Edris Vegas || Captor (?)

The cigarette tasted like cheap convenience-store shit, but the nicotine hit fast and sharp—exactly how Edris liked it. He dragged in a slow breath, exhaled a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, and let his spine sink deeper into the cracked leather couch beneath him. The warehouse apartment he’d commandeered for the night wasn’t much—exposed brick, mismatched furniture, a stolen TV propped up on crates—but it had character. Or maybe just attitude. Hard to tell. Either way, it suited him.

The real entertainment was glowing in his hand: a security feed looping on his phone. He rewound the clip again, thumb sliding lazily along the screen. Slowed the frame. Zoomed in like it was his favourite porn clip to watch. There you were—moving through the casino -his casino- crowd like a rumor. Light steps, loose shoulders, that calculated little sway of someone who understood how eyes worked, how shadows bent, how to slip into blind spots without trying too hard.

And then—there it was.

Your fingers ghosted along his coat pocket, a motion so clean most people would’ve missed it. He didn’t. A Vegas didn’t miss anything. Edris tapped the screen with a gloved knuckle. Once, twice. As if counting the seconds her delicate fingers wrapping around that USB. “Cute,” he muttered, amused and irritated in equal measure.

The USB flashed briefly in the footage before disappearing into your sleeve. A fucking USB. Out of everything in that casino, you grabbed the one thing he actually cared about. Money could be replaced. Cards could be cut. Pride grew back. But that USB held details the Cassanos would’ve slit a dozen throats to get their hands on. He took another drag, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth as he watched the moment you vanished into the crowd. Damn shame. He’d almost admired the technique.

The warehouse door creaked open behind him. One of his men stuck his head in. “Boss, the girl’s father—” Edris cut in, flicking ash into a chipped mug nearby. “Later,” The man swallowed, nodded, and closed the door again. Good. He didn’t want interruptions. Not when he was enjoying himself. He reclined further, boots kicked up on a battered coffee table, one ankle crossing over the other. That lazy, predatory calm settled into his bones—the one he always felt before taking apart a problem piece by piece.

And you were a problem. A small one, but a problem nonetheless. His thumb scrolled further through the footage. Other angles. Other shots. You slipping through the smoking lounge. You casually bumping a high-roller and lifting his Rolex just because you could. You dismissing a drunk tourist with a roll of your eyes.

Bold little thief. Too bold for your own good.

The cigarette burned low between his fingers as he switched feeds to the alley behind the casino—your escape route. He watched himself appear a moment later, rounding the corner with that slow, predatory stride that made men stumble and women stare. You didn’t see him until his hand wrapped around your wrist, pinning you cleanly to the wall.

He admired the look in your eyes when the footage froze. Defiance. Annoyance. Fear buried under irritation—because you didn’t like being caught, didn’t like losing, didn’t like the idea that someone moved faster than you.

He remembered that moment vividly. Your heartbeat kicked. Your pupils blew wide. And yet you opened your damn mouth and told him to “let go.” Most people would’ve begged, threaten maybe even cry. But for fuck’s sake you argued. And that made his cock twitch like it’s a fine ass in front of him. He took another slow drag, lips tugging into a smirk.

“Well,” he murmured to the empty room, “at least she’s interesting.” A buzz vibrated against his thigh. He checked the phone—new message from Arlott.

Father wants the girl dealt with immediately. Cassanos sniffing around the docks. Clean it up.

Edris snorted, flicking the notification away. Dealt with. Typical Arlott phrasing. Cold. Efficient. Surgical. But that wasn’t Edris’ style. He liked mess. He liked chaos. He liked watching consequences bloom in real time. And you? You were an unpredictable little spark in the middle of a powder keg. The Vegas–Cassano feud was reaching a boiling point. Borders tightening. Alliances strained. People disappearing on both sides. And then here you came—a stray pickpocket dipping her fingers into the one pocket she shouldn’t have touched.

Right place. Wrong man.

He laughed under his breath. “Oh, sweet little thing,” he exhaled, “you really should’ve dropped it.” But you didn’t. You kept it. You pocketed a war you didn’t understand. He snuffed the cigarette against the edge of the coffee table, grinding the ember out with slow, deliberate pressure. Then he tossed the butt aside and rose from the couch, stretching his arms above his head, neck cracking quietly.

Time to wrap this up.

His coat hung by the door—black leather, scuffed, lined with steel plates at the shoulders. He shrugged it on easily. Adjusted the collar. Picked up the USB he’d retrieved from you earlier, flipping it once over his knuckles. There it was again—the spark of irritation and interest tangled together. Most women he touched were forgettable. Pretty. Eager. Temporary. You weren’t eager. And you sure as hell weren’t temporary. Not after stealing from him. Not after looking him in the eye like you weren’t terrified. Not after forcing his hand in a way that made his blood hum.

He slid the USB into his pocket and rolled his shoulders back, that cold, dangerous ease settling into his expression. “Let’s go see our little thief,” he said to no one, voice low and amused. “Before she starts getting ideas.” The door groaned open as he stepped into the hallway. Concrete. Fluorescent lights. The smell of oil and cold metal. His men straightened when they saw him. Then he walked into you, tied up like a prize. His prize.

He walked towards to the couch you were tied up, come on he admired women too much to let a precious thing like you to be tied up in a chair. He’d make sure you were uncomfortably comfortable. He’s a gentleman at the end. He sit down casually and manspread with a cold smirk. Edris leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his pistol dangling loosely from his fingers. The smile he gave her wasn’t comforting. It was appreciative—like he liked what he saw, but liked the challenge more. He approached until the space between them felt too small for anything but truth or danger. “Doll, stealing from a Vegas isn’t the brightest idea don’t you think?”

“I’m not here to scare you,” he said, voice low, almost conversational. “I’m here because you decided to be a little thief, thinking you can slip in and out of my casino then have the audacity to tell me ‘fuck off’.” He lifted her chin with two fingers—not forceful, not gentle. Just claiming space he clearly intended to keep. “Which’s, by the way, the only thing you ever made the right choice this night. That sentence is giving you a second option sweetheart.” He says and looks at her mouth with hunger in his eyes.

“Option one,” he murmured, eyes steady on hers, “is death. Clean. Quick. Uncomplicated.”The pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip, barely there, more promise than touch. “Which’s something I’d hate to do sweetie, you have a lot of potential at being a good girl.” He says with his cold but amused tone. “Option two, -my favourite-“ he continued, “is you becoming mine. Protected. Kept. You’ll call it being my sugar baby if that makes it easier to swallow, but between us... we both know what it really means.”

He leaned in until his breath warmed her cheek. “My wife. In everything but the vows where I’ll say I will loveyou and all. Not my type, really.” He swirls the words in his tongue pulled back just enough to let the choice settle. “So,” Edris said quietly, almost kindly, “which future do you want?”