The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback (Astra and Zayne) novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

Chapter 91

ZANE

Tuesday Night

I was trying to be calm.

For three fucking days I’d been calm. Since Sunday I’d held back, watched her through the spyware, read every message. every desperate search on her phone about how to remove wine stains and how much money she could scrape together

But tonight?

Tonight my patience was hanging by a thread.

I had heard the call.

The loan sharks called themselves The Kane Syndicate. Low-level but vicious predators who operated in the shadows of the city. Their boss was a man named Viktor Kane, mid-40s, gold chains, known for breaking fingers and selling girls when payments failed.

The details he sent Astra were clear and fucking disgusting:

– Location: Nocturne, an underground “gentlemen’s club” on the industrial outskirts, hidden behind an old warehouse facade.

– Time: Arrive by 10 PM tonight.

– Dress code: Short black dress, heels, minimal underwear. “The less fabric, the better.”

Role: Hostess/private entertainer for VIP clients. Tips + commission. “Work hard and you can clear your debt in a few nights.”

– Payment terms:

All earnings from your first night belong to us. After the initial few days, once your debt plus interest is paid in full, a remaining earnings are yours.

I read it all.

Then I left the house before she did.

any

My blacked-out SUV cut through the night toward the outskirts. Nocturne wasn’t some cheap strip joint. It was high-end sin, expensive cars in the lot, heavy security, the kind of place where politicians and businessmen went to indulge without

consequences.

I pulled up to the entrance. A valet in a black suit rushed forward. Two massive guards at the door immediately stepped in front of me.

“Invitation only,” one grunted, looking me up and down. “You’re too young for this scene, kid.”

I pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and handed it over without blinking.

“Tell your boss that Zane Ashton is here. And that I’m not in the mood to wait.”

The name hit like I knew it would.

The guard’s eyes widened slightly. Everyone in this city knew the Ashton name, old money, power, connections that could

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Chapter 91

make people disappear.

He stepped aside quickly.

“Welcome, Mr. Ashton.”

They handed me a sleek black mask. I slipped it on, covering the top half of my face. Another guard led me down a dinály lit hallway, down a flight of stairs, and through a heavy red door.

The moment it opened, the atmosphere changed.

Heavy bass music throbbed through the air. Low red lighting bathed everything in sin. Beautiful women in tiny outfits moved between VIP booths. On plush couches, couples and groups were tangled together, soft moans mixing with laughter and clinking glasses. The scent of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and sex hung thick in the air.

I was led to a private VIP booth in the corner, elevated with a perfect view of the main floor.

A young, sexy waitress approached almost immediately. She wore a delicate black lace mask, tiny black shorts that barely covered her ass, and a matching bra that left little to the imagination. She carried a tray of drinks, hips swaying.

“What can I get for you tonight, sir?” she purred, leaning forward.

I leaned back in the booth, letting my gaze sweep across the room

“Whiskey. Neat,” I said, voice low. “And keep them coming, darling.”

She blushed hard under the mask, nearly dropping the tray before hurrying off.

I leaned back in the VIP booth, one arm draped over the backrest, slowly sipping the expensive whiskey. The amber liquid burned smooth down my throat as the bass throbbed through the club.

Everywhere I looked, hedonism was on full display, bodies grinding, laughter mixing with moans, girls in barely-there outfits moving between tables like pretty little offerings.

I didn’t give a fuck about any of them.

I was here for one reason only.

My eyes kept scanning the entrance, waiting.

A tall, slender blonde in a black lace bodysuit and mask approached my booth, hips swaying, lips painted blood red. She leaned over the table, giving me a full view of her cleavage.

“Looking for some company tonight, handsome?” she purred, voice husky. “I can make sure you forget everything else.”

I took another slow sip, eyes flicking over her dismissively.

“Not interested,” I said flatly.

She pouted, trying again. “I’m very good at what I do. Very… flexible.”

I set the glass down, voice cold and bored.

I let my gaze drift over her dismissively before leaning forward, a crooked curling my lips. “I like them softer. Curvier. The kind with thick thighs that tremble when you grip them hard enough to leave marks. Wide hips made for holding onto. Tits that spill over my hands. Big, innocent eyes that go wide with fear… and then with something much sweeter when they realize how badly they want it anyway.”

The girl blinked, clearly thrown. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

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