Lust Meter System: Conquering Beauties-Chapter 93: Numbered Rooms

A woman in a dark blazer appeared beside them as soon as they stepped through the door.

She was tall, professional, her hair pulled back in a tight bun that didn’t have a single strand out of place.

Her expression was neutral, almost bored, like she’d done this a thousand times before.

"Follow me," she said without waiting for a response.

Liam and Kelvin followed her through a narrow corridor that opened up into something that made Liam stop in his tracks.

The arena stretched out before them, massive—at least a hundred feet across, carved out of what looked like solid concrete.

The ceiling was high, maybe thirty feet up, with industrial lights hanging down on thick chains, their beams focused on the center of the room.

The walls were bare, dark, stained with years of use.

The floor was polished concrete, smooth but scarred in places with marks that looked like they’d been scraped or gouged.

But what caught Liam’s attention wasn’t the size of the space. It was the people.

Hundreds of them. Maybe more.

They filled rows of seats that rose up in tiers around the central ring, packed so tightly that shoulders were touching, bodies pressed together in a mass of expensive fabric and jewelry.

The noise was incredible. Shouting, cheering, cursing, all of it blending together into a roar that vibrated through the air.

A man in a three-piece suit stood up from his seat, screaming something at the ring with his fist raised.

His face was red, veins standing out on his neck.

A woman beside him, wearing a dress that probably cost more than Liam’s tuition, was on her feet too, shouting just as loud, her perfectly manicured hands cupped around her mouth.

These weren’t thugs. They weren’t street corner gamblers. They were rich. The kind of rich that came with perfect haircuts and designer watches and shoes that gleamed even under the harsh lights.

But right now, they looked like animals.

The woman in the blazer led them down a set of stairs toward the front. Liam followed, his eyes scanning the crowd, taking it all in.

She stopped at the second row, gesturing to two empty seats. "Here."

Kelvin sat down slowly, his usual grin completely gone. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the ring. "This is different from what I expected," he muttered.

Liam dropped into his seat, still looking around.

The seats were close to the ring. Close enough that he could see the sweat on the fighter’s faces, close enough to hear the impact of their strikes even over the roar of the crowd.

A red line was painted on the floor about ten feet in front of them. It ran parallel to the ring, stretching across the entire length of the seating area. Above it, written in bold white letters on the concrete wall, was a sign.

**WARNING: DO NOT CROSS THIS LINE.**

Liam frowned. The ring was still a good fifteen feet beyond the line. ’Why would they need that?’

He looked back at the ring.

Three figures stood inside it.

One man—massive, bald, with normal human skin but built like he’d been carved from stone. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle that looked dense and powerful.

He wore torn pants and nothing else. His chest was bare, covered in old scars—some looked like claw marks, others like burns.

And on his back, visible even from where Liam sat, was a tattoo.

A number.

*20.*

Black ink. Bold. Clean.

The crowd was already screaming.

"Crush them!"

"Tear them apart!"

"Twenty! Twenty! Twenty!"

The two other fighters circled him. Both were lean, skilled-looking.

They moved like professionals—footwork precise, balance perfect.

Each of them held a dagger.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t taunt. They just moved, shifting positions, flanking the big man from either side.

The big man—Twenty—stood still in the center, watching them both. His expression was calm. Almost bored.

Then they struck.

The first fighter lunged from the left, dagger aimed low at Twenty’s ribs. The second came in from the right, blade flashing toward his neck.

Twenty moved.

Fast.

Too fast for someone his size.

He sidestepped the first strike, his body twisting with surprising fluidity. The blade grazed his side—just a scratch, barely breaking skin.

The second fighter’s dagger came in hard, aiming for his throat.

Twenty caught the man’s wrist mid-strike. Just grabbed it. Like it was nothing.

The fighter’s eyes widened.

Twenty smiled.

It wasn’t a kind smile.

The first fighter recovered, spinning back around, slashing again—this time toward Twenty’s exposed back.

The blade connected.

Blood sprayed.

But Twenty didn’t flinch.

He turned his head slightly, glancing at the wound like it was an inconvenience. The cut was shallow—deep enough to bleed, but not enough to slow him down.

The first fighter hesitated, just for a second.

That was all it took.

Twenty’s free hand shot out, faster than Liam could follow, and grabbed the first fighter by the head.

His fingers wrapped around the man’s skull like a vice.

The fighter struggled, dropping his dagger, clawing at Twenty’s arm. His legs kicked out, trying to find leverage.

It didn’t matter.

The second fighter saw his chance. He drove his dagger forward with both hands, aiming for Twenty’s chest.

Twenty caught the blade.

With his bare hand.

The dagger’s edge bit into his palm, blood dripping down the steel. But Twenty’s grip didn’t waver. He held it like it was a toy.

The second fighter’s face went pale.

Twenty looked at him. Still smiling.

Then he *squeezed*,

The first fighter’s head caved in with a sickening crunch.

Blood and bone.

The body went limp instantly.

Twenty dropped it.

The second fighter tried to run.

He didn’t make it two steps.

Twenty’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the waist. The fighter let out a strangled gasp as Twenty’s fingers dug into his sides.

Then Twenty squeezed again.

The fighter’s mouth opened, but no sound came out just blood.

His body went rigid, then slack.

Twenty held him for a moment longer, then let the body drop to the mat.

Silence.

For just a heartbeat, the entire arena was silent.

Then it erupted.

The crowd went ’insane’.

Cheering, screaming, fists in the air. Money changed hands. People were on their feet, shouting Twenty’s name—or his number, at least.

A man in the front row—expensive suit, gold watch—was clapping enthusiastically, a massive grin on his face.

"That’s my investment!" he shouted, pointing at Twenty. "That’s what I’m talking about! Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!"

Kelvin let out a breath, slow and shaky. His face had gone pale, his hands gripping the armrests.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "He just... he just crushed that guy’s skull. With his bare hands. Like it was—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "Like it was ’nothing’."

Liam didn’t respond. His hands were gripping the armrests just as tight, knuckles white.

Kelvin turned to look at him, and his voice dropped even lower, more urgent. "Liam. What if they sent someone like ’that’ after you? Not in a ring. No rules. Just him showing up at your apartment or grabbing you off the street."

He paused, his eyes wide, still locked on the bodies being dragged out of the ring.

"You wouldn’t even know what hit you. One second you’re walking home, the next—" He made a crushing motion with his hand. "That’s it. You’re done. No fighting back. No calling for help. Just... done."

Liam’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.

Kelvin kept going, his voice shaking slightly now. "These families don’t play fair, man. They don’t give warnings. If they want you gone, they’ll send someone like ’that’. And you—" He gestured at Liam. "You’re just a regular guy. You get that, right?"

Liam was quiet for a long moment, staring at the ring as workers hosed down the blood.

At that moment, he’d already made up his mind.

Then he spoke, his voice low but steady. "I’m not going to let anyone hurt the people I care about."

Kelvin stared at him. "Liam—"

"I don’t care who they send," Liam continued, his expression hardening. "Family or not. I’ll protect them. All of them."

Kelvin looked at him for a long moment, really ’looked’ at him, like he was trying to figure out if Liam had lost his mind.

Then he let out a short, disbelieving laugh and shook his head. "Man... I thought you only got this serious about exams."

Liam’s lips twitched, almost a smile.

Kelvin sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Alright. Sorry I said anything." He was quiet for a beat, then added, "But if you’re really planning on being Batman or whatever, then hell—I guess I’m your Robin."

Liam actually laughed at that, a quiet sound that broke through the tension.

"Though honestly," Kelvin continued, a grin tugging at his mouth, "I’m the one with the money, so technically I should be Batman."

Liam shook his head, the smile still there. "Sure, whatever you say."

But then his eyes drifted upward, and he saw VIP booths above.

Shadows behind the dark glass.

The booth were Numbered .

His expression hardened again.

Kelvin followed his gaze, and the grin faded from his face.

---

Tasha’s hand slid beneath the hem of Liam’s oversized t-shirt, her fingers trailing over her bare thigh as she sank deeper into her pussy.

Her phone sat on the coffee table in front of her, the screen dark but still playing audio.

To anyone walking in, it might’ve sounded like she was watching porn—low, steady breathing, the occasional rustle of movement, a deep voice that sent shivers down her spine.

But it wasn’t porn.

It was a voice message from Liam.

/2:08 voice message\

Her breath hitched as her hand moved higher, her eyes fluttering closed.

"God, you’re so stupid," she whispered to herself. "How did you not notice?"

---

Elena stood in front of Liam’s apartment door, her finger pressed against the doorbell for the third time.

Nothing.

She frowned.

She was wearing a cream-colored blazer over a low-cut silk blouse, paired with tailored pants and heels. Her hand dropped to her side.

"Why is he still living in this dump?" she muttered, glancing around at the worn carpet and flickering hallway light.

She could hear something inside. A voice. His voice.

She pressed her ear closer to the door.

Elena waited a moment longer, then reached into her purse and pulled out a small key.

She slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside.

The apartment was quiet except for that voice coming from the living room.

Elena moved carefully toward the sound.

She could see the back of the couch from where she stood, and just beyond it, the faint glow of a phone screen on the coffee table.

She took another step forward.

And then she saw her.

A girl. Young, with long dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt—Liam’s t-shirt—and nothing else as far as Elena could tell.

Her head was tilted back against the couch, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her hand moving beneath the fabric.

And Liam’s voice was playing from the phone on the table.

Elena’s lips curved into a slow smile.

She took another step forward, deliberately letting her heel click against the hardwood floor.

The girl’s eyes snapped open.

She jerked upright, her hand flying out of sight as she scrambled to sit up properly. Her face went bright red.

"Who are you?" Tasha stammered, her voice high and panicked. "How did you get in here?"

Elena didn’t answer right away. She just stood there, looking the girl over slowly—the oversized t-shirt, the bare legs, the phone still playing Liam’s voice.

Tasha grabbed the phone and fumbled with it, finally pausing the audio. The silence was deafening.

"I asked you a question," Tasha said again, her voice steadier now but still shaking. "Who are you?"

Elena tilted her head slightly. "I could ask you the same thing."

Tasha swallowed hard, pulling the hem of the t-shirt down over her thighs. "I’m Tasha. Tasha Williams."

She paused, her cheeks still flushed, then added quietly, "I’m Liam’s... friend."

The way she said friend made it clear she wished it was something more.

Elena’s smile widened just a fraction.

"Tasha Williams," she repeated slowly. "Interesting."

Tasha frowned, her embarrassment shifting into confusion. "What do you mean, interesting? Who are you?"

Elena didn’t answer. She just turned on her heel and walked back toward the door.

"Wait," Tasha called after her, standing up from the couch. "You didn’t answer my question. Who are you? Why do you have a key?"

Elena paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. Her expression was calm, almost amused.

"Tell Liam I stopped by."

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut, leaving Tasha standing alone in the middle of the living room, still clutching the oversized t-shirt, her phone in her other hand.

She stared at the door for a long moment.

’Who the hell was that woman? And why did she have to be so ridiculously pretty?’

Tasha looked down at herself, at the t-shirt she was wearing, at the couch where she’d just been...

Her face burned with embarrassment all over again.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

She dropped back onto the couch, burying her face in her hands.

’She saw me doing that. I actually want to die right now.’