Evil MC's NTR Harem - Chapter 451

Chapter 451: Chapter 451 Nest
“Who’s your daddy, bitch?” he slurred, a grin stretching across his scarred face. “Come on, have a good time with me.”

A few of his friends chuckled from behind him, watching intently to see what would happen next.

Rachel barely spared him a glance. “Sorry, I’m with someone else tonight,” she said smoothly, sidestepping him without breaking her stride.

The man scowled but didn’t press the issue. He wasn’t stupid.

Rachel found Ross easily. He was exactly where she expected him to be—seated in the VIP section, exuding effortless dominance.

He sat on a plush leather couch, legs spread, a glass of whiskey in one hand. The dim lighting of the bar cast deep shadows over his sharp features, giving him an almost dangerous allure.

Around him, a few rough-looking men lingered, talking in hushed tones, but none dared to sit too close.

He looked like a king holding court.

Rachel approached him confidently, her heels clicking against the floor. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering just long enough to make a statement.

Behind her, the man who had tried to stop her earlier let out a frustrated grunt.

“Shit!” he spat on the floor. “It’s Ross fucking Oakley’s bitch again. Why the hell does he always get the best women?”

His friends muttered in agreement, but none of them dared to do anything about it. Everyone in this bar knew the unspoken rule—you don’t mess with Ross Oakley.

Those who had made that mistake before had learned the hard way.

Some ended up beaten so badly they could barely crawl out of this place.

Others? They simply disappeared. Gone without a trace, as if they had never existed in the first place.

The tension in the air eased as people turned their attention back to their drinks and games. No one wanted to cross Ross tonight.

Rachel smirked to herself. She liked that.

She liked belonging to the man everyone feared.

If only Ross were a good man—someone clean, someone without the dark rumors surrounding him—then he would have been the perfect catch.

Any woman would be lucky to have him. Handsome, confident, and powerful, he had the kind of presence that made people take notice.

Rachel sighed internally. “What am I thinking?” She shook her head, trying to push the dangerous thoughts aside and focus on her real objective.

“You came,” Ross said, his voice smooth, almost amused.

“Yes, I’m here,” Rachel replied, suddenly shifting her demeanor. She lowered her gaze, letting a hint of vulnerability creep into her expression.

Men loved to protect what was beautiful, and Rachel had long since learned how to use that to her advantage.

She was, after all, a well-trained undercover operative.

“Good,” Ross said, his eyes drinking in her body with barely concealed greed. “I hope you won’t run away like last time.”

Rachel bit her lip, feigning hesitation. “You mean we would have s—” She widened her eyes in mock surprise.

Ross chuckled. “Of course. We’re lovers now, aren’t we? Unless… you want to back out? You’re free to go.”

Rachel held his gaze, her heart pounding—not out of fear, but out of something more dangerous. Something exhilarating. “No. I want to stay with you, Ross. I want to stay with you forever.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across Ross’s lips. “Me too.”

For a brief moment, an unspoken tension settled between them. Ross reached for his drink, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip.

Then, as if the moment had never happened, his expression turned casual again.

“So, have you eaten?” he asked.

Rachel shook her head.

“Perfect,” Ross said, flicking his fingers. “I planned for a feast tonight.”

As if on cue, a procession of waiters arrived at their table, carrying silver trays piled high with the finest delicacies.

Plates of expertly grilled meats, rich pasta dishes, fresh seafood, and expensive wine were laid out before them.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Quite the feast.”

Ross leaned back, watching her. “Only the best for my woman.”

The way he said it made her stomach flutter—whether from excitement or warning, she wasn’t sure.

The two ate amidst the chaos of the bar, surrounded by the clatter of billiard balls, the shuffle of cards, and the occasional outburst of drunken laughter.

Despite the rough setting, Rachel found herself enjoying the food far more than she expected.

The steak was perfectly seared, the seafood fresh, and the wine smooth as silk. It was, without a doubt, one of the best meals she had ever had.

She glanced at Ross, who ate with an effortless confidence, completely at ease in this den of criminals.

He didn’t talk much while he ate, only occasionally giving her a glance, as if waiting for her to speak first.

The way he carried himself made it clear—he was the kind of man who was used to being in control, the kind of man who never needed to explain himself.

Still, Rachel couldn’t ignore the nagging question in her mind.

Why had he brought her here of all places?

This wasn’t exactly a romantic date spot. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and the men in the room all looked like they had done time in prison or were on their way there.

If Rachel weren’t already aware of Ross’s dangerous nature—if she didn’t suspect he was involved in things far darker than he let on—she would have been scared to even step foot in a place like this.

She took a sip of her wine, then casually glanced around the room. The men lingering nearby weren’t ordinary bar patrons.

They were rough, heavily built, covered in scars and tattoos. Their eyes held the weight of experience, the kind that came from living a life where violence was a daily routine.

Rachel turned back to Ross, lowering her voice slightly.

“Are these your friends?” she asked, nodding toward the men scattered throughout the room.

Ross leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass of whiskey with a slow, deliberate motion. His smirk was unreadable.

“Friends?” he repeated, as if the word amused him. He let the silence stretch for a moment before answering. “Hmmm… perhaps.”

Rachel studied his face, searching for something—anything—that would give her more insight into who he truly was. But Ross was a master at keeping people guessing.

She set down her fork. “I’m done,” she said.

Ross’s eyes flickered to her plate, confirming she had finished her meal. Then he tilted his head slightly, watching her with that same lazy smirk.

“Good,” he said, setting down his drink. His voice remained casual, smooth as ever.

Then, just as effortlessly as if he were asking about dessert, he added, “Now, I want you to climb onto my cock again and fuck me.”