The AirBnB was a beast of a house, sprawling with testosterone-fueled chaos as Rojo’s bachelor party roared into the night. The massive flat screen blared a raunchy adult flick, its moans and gasps barely audible over the thumping bass of a hip-hop track blasting through the speakers. A pool table sat in the corner, its green felt scarred from sloppy shots and spilled beer, while the balcony doors stood ajar, letting in a cool breeze that did little to temper the heat of debauchery inside.
Rojo, the man of the hour, leaned against the pool table, a tequila shot in one hand and a smirk on his face as his groomsmen—Dave, Mikey, Trent, and Carlos—traded barbs and crude stories like they were currency. The room stank of cheap cologne, spilled liquor, and the kind of reckless energy that only comes from a pack of guys on the eve of losing one of their own to the ball-and-chain.
“Yo, Rojo, remember that time in Cabo when you tried to skinny-dip in the hotel fountain?” Dave, a burly dude with a beard that screamed ‘lumberjack wannabe,’ guffawed, slamming his beer bottle on the table. “Security hauled your naked ass out, and you still tried to sweet-talk ‘em!”
Rojo rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Hey, I almost had that guard eating outta my hand. If Mikey hadn’t started yellin’ about sharks in the fountain, I’d have been golden.”
Mikey, lanky and perpetually wired, grinned wide, chalking his pool cue with exaggerated flair. “Man, I saved your ass! You owe me for not lettin’ you get deported.”
“Deported to where, dumbass? It was Mexico!” Trent, the pretty boy of the group with a jawline sharper than a razor, snorted as he lined up a shot. “Rojo, you’re lucky Mandi’s lockin’ you down. You’re a damn liability.”
Carlos, the quiet one with a penchant for tequila straight from the bottle, just smirked from his spot on the crescent-shaped couch, shaking his head. “Y’all are idiots. Rojo, you sure you wanna ditch this circus for married life? Mandi know what she’s gettin’ into?”
Rojo’s smirk faltered for a split second, a flicker of doubt crossing his dark eyes. He covered it with a swig of tequila, the burn grounding him. “Mandi’s got me figured out, man. I’m the one who’s gotta keep up with her.”
The ribbing continued, the air thick with laughter and the clink of bottles, but Rojo felt a tug of something heavier in his chest. Pre-wedding jitters, maybe. Excusing himself with a half-assed mutter about needing air, he slipped out to the balcony, the cool night wrapping around him like a secret. The driveway below was empty, save for the faint glow of a streetlight. He pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen before typing out a quick, sappy text to Mandi: *Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, babe. You’re my everything.*
He hit send, a goofy grin tugging at his lips, when a prickle of unease crawled up his spine. His eyes flicked down to the driveway—and there it was. A shadowy figure, cloaked in a dark robe, stood motionless, staring up at him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. The face was obscured, hidden in the folds of a hood, but the gaze was piercing, pinning him in place.
“What the hell…” Rojo muttered, heart kicking up a notch. He leaned over the railing, squinting. “Yo, guys! Get out here, now!”
The groomsmen stumbled out, half-drunk and half-annoyed, their banter cutting off as they crowded around him. “What’s your deal, man?” Dave slurred, peering over the edge. “You seein’ ghosts now?”
“There was someone down there, I swear,” Rojo insisted, pointing. But the driveway was empty, the figure gone as if it had never been there. The guys exchanged looks, then burst into laughter.
“Bro, you’re losin’ it!” Mikey cackled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Too much tequila, huh? Next thing, you’ll be seein’ Mandi in a white dress floatin’ down there.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Rojo snapped, but he forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s get back inside. I need another drink to forget this crap.”
They shuffled back into the living room, the music hitting them like a wall, only to freeze dead in their tracks. Standing in the center of the room, bold as brass in front of the crescent-shaped couch, was the robed figure. Up close, the presence was even more unnerving—tall, commanding, the fabric of the robe shimmering faintly under the dim lights. The hood still hid the face, but the air around them crackled with authority.
“What the actual—” Trent started, but the figure raised a hand, a sharp, imperious gesture that silenced him mid-sentence.
“Sit,” came a voice from beneath the hood, low and smooth, undeniably female, with a steel edge that brooked no argument. “All of you. Now.”
The guys exchanged wary glances, but something about that voice—hell, that presence—had them complying before they could even think to argue. They dropped onto the couch, a row of wide-eyed, buzzed idiots, beers still clutched in their hands. Rojo, however, wasn’t so lucky. The figure turned to him, a gloved hand pointing to a lone chair across from the couch.
“You. Sit there,” she commanded, her tone dripping with control. “You’re the guest of honor, aren’t you, Rojo?”
His name on her lips sent a jolt through him, equal parts fear and fascination. “Who the hell are you? How do you know me?” he demanded, but he moved to the chair anyway, unable to resist the pull of her authority.
“Questions later,” she purred, stepping closer as she produced a length of rope from beneath her robe. “First, let’s make sure you stay put. Can’t have the groom wandering off, can we?”
Rojo’s brows shot up, a nervous laugh escaping him as she began tying his wrists to the chair with deft, practiced movements. “Lady, I don’t know what kinda game this is, but I’m gettin’ married tomorrow. You plannin’ to ransom me or somethin’?”
Her chuckle was dark, rich, sending a shiver down his spine as she tightened the knots. “Oh, darling, I’m not here for money. I’m here to… entertain. But you? You get to watch. No touching. Not yet.”
“Watch what, exactly?” he shot back, tugging at the ropes, frustration mixing with a dangerous curiosity. “And why me? Untie me, and maybe I’ll play along.”
“Not a chance,” she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Her hooded head tilted, and though he couldn’t see her face, he swore he felt her smirk. “You’re the prize tonight, Rojo. But prizes don’t get to make the rules. I do.”
She turned to the groomsmen, who were watching the exchange with a mix of awe and unease. Dave cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some macho bravado. “Yo, lady, what’s under that robe? You a stripper or a serial killer? ‘Cause I ain’t signed up for either.”
Her laugh was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m neither. But I’m about to give you boys a show you’ll never forget. Keep your eyes on me—and your hands to yourselves. Unless I say otherwise.”
Mikey leaned forward, grinning despite himself. “Damn, I like a woman who takes charge. You gonna boss us around all night, or what?”
“Only if you’re good boys,” she teased, her voice a velvet whip as she positioned herself in front of them, the robe swaying with her movements. “But misbehave, and I’ll make sure you regret it. Understood?”
A chorus of half-laughing, half-nervous agreements rippled through the guys, their eyes glued to her as she reached for the edge of her robe. Rojo, bound to his chair, could only watch their reactions—smirks spreading, eyes widening, jaws dropping. Whatever was under that robe, it wasn’t meant for him to see. Not yet. His heart pounded, frustration and intrigue warring within him as the mysterious muse held the room in the palm of her hand, leaving him tethered to his seat, aching to know what game she was playing.
And just like that, the night took a turn he never saw coming.
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