𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Velvet Venom Strip Club

Las Vegas,

USA.

ALISHA'S POV

The pulsing bass of Velvet Venom wrapped around me like a lover’s hand sliding up my thigh, thick and insistent. I stood at the sleek black bar in the heart of the club, the Las Vegas lights bleeding through the one way glass walls in streaks of neon crimson and electric blue. My team was scattered two agents pretending to be drunk tourists at a corner table, another sipping water near the stage but I was alone at the bar, exactly where I needed to be. Undercover. Untraceable.

I wore a dangerously revealing little black dress that hugged every curve of my 5'6" body like it had been poured on. The neckline plunged low enough to tease the swell of my breasts, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh, and the back dipped so low my spine was on full display. No uniform tonight. Just skin, heels, and the burning need to catch Mumbai's underworld Mafia Lord in the act. I lifted the chilled glass of whiskey to my lips, letting the smoky burn slide down my throat while my eyes scanned the room for any sign of the deal.

My phone vibrated against my hip. I glanced at the screen it written Siya. Of course. I answered, keeping my voice low and steady, the cool ACP mask firmly in place even though my pulse had already quickened.

“Di? Finally!” Siya’s voice burst through, bright and teasing, the way it always did when she was about to poke at me.

“Maa called me in a panic. Suddenly you vanished from Mumbai? She said you didn’t even tell her which country you were flying to. What the hell, Di? Are you okay?"

I smiled faintly, swirling the ice in my glass. “I’m fine, Siya. I’m in Las Vegas. Work stuff.”

“Las Vegas?” Her laugh was immediate, wicked, and far too knowing. “Oh my god, didi, a strip club? I can hear the music in the background. Please tell me you’re finally letting loose for once. Personal pleasure trip? Because if my strict, rule-book di is in Vegas right now, I’m betting she’s about to get absolutely railed by some hot stranger who doesn’t know she’s a cop."

“Siya, shut the fuck up,” I hissed, but my cheeks burned. I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I’m on a mission. There’s a major deal happening here tonight drugs, arms, the works. The Mafia lord behind it is supposed to show. I’m here to collect evidence, not… whatever filthy scenario you’re imagining.” She didn’t miss a beat. Her voice dropped into that playful, sing-song tone she used when she wanted to torture me.

"Mmm, but imagine it, di. You, in that tiny dress I know you packed just to blend in, dancing close to some dangerous man, his hands on your waist, pulling you back against him while the music throbs. You’d act all cold and professional like always, but we both know you’re dying to be bent over and fucked senseless by someone who doesn’t give a damn about your badge. What if it’s the same Mafia guy you’re hunting? God, that would be hot. Sharing your bed with the criminal you’re supposed to arrest? I can already picture you waking up tomorrow with bite marks on your thighs and collarbones and saying that ‘I hate him but I came so hard’ last night”

“Siya!” I snapped, (but my thighs pressed together under the bar. The image she painted rough hands, a hard body, someone who would ruin me without apology sent a fresh rush of heat straight to my core. I hated how right she sounded.) “Stop overreacting. I’m not here for pleasure. I’m here to end this empire before more blood spills on Mumbai’s streets. Just… take care of Maa for me, okay? And don’t tell her anything.”

She laughed again, bright and unrepentant. “I’m not overreacting, di. I’m just saying be safe. Or don’t. Maybe let the big bad wolf eat you tonight. You deserve it after all those late nights chasing shadows. Call me if you need a ride home… or a morning-after pill.”

Another giggle. “Love you, strict di. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do which means do everything.”

The line went dead before I could retort. I muttered under my breath, “Bitch,” and slid the phone into my tiny purse, the word tasting like affection and annoyance all at once. Siya always knew exactly how to crawl under my skin and make my body react in ways I refused to admit.

I turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink, when the entire club atmosphere shifted.

The music didn’t stop, but the energy did. Club management’s voice crackled over the hidden speakers calm, authoritative. “Ladies and gentlemen, the floor is now closed for a private session. Please exit through the main doors. Complimentary drinks at the lounge next door.”

Strippers froze mid-pole, then gracefully gathered their things. Customers grumbled but obeyed, security herding them out like cattle. The lights dimmed even lower, leaving only the blood-red glow and pulsing strobes. My team melted into the shadows without a word they knew the drill.

And then he walked in.

The man who entered through the private side door moved like sin given flesh. Tall easily 6'2" dressed in a fitted black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, black pants that clung to powerful thighs, polished black boots, and a thick silver chain resting against the hollow of his throat. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes even in the low light, but his jaw was sharp, shadowed with stubble, lips curved in that lazy, arrogant half-smirk. He crossed the now-empty floor directly past the bar where I stood, close enough that I caught the faint scent of expensive cologne and raw male heat.

As he passed, he lifted a hand and began unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate fingers. One button. Two. Three. The fabric parted, revealing a glimpse of tanned, sculpted skin underneath. He was heading straight for the massive circular couch in the center of the club the VIP throne surrounded by mirrored floors that reflected every angle.

I couldn’t look away.

He is  heading towards the couch, shrugged the black shirt off completely while walking, and tossed it to one of the two silent guards who had materialized beside him. The shirt landed perfectly in the guard’s hands. And there it was his back.

Holy fuck.

Broad, powerful shoulders tapered into a V-shaped perfection, every muscle carved deep and defined under the red lights. Sweat already glistened along the ridges of his spine, making the hard planes of his back shine like polished marble. The muscles flexed and shifted with every breath, so fucking hot, so beautifully brutal. And right at the base of his neck, inked in bold, arrogant script that stretched across his traps, was the tattoo written Vedansh Fucking Shergill.

My breath caught hard in my throat. That’s him. The man whose empire was built on rivers of blood and silent murders. The Mafia lord I had flown halfway across the world to gather evidence against. The one I was supposed to destroy.

But God… that back. Those shoulders looked strong enough to pin me down and never let me up. That tattoo screamed pure dominance like he wore his own name as a warning and a promise. I imagined dragging my nails down that sweating, hard muscle, feeling it bunch under my touch while he growled my name. My nippl*s tightened painfully against the thin fabric of my dress. Heat pooled low in my belly, slick and insistent, making my thighs press together again.

Stop it, Alisha. He’s the enemy. You’re here to arrest him, not fuck him with your eyes.

Then as be reached to the couch, He simply took his seat on the wide circular couch in the center of the now-empty club, dropping down with that lazy, predatory grace, then leaned back just enough to lounge half-reclined against the velvet cushions.

The position kept him facing away from me. I can watch his back only from behind. It's offering me an uninterrupted, devastating view of his half back those broad, powerful shoulders glistening under the pulsing red lights, every ridge of muscle carved deep and slick with a faint sheen of sweat that made his skin look like warm, living bronze.

The tattoo at the base of his neck stood out bold and unapologetic, the black ink screaming Vedansh Fucking Shergill across the thick cords of his traps, the words curving arrogantly as if daring the world to challenge him.

I was still frozen at the bar, just a few feet behind him, my fingers white-knuckled around my forgotten whiskey glass. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted to break free, and between my thighs, heat bloomed hot and slick, soaking the tiny scrap of lace I wore under this dress.

God… look at that back. So fucking hot, so brutally perfect wide enough to cage me in, strong enough to hold me down while he took whatever he wanted.

I could already picture it, my nails raking down that sweating expanse, feeling those muscles bunch and ripple under my touch as I dragged him closer. My mind spiraled wild and filthy, the cool ACP mask cracking wide open in the privacy of my thoughts.

I imagined storming over there right now, sliding onto his lap without a word, my dress riding up my thighs as I straddled those powerful hips. His hands those thick, veined forearms I hadn’t even seen fully yet would grip my ass hard, fingers digging in like he owned it, pulling me down until my aching pussy ground against the growing bulge in his black pants.

I’d lean in, mouth crashing against his in a messy, desperate kiss, tongues tangling hot and wet while I rocked against him, moaning into his mouth like the secret slut I refused to be in daylight. He’d taste like smoke and whiskey and pure sin, and I’d bite his lower lip hard enough to draw a growl from that arrogant throat, my hands sliding up to fist in his hair while I rode the ridge of his dick through our clothes. “Fuck me right here, Shergill,” I’d whisper against his lips, voice shaking with need.

Then I came to present as I heard a flick sound of lighter, He lit the cigarette, the flame flickering for a second before he took a slow drag, exhaling smoke that curled toward the mirrored ceiling. The casual flex of his back muscles at the movement sent another wave of heat crashing through me.

The fantasy burned so vivid my knees nearly buckled. My breath came shallow, nipples tight and aching against the dress, pussy clenching around nothing as fresh slick coated my thighs. I hate him. His empire is blood and bodies and death.

But the lie tasted like honey on my tongue. I wanted those strong shoulders pinning me, that tattoo brushing my lips as I kissed and licked every inch of his back while he fucked me from behind, one veined hand fisted in my hair, the other slapping my ass red.

I wanted to be the good little ACP who fell apart on the cock of the man she was supposed to destroy.

I stood there, lost, dripping, the mission forgotten for one dangerous heartbeat.

The war had started the second he walked in shirtless. And I was already soaked for the enemy.

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