind of a deal?" Something about his curiosity is suspicious. I have a feeling that he is more involved in this than I thought.

"A cut from the profit, of course," I reply, leaning back.

The stiffness in his posture eases slightly, but his gaze remains sharp, calculating. He's mind-linking, I can tell from the distant look in his eyes.

"I can arrange a meeting tonight," he finally says, "but the smuggler is private-no slaves allowed during negotiations."

I glance at Jenny, unease stirring deep in my gut. "My pet is very discreet. She won't be a problem."

Mitch pauses, mind-linking again. "He says no meeting, then."

Damn it.

"If I may suggest," Mitch says smoothly, "let us take care of your slave. She can give my slaves a taste of her training. She'll be comfortable, and I promise, we'll ensure her safety."

I glance at Jenny, my instincts screaming not to leave her alone, but I'm so damn close to getting what I need. The pull of the deal outweighs the doubt.

"Alright," I finally say, unhooking her leash. I gently brush my fingers under her chin, tilting her head up. "Be my good girl and do a good job."

"Yes, Master," she whispers, her voice steady but soft.

"I'll be back soon," I murmur, brushing my thumb against the ruby in her collar-her panic button. A subtle reminder.

"I'll wait for you, Master," she replies, her eyes full of trust, making it that much harder to leave her behind.

Mitch guides me down the dimly lit corridor and up a set of stairs, leading us into an empty office. I take a seat, my posture poised but senses on high alert.

"He will be here in a few minutes," he says.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling my attention. I pull it out, and my heart drops at the notification: Jenny's location not detected.

Panic grips me. Without a word, I bolt from the office, my footsteps pounding against the stairs as I descend to the basement – Jenny's last known location. I slam the door open, and the sight before me sends a chill down my spine.

A large, rectangular machine with a pitch-black screen dominates the room, flanked by two men standing guard. In front of it, another man barks orders, pushing women in a line forward. "Keep moving," he growls, shoving the next woman into the machine. She vanishes, swallowed by the dark screen as if into thin air.

What the hell is this?

"Where is Jenny?" I demand, my voice low and menacing.

Before I get an answer, a sharp pain pierces the side of my neck. My vision blurs, and the last thing I see is Mitch standing nearby, a syringe in hand, a smirk playing on his lips as the world fades to black.