The sun was blinding as I stepped out of the high-rise, the morning air crisp against my skin. Every muscle in my body felt the weight of the night's "marathon," but my cock was already starting its slow, steady recharge. I had done what no one else in the industry could—I had tamed the Queen and convinced her to put her crown back on for one last show.

​Two-bit pulled the Cadillac up to the curb, the chrome gleaming in the daylight. He didn't even wait for me to reach the door before he started leaning out the window, his eyes hidden behind dark aviators, a massive grin on his face.

​"Damn, man. You look like you just crawled out of a war zone," Two-bit mocked, taking in my disheveled shirt and the literal exhaustion written on my face. "Hope that master whore didn't break your back like Willow did? You look like you're walking on toothpicks."

​I groaned as I slid into the plush leather of the back seat, the coolness of the interior feeling like a godsend.

​"It was the other way around this time," I grunted, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. "Fucked her so hard she knocked out cold. It'll be a while before she even remembers what planet she's on."

​Two-bit whistled, his foot hovering over the gas as he stared at me through the rearview mirror. "You made the Queen of Porn knock out? The Lana Grande? Man, I knew you were a beast, but that woman has survived every tripod in the business."

​"She was rusty," I replied with a tired smirk. "I was just applying the grease. High-performance grease."

​He let out a loud, bark-like laugh and shifted the car into drive, the Caddy pulling away from the "fortress" and merging into the morning traffic.

​"You're a legend, Druski. For real," he said, shaking his head. "So, where to, boss? Back to the studio to count the money? Or do we need to find you a pharmacy for some Gatorade and vitamins?"

​"Nuh," I muttered, feeling the vibration of the road beneath me. "I'm off today. I've put in enough work for ten men. I wanna spend the rest of the day with Chloe."

​Two-bit's expression softened slightly, a knowing nod following. "Copy that. The 'good girl' to balance out the 'bad' ones. Probably the only thing that'll keep your head on straight after a night like that. Heading to your place?"

The vibration of my phone in my pocket felt like a jackhammer against my exhausted thigh. I pulled it out to see Sasha's name flashing on the screen. Even through the phone, the sexual tension between us was thick enough to choke on.

​"Hey, stranger," she purred, her voice low and intimate. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me with all those 'business meetings' you've been having."

​"Hard to forget you, Sasha," I replied, my voice raspy from the night with Lana.

​"I'm heading to LA in two days," she said, shifting the tone. "I need a break from this city."

​"That sounds nice. LA suits you," I said, leaning my head against the cool glass of the car window.

​Then came the curveball. "I was wondering... if you wanted to come with me. Just the two of us."

​I blinked, my tired brain immediately jumping to the logistics. Sasha liked the finer things, and I was a CEO now. Part of me wondered if this was just a high-end invitation for me to bankroll a week of shopping on Rodeo Drive and five-star hotels.

​But then she surprised me. "And before you ask—I've been saving up. My treat, Druski. I'll pay for everything. Flights, the suite, the drinks. I just want you there."

​I hesitated. Between the studio, the MILF quest, and my growing empire, taking off to LA felt like a massive distraction. Plus, I'd just promised the week to Chloe.

​"I'll... I'll have to think about it, Sasha. I've got a lot on my plate right now," I said.

​The silence on the other end was heavy. "Oh," she said, her voice dropping an octave, the disappointment sharp and clear. "I see. Well... think fast. The offer doesn't stay on the table forever."

​She hung up before I could explain.

​Two-bit glanced at me in the rearview, eyebrows raised. "LA? With Sasha? On her dime? Man, you really are living the dream, but you're playing a dangerous game with those ladies' feelings."

_______

The ride up the elevator felt like an eternity. My muscles were screaming, and my skin still felt the phantom heat of Lana's touch, but all I wanted was to sink into my own bed and smell Chloe's perfume.

​I pushed the door open, noting with a frown that the bolt wasn't thrown. "Chloe, I'm home!" I called out. Silence. The apartment felt hollow, the air heavy and still. "She must still be mad I didn't pull up last night," I muttered to myself, dropping my keys on the side table.

​I rounded the corner into the living room, my mind already halfway into a hot shower, but I stopped dead. My blood turned to liquid ice.

​There, sitting on my designer leather sofa as if he'd bought it himself, was a ghost from my nightmares. The morning sun hit his bald head, making the sweat on his scalp glint. He was massive, his bulk dwarfing the furniture, and that unmistakable ginger beard was as thick and rugged as I remembered.

​"Welcome home, Druski," he said. The voice was like gravel grinding in a blender—a heavy, thick Russian accent that made the hair on my arms stand up.

​It was him. The man from the warehouse. The one Big Mom had put a bullet through for having the audacity to slap her prize stallion. He wasn't wearing the tactical gear this time; he was in a sharp, grey suit that struggled to contain his sheer mass, and a mahogany cane rested against his knee—a permanent reminder of the day Big Mom reclaimed my dignity with lead.

​My heart didn't just thump; it hammered against my ribs like a trapped animal. The exhaustion from the night with Lana was instantly incinerated by a surge of pure, jagged adrenaline.

​"What the fuck are you doing here?" I spat, my voice tight. I looked past him toward the hallway, my mind screaming one name. Chloe.

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