Revenge On The Tattooed Alpha

Chapter 3

Olivia's POV

My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The masked man with the scorpion tattoo, the one who had haunted my nightmares, was here, right in front of me. Years of grief and a burning desire for vengeance surged within me. How could it be him?

I took another look at the tattoo and my eyes dilated. I wasn’t mistaken. It was him. It wasn’t a coincidence. He was the one who shot my father. He was here, my worst nightmare sitting before me.

Quickly, I stepped away from him and saw his brow furrow. “Excuse me,” I murmured in panic and didn’t wait for him to respond before sprinting away.

My steps were hurried and unsteady as I stumbled backstage, my mind racing with a mix of fear and anger. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. My hands shook as I wrapped my arms around myself, attempting to calm the storm raging inside me.

The scorpion tattoo. The assassin of my family. Here. Now. How could he be here? Was it a coincidence, or did he know who I was?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. I quickly wiped the tears that had unknowingly fallen and straightened up, preparing to face whoever was coming. It was one of the other dancers, Maria.

“Olivia, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, her eyes filled with concern.

“I… I just needed a moment,” I stammered, forcing a weak smile. “It’s been a long night.”

Maria nodded, not entirely convinced, but not pressing further. “Well, you did great out there. The crowd loved you. If you need anything, let me know, okay?”

“Thanks, Maria,” I managed to say before she turned and walked away.

Once I was alone again, I took a deep breath and tried to gather my thoughts. I knew I wasn’t mistaken. He was the one. He was the one who had ordered the killing of my parents.

Tears fell freely on my cheeks as I recalled the painful memory of that day when I lost everything dear to me. I thought I would never see him again. This world is vast, and encountering someone with that tattoo seemed improbable, yet here he was, in the club!

Panic gripped me as I feared if he knew who I was, but I shook my head. It was obvious he hadn’t come for me.

For several minutes, I remained in the locker room, lost in thoughts, until I decided to change and return to the bar stand.

After changing, I decided to go back to the private room, but I didn’t go in, instead, I stood at the entrance door. I scanned the room, searching for the masked man with the piercing green eyes, and found him. He was still there, lounging in the VIP booth, his gaze occasionally sweeping the room but never lingering on anyone for long.

I approached one of the security guards. “Hey, do you know the man in the VIP booth with the green eyes?”

“That one?” The guard glanced over and shrugged. “Nah, he’s new. Must be someone important, though. Boss told us to give him whatever he wants.”

“Thanks,” I said, my mind racing. It was obvious he was someone of great influence.

Returning to the bar stand, I met Sonia looking confused, surprised to see me return so early.

“What happened? You look like you’ve been crying,” she said, sounding worried. I sighed.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” I lied to Sonia, who didn’t look convinced.

“You’re lying, Olivia. Tell me what happened in there,” she demanded, and I sighed but didn’t respond. I couldn’t tell her the truth even if I wanted to.

“Did some DOM try to force himself on you? You know you could report him and get his membership cancelled,” Sonia murmured while I flashed her a weak reassuring smile. “Believe me, I'm okay,” I assured her. Sonia didn’t seem convinced by my words but decided to let me be.

I went back to work and tried to focus, but my mind wasn’t at rest. I kept thinking of him, my parents' killer. I knew I wasn’t mistaken. He was the one. The tattoo was exactly the same. It was well-crafted and spectacular, not just an ordinary scorpion tattoo but has a signature sign. Something written in foreign letters beside the tattoo; such a tattoo couldn’t be found anywhere else.

This tattoo was etched into my memory. Every time I blinked, the image of that scorpion tattoo flashed before my eyes. I wasn’t mistaken. It was him.

“Olivia, are you really okay?” Sonia asked in a concerned tone, and I nodded. Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus on work.

Minutes passed. I poured drinks, forced smiles, and flirted with customers, but my mind was elsewhere. I replayed every detail of that night over and over again, the loud gunshots and how my parents dropped dead. He had killed my parents, and now he was here, within my reach, and I had no plan, no idea of what to do next.

“Red-haired girl,” a familiar chilled voice muttered, and when I turned, it was him, the assassin, the one who haunted my nightmares.

My eyes widened, and I swallowed in fear.

“Why do you seem like you’ve seen a ghost?” he raised an eyebrow, and I quickly composed myself. I can’t let him suspect anything.

“Nothing. I’m just surprised to see you here,” I said, and heard him chuckle, his green piercing eyes behind the mask staring right at me as if he wanted to pierce through my soul.

“You forgot to take your money for your service,” he muttered before dropping a bundle of cash on the desk in front of me. “Why did you run away like that?” he asked, his question and piercing gaze unnerving me. I couldn’t understand why his mere gaze could have such an effect on me.

“Huh? You acted like you’ve seen a ghost?” he questioned, and I swallowed hard while staring at him. I wished I could spit in his face and tell him the truth, but that would be the most stupid thing to do.

I forced a shaky smile, hoping it would mask the fear and rage boiling within me.

“I just needed a break,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “It gets overwhelming sometimes.”

His eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I feared he could see right through my lies. But then he smirked, seemingly satisfied with my explanation.

“Understandable,” he said, leaning back against the bar. “You were turned on and couldn’t stand it, so you ran away.” He chuckled, while I frowned inwardly. He seemed so proud of himself, and it made me hate him even more.

“You did well tonight.”

I forced another smile. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on me. “I still want to f**k you.”

A few minutes ago, such words from him made my skin prickle and sent shivers down my spine, but now I felt disgusted to hear such from him. I can’t imagine being f*****g my parents' murderer. Our gazes interlocked, and I wished I could stab him in the chest, but again, that would be a foolish move. I knew I needed to be strategic.

“Today seems to be your first day. What’s your name, sir?” I asked, knowing his name was the first step.

He chuckled, a dark, ominous sound. “Names are overrated,” he replied, his hand moving to caress his neatly shaved beard. “But you can call me Enzo.”

“Enzo.” The name sent a shiver down my spine. Was it his real name, or just another mask? I had to find out more.

“Alright, Sir Enzo,” I said, my voice steady. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you,” he said bluntly.

I glanced at him with hate, the audacity for him to think that I would agree to sleep with him.

“What do you say?” he smirked, an annoying expression that made me wish I could tear his heart apart. I wished I could do anything to make him pay for what he did, but I knew there was nothing I could do at that moment.

“I’m sorry, I can’t f**k you,” I stated firmly and saw his brow furrow. We glanced at each other without looking away until he spoke.

“Get me a glass of whiskey,” he ordered, and I nodded before breaking eye contact with him.

As I turned to serve his drink, I could feel his intense gaze on me, which made me so uncomfortable and nervous.

Turning around, I served him his drink. He took a sip of his drink and glanced at me. “Ten thousand dollars for one night with me,” he offered.

I nearly dropped the glass I was holding. My mind raced. Ten thousand dollars was more money than I had ever seen in one place. But the thought of being with him made my stomach churn. The image of my parents’ lifeless bodies flashed before my eyes again, fueling my anger.

“I’m not a Submissive,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m here to serve drinks.”

He chuckled, a low, menacing sound that sent a chill down my spine. “Everyone has a price, Olivia,” he said, leaning closer. “The question is, how much is yours?”