UMBRIA DISTRICT, PERUGIA IN ITALY, LOCALITA ASPROLI TODI ESTATE. THE UMBRA COLLECTIVE: THE FATAL ATTRACTION SOCIETY...8 PM
The air was velvet-thick with sin. In the underbelly of Naples, beneath the sheen of class and the crust of old European elegance, thrummed the pulsing core of The Umbra Collective.
Where The Eros Empire convened its kings and queens, The Umbra Collective was the gathering of their shadows,mini kings, second-in-commands, lieutenants. Each of them wielding power that dripped with ambition and teeth. It was a beast of its own kind, operating with its own rules, its own lawless rhythm. Rank meant nothing here. You earned respect with your blood, your presence, and how far you were willing to go to protect your club's name in the dark.
They didn't snitch here. That was weakness.
Here, weakness got you killed.
Each club had its layers. The Kingpin,owner of the club,sat at the top like a cruel god. Their lieutenant, often called the Exec or Mini Kingpin, was the one who ran the shadows in their stead. The enforce muscle served beneath, ensuring obedience. The operator gave out the missions. The recruiter found the new blood. An intricate food chain of seduction and power.
Take The Velvet Vixens, for example.
Vivian LaRue was the supreme goddess of that seductive hellscape. Shante Jarret, her lieutenant, was the true force running the day-to-day carnage. Julian and Maema,Vivian's deadly enforcers,took care of the physical pain. Drex, the darkly charming operator, dished out blood-drenched assignments. And Bryson? He roamed the night, recruiting sinners with a smile.
To the members, Shante was their exec. Their ruler in practice, if not in name. Julian was her first sword. Maema, her second. Drex and Bryson held no hierarchy among them, but their loyalty to Vivian elevated them beyond the chain.
Simple enough, right?
Tonight, the Fatal Attraction Grounds,the collective's central lair,was glowing beneath the eerie red-tinted lights that cast shadows like dripping blood across marble floors.
The first club to arrive was The Siren's Lair.
Goldie Luhan was the exec, a wild child in a woman's body. Young, reckless, and known across the network as the organization's public toilet. She lived for pleasure. She worshiped it. Goldie didn't just blur the line between dignity and depravity,she blew it to dust.
Jacel and Yael flanked her like twisted cherubs, just as slutty and dangerous, their eyes sharp and mouths always ready.
Next came The Blackout Brotherhood.
Their exec, Magnus Zeres, was a man of order and deadly precision. Cold, unreadable, always an hour early. His lieutenants, Griffo and Susanna, followed him in silence, their eyes scanning the room like hunters smelling for blood.
Then The Red Room Society arrived.
Ace Rivals.
Devilishly handsome. A sex god by reputation, with a face that haunted dreams and a smile that ruined morals. Women, men,it didn't matter. They all wanted a taste. All except one,Shante Jarret. That single refusal ate him alive. He wanted her. Needed her. And he was willing to cross lines to have her.
Ace arrived with Hans, one of his lieutenants. Hans was beautiful, no doubt, but in Ace's shadow, he was just decoration.
The remaining four clubs were always late. Predictably so.
The Honey Trap Fraternity,spawned directly from The Web of Desire,always walked in with noses high and pride dripping. Their arrogance wasn't misplaced. Their leader, Honeywell, was Uranta Downs' prodigy. The second-highest-ranking club had made them royalty by proximity, and they wore it like perfume.
The Shadow Syndicate's exec was another beast entirely. A man of brutality and whispered stories. One tale had him slicing a man from skull to pelvis for disrespect. Whether it was true didn't matter. The fear was real. But he had one weakness,one woman he couldn't bend or break.
Shante Jarret.
She didn't bow. Didn't flinch. Didn't care. And it pissed him off every time their eyes met.
He'd be damned if he showed up before her. If she was late, he'd be later. Even if it meant standing outside like a dog just to make a point.
Inside the lair, chaos was already kissing the air.
Goldie spotted Ace the moment he entered. She strutted toward him, her hips swinging with loose lust. In her hand, a bottle of vodka.
"Here," she purred, offering it with a wicked grin.
Ace's gaze was amused, predator-like. He took the bottle, downed nearly all of it in a single, defiant gulp, then shattered it against the ground like a war cry. The glass sang as it broke. He winked at her.
"How was your last mission?" he asked, stepping into her space.
Goldie licked her lips, slow and sensual. "Fun."
"A quickie?" His hand slid beneath the flimsy excuse of her skirt, discovering no barrier between her and the world. No panties.
His fingers pushed inside her without warning.
Goldie moaned, loud and unashamed. "That shouldn't be a question."
Ace smirked, pulled his fingers out, and shoved them into her mouth. She sucked with devotion, leaving spit glistening.
He gripped her ass tightly, fingers digging between the cheeks like he wanted to own her.
Goldie moaned again, filthier this time.
Then he spun her around, bent her over, and with a single hand, yanked her arms behind her back while unzipping himself. No hesitation. No mercy. He buried himself inside her with a hard thrust.
"Ouch," she gasped, a mix of pain and perverse pleasure.
He pounded into her like he owned her soul.
And Goldie? She took every inch, every thrust, like a sinner praying to a cruel god.
Nearby, Griffo was already pounding Jacel against the side wall, her legs wrapped around him like a vice. Susanna was on her knees, mouth full of Hans, while Yael rode him from behind in a wild, sweaty dance of madness.
It was a symphony of sin. A chorus of moans. Wet skin against stone. Nails scraping. Gasps. Curses. The sound of bodies colliding in lustful rhythm.
Magnus sat like a bored king, watching it all with a cool stare. This wasn't new. This wasn't shocking. It was routine.
This was The Umbra Collective.
And these were the perks of showing up early.