The night was silent, the kind of quiet that felt heavy with secrets. Andrea was busy closing up the cafe, the familiar routine of wiping down tables providing a rhythmic comfort, until a piercing scream shattered the air.
It was a sound of raw, guttural agony.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Fear clawed at her throat, but she couldn't turn away. With trembling hands, Andrea crept toward the back exit. As she pushed the door open, the sight before her made her blood run cold.
A young girl lay sprawled on the cold concrete, her body soaked in crimson. Andrea froze, her breath hitching. The girl was still alive, her fingers scraping against the floor as she tried to rise, her voice coming out in a broken, raspy plea for help.
"Wait! Stay still! I'm calling an ambulance!" Andrea scrambled back inside, her hands shaking so violently she nearly dropped her phone.
She rushed back out to help the girl inside. Thanks to her medical studies, her instincts kicked in. She knew exactly where to apply pressure to stem the flow of blood.
"Stay calm," Andrea urged, her voice steady despite the adrenaline. "The more you move, the worse the pain will be."
By the time the ambulance arrived and whisked the girl away, Andrea was exhausted. She cleaned the blood from the floor, locked up, and headed straight to her second job.
Life wasn't easy; with her mother gone and her father struggling to find steady work, her cafe shifts barely covered her tuition. She had to work. She had to survive.
That brought her to Club Phoenix.
It was a playground for the elite, lavish, high-class, and dangerous. Andrea worked there as a server and bartender, a world away from the quiet cafe.
"Andrea! Two tequilas and a beer!" Hanne shouted over the pulsing bass.
"Coming!" Andrea tied her apron and hurried out of the staff room. She moved with practiced grace, lining up the glasses.
"Two tequilas, one beer. Done!" She hit the bell, signaling the servers.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the club shifted. A group of men walked in, and the entire staff immediately dropped their heads in a deep bow. Andrea stood frozen, confused. She had never seen them before.
"Psst! Andrea! Bow your head, now!" Hanne hissed. Andrea obeyed instantly, though her mind was spinning with questions.
Once they passed, the tension eased, but only for a moment. Three more guests arrived, and this time, the fear in the room was palpable.
"Are they VIPs too?" Andrea whispered.
"Yes," Hanne replied, her voice trembling.
"Especially Master Drayven. He owns this club. If you don't show him respect, you won't make it out of here alive."
A new order flashed on the screen for the VIP table: 2 beers, 1 Old Fashioned, 2 Whiskey Sours, 1 Negroni, and 1 Smoke Dark Horse.
Andrea's heart sank. Smoke Dark Horse? She'd never made it. It wasn't on the standard training list. Desperate, she scanned the menu guide tucked under the counter, her eyes racing over the complex instructions.
I hope this is right. She rang the bell, her palms sweating.
"You're a lifesaver, Andrea," Hanne said, grabbing the tray. "Only James knows how to mix a Smoke Dark Horse, and he's out sick tonight."
"Hanne Watson."
The voice was like a whip, cold, hard, and commanding. The music seemed to dim as Hanne paled, slowly approaching the table where Kael Drayven sat.
Andrea watched from the bar, her stomach churning. Kael's gaze suddenly shifted, locking onto hers. It was an icy, predatory stare that made her want to bolt.
Hanne scurried back, leaning over the counter. "He's calling for you."
I knew it. I messed up. Andrea swallowed her fear and walked toward the seven men.
"Y-yes, Mr. Drayven? How can I help you?" she asked, her voice hitching.
"You made this?" Kael pointed to the Smoke Dark Horse, his expression unreadable.
"Yes, sir," she whispered.
"Ace, call Ben. Tell him to get over here," Kael commanded. Ace Ravell didn't hesitate, pulling out his phone to call the club manager, Ben Anderson.
Moments later, Ben arrived, breathless and sweating. "Is something wrong, Mr. Drayven? What did Andrea do?"
Kael didn't answer with words. He lunged forward, grabbing Ben by the hair and slamming his head onto the mahogany table with terrifying force. "A girl like this... she should stay a server. Don't let her touch the bar again."
"I-I'm sorry!" Ben gasped in pain. "James is sick! I had no choice!"
Kael released him and turned his attention back to Andrea. "If you don't have the soul for the craft, don't pretend to be an artist," he said, his voice a flat, dangerous monotone.
Something snapped inside Andrea. She didn't care who he was. Seven years of barista training and three years of bartending school burned in her veins.
"I'm sorry you didn't like it, Mr. Drayven," she said, her voice trembling, not with fear, but with indignation. "But to say I have no 'soul' for my craft? That's uncalled for. I've worked years for this."
The silence that followed was deafening. Hanne looked like she was about to faint. No one spoke back to the most feared man in the city.
Kael's eyebrow arched. He stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. Andrea had to tilt her head back just to meet his eyes.
"This is your creation. Drink it," he said, sliding the glass toward her.
Andrea took a sip. It was good, perfectly balanced, or so she thought.
"Now," Kael stepped behind the bar, his movements fluid and precise. He mixed the ingredients with a haunting elegance, the smoke swirling like a living thing. "I'll show you what a real Smoke Dark Horse tastes like."
He pushed a new glass toward her. "Drink."
Andrea took a cautious sip.
Damn.
The flavor hit her like a freight train. It wasn't just a drink; it was an explosion of heat and shadow. Her tongue went numb instantly. The alcohol content was astronomical. Her head began to spin, the lights of the club blurring into streaks of neon.
Kael watched her, a dark, smirk playing on his lips as she swayed.
"Andrea! Wake up!" Hanne tried to steady her, but Andrea was already losing her grip on reality.
"I'll take her home," Kael said smoothly, stepping out from behind the bar. Before anyone could protest, he swept Andrea into his arms, carrying her toward the exit.
"That 'Drink of Death' is something only Kael can handle," Evan Lysse remarked with a cynical laugh.
"I tried it once," Jaden Cross added, shaking his head. "I lost an entire day. Kael's a monster behind the bar when he wants to be."
Noah Wynters looked at Ace. "You usually drink those. Why didn't you order one tonight?"
Ace leaned back, watching Kael disappear with the girl. "Because I saw who was behind the bar the moment we walked in. I knew she couldn't handle the fire."
To Be Continue...
YOU ARE READING
KAEL DRAYVEN
Fanfiction"Save my father..." Andrea pleaded, her voice breaking as she looked up at the man who held her world in his blood-stained hands. Kael let out a sharp, hollow laugh, tilting his head with a chilling indifference. "Do I look like a doctor to you? Unl...
