X marks the spot silverc.., p.1
X Marks the Spot (Silvercrest U Book 4), page 1
X MARKS THE SPOT
SILVERCREST U
BOOK 4
WILLOW DIXON
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Editor: Maureen Sytsma
Proofreader: Holly Malgieri
Cover Artist: Lori Jackson
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This book was created entirely by humans and contains no AI content.
AI RESTRICTION: The author expressly prohibits any entity from using any part of this publication, including text and graphics, for purposes of training artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text or graphics, including without limitation technologies that are capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication.
The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
Copyright Willow Dixon © 2026
CONTENTS
Author Note
Content Warning
1. Xave
2. Damon
3. Xave
4. Damon
5. Xave
6. Damon
7. Xave
8. Damon
9. Xave
10. Damon
11. Damon
12. Xave
13. Damon
14. Xave
15. Damon
16. Damon
17. Xave
18. Xave
19. Damon
20. Damon
21. Xave
22. Damon
23. Xave
24. Damon
25. Xave
26. Damon
27. Xave
28. Damon
Epilogue
Books By Willow Dixon
About Me
AUTHOR NOTE
Hi, I just wanted to interrupt your reading for a quick second to mention a few things about this story, and series, that you might want to know before diving into it.
First, these stories are very different from what you’ve come to expect from one of my books. These boys are over the top, have dubious morals, and are all about the type of toxic love that’s only healthy in fiction. They’re ruthless when they need to be, assholes when they want to be, and they live in a world where there are almost no rules when it comes to not just getting what they want, but also protecting what they have.
This book also has a lot of triggers, and it also explores kinks that not everyone will enjoy. It’s spicy and steamy and will hopefully make you squirm a bit when you read it, but it also has lots of (the non-naked kind) of action, and a strong sense of family to go along with all the heat and steam. The world I’ve created for them is crazy and over the top, just like my characters, so you might have to suspend reality in order to fully enjoy the books.
If you’d like to see the list of trigger warnings, you can flip to the next page to make sure this story is for you. If that’s not your thing, then skip head, sit back, and enjoy the ride.
~Willow
CONTENT WARNING
This book contains scenes and subject matter that not everyone will be comfortable reading about, including:
Acts of violence committed against MCs
Acts of violence committed by MCs and their inner circle (not against each other)
Intentional drugging of MCs by a third party
Recreational drug use
Discussions of a deceased parent
Kink, including:
Primal play
Mild/implied dubcon
Stalking
Sensualism and sensory play
Outdoor and public play (not in front of others, only where they *could* be caught)
Dirty talk
1
XAVE
A sense of foreboding falls over me as I approach the massive, abandoned warehouse as it looms before me in the darkness.
The sprawling structure, and the mostly deserted industrial district it’s in, wouldn’t be out of place in a horror movie, and everything about the building, from the thick chain and padlock on the front entrance to broken windows and layers of graffiti etched into the concrete walls, screams “stay away.”
It looks like the last place an exclusive, limited-invite rave would be held, which is exactly what the event hosts were going for. The atmosphere is part of the experience, and nothing gets spoiled rich kids more excited than cosplaying as regular people and pretending they’re taking a walk on the wild side when in reality, they’re attending a meticulously planned soiree with top-shelf offerings and top-tier entertainment.
A cool breeze grazes my skin when I reach a break in the chain-link fence surrounding my destination. I spot a white rabbit, about the size of my hand, with a black X stenciled inside it spray-painted on the ground. Following the instructions I was given, I slip through the fence and go to the left side of the building, carefully stepping over the piles of trash and bits of broken glass littering the ground.
There’s another white rabbit painted on the corner of the warehouse next to the alley that runs between the building and the one beside it. The alley is long and dark and would make most sane people say “hell no,” but I’ve never claimed to be sane, and I step into the confined space with all the confidence of a horror movie actor who’s about to get offed by whatever homicidal being is after him.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the near total darkness in the alley, but my steps are sure and steady as I walk past piles of garbage bags and other things I can’t identify that line the narrow alleyway.
The night air is as still and silent as a mausoleum when I finally get to the back of the building, and the only indicators that I’m in the right place is another small white rabbit with the stenciled X painted on the back entrance, and the rusty chain with a massive padlock still on it laying on the ground a few feet from the door.
A low buzz of excitement moves through me as I walk up to the door and gently rap my knuckles against the scarred metal. Two tiny lights, one blue and one red, appear in the darkness as a small camera mounted above the door comes online.
I wait for whoever is checking the camera feed to do their thing, and more of that same excitement dances over my skin when multiple clicks, like locks being disengaged, ring out in the quiet night.
The door swings open, and an absolute unit of a man stares at me from his place just inside the building.
At six foot two and two hundred and ten pounds, I’ve never been considered a small guy, but right now, I feel small. The dude in front of me is easily six-seven, and every inch of him is thick, solid muscle that makes my own sculpted form look gangly in comparison. His midnight-black clothes and the gun nestled in his shoulder holster finish off his “fuck with me and die” vibe.
I wait as he gives me a long once-over, his expression unimpressed with just a hint of impatience.
“Name?” he asks in a low, growly voice.
“Jonathan Greely.”
That’s not my name, but it’s the name the person who invited me knows me by, so that’s the one I give him.
Resting one hand on his gun, he pulls a phone out of his back pocket with the other.
I wait as he checks his phone, most likely looking at the guest list to make sure I’m supposed to be there, then he releases his sidearm and tucks his phone back into his pocket as he steps back to let me in.
I’ve only made it about three steps inside when the door slams closed behind me and a big, beefy arm is extended in front of me like the barrier gate in a parking garage, stopping me in my tracks.
“Arms out,” he growls.
Dutifully, I put my arms out and widen my stance so he can search me.
He’s more thorough than I expect, but his touch is impersonal and professional, and he almost seems bored as he pulls my phone and money clip out of my pocket to examine them before tucking them back into my pockets and finishing his search.
“Hand.” He points to my right hand, and I extend it to him.
He pulls a small contraption out of his pocket and pokes at the back of it a few times. I hold still as he presses what I can now see is a stamp pad against the back of my hand, but there’s nothing on my skin when he pulls it away.
I keep my trap shut as he moves the unit attached to the stamp pad over my hand and flicks on what looks like a black light.
A barcode appears where he stamped me, bright against my skin as it glows under the bluish-purple light.
I make a mental note of the device as he turns it off so I can tell my cousins about it. That’s exactly the kind of tech they’re into, and I’ve never seen anything like it before.<
br />
When the unit is away, the guard points down the dark hall behind him. “Follow the signs. If you don’t, you’ll have my team to worry about. Understood?”
“Is your team as big as you?” I ask, unable to help myself.
The corner of the guard’s mouth tips up in a barely there smile. “Bigger.”
“Then I hear you loud and clear.”
He motions down the hall again, and I take that as my cue to get the fuck out of there before his good mood wears off.
The echo of my shoes against the tiled floor follows me as I make my way down the dark hallway and scan the area for the white rabbit that will lead me to the rave I was assured would be a night to remember.
The inside of the building is just as run-down as the outside, and the walls are covered in so many tags it almost looks fake. Like someone handed a group of teenagers a bunch of cans of spray paint and told them to go hog-wild on whatever surface they could find. The floor is littered with trash and bits of busted drywall and broken office equipment, and the only source of light are dim battery-powered bulbs that hang from the ceiling every few feet and click on and off as you move under them.
I could use my phone flashlight to help me navigate, but don’t bother. I can see enough to find my way, and I’m not scared of the dark, so there’s no point. Besides, I have no clue if the guard and his equally huge buddies would have an issue with me using my own light when the dim bulbs were an obvious choice, and I’m not in the mood to find out what the consequences of breaking an unspoken rule are.
I’m about halfway down the long hallway when I finally spot the white rabbit on a metal door to my left.
Gripping the cold handle, I give it a twist, but the door doesn’t budge. Before I can pull on it again, a blue light appears on what looks like a card reader next to the door.
Curiously, I put my hand under the reader so the light shines over my stamp, and the loud click of the door unlocking tells me that was the right move.
The silence around me is unnerving as I pull open the door and peer inside. Another of those battery-powered lightbulbs hangs just past the door, faintly illuminating a set of metal stairs. There are no lights beyond the single bulb in front of me, and everything past the third step is cloaked in inky blackness.
Stepping onto the landing, I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight. I might not be afraid of the dark, but I’d rather not put my hand on the railing and use that to guide me. I’m not worried about traps or anything that can hurt me, but railings are dirty as fuck, and I avoid touching them whenever possible.
I also don’t know what kind of shape the stairs are in, and I’d rather not risk falling or hurting myself because I can’t see where I’m stepping.
My phone flashlight cuts through the dark and creates a small circle of light around me, but everything beyond a five-foot radius is still completely hidden from my view.
Following the light from my phone, I make my way down the stairs and into the abyss below.
It feels like I’m descending forever, but I eventually reach the bottom and pause to try and orient myself. Round lights, like miniature pot lights, flick on, glowing soft white from where they’re stuck to the wall directly to my right.
The concrete floors tell me I’m in a basement of some sort, and I shine my phone light over the wall as I search for the white rabbit with the X on it. It takes about a minute, but I finally spot it next to a massive metal door about fifty feet from the bottom of the stairs.
There’s another stamp reader on the wall beside the door, and I stick my hand under it. A light on the reader flashes, and I’m immediately assaulted by loud EDM and flashes of bright lights as I pull the heavy metal door open and slip into another large room.
Unlike the one I just came from, this room isn’t empty, and I turn off my phone flashlight as I wait for my eyes to adjust to the change in light and for my ears to adjust to the sudden onslaught of noise.
Whoever designed the room went all out with the soundproofing, and I never would have guessed there was a mini rave going on beyond that metal door if I hadn’t stepped right into it.
A complicated lighting system has been rigged up on the walls and ceiling with lasers and flashing lights that pulse and flash along with the beat of the music. The floor is covered with a thin layer of mist, like from a smoke machine, only it’s not dissipating at all. Massive speakers dot the space, and there’s a small, elevated booth surrounded by plexiglass where Helix, the featured DJ, is working his equipment while a small crowd of people dance enthusiastically in front of him. A huge projector screen has been set up behind the DJ booth, and the images on it shift between kaleidoscope-type imagery that’s trippy as fuck to hyper-realistic images of flames and fires that are perfectly timed to the music.
The overall effect is like being in sensory overload, and exactly the kind of escapism I’m looking for.
Pulling out my phone, I send off a quick text.
Jon: I’m here
I wait about ten seconds for an answer, then tuck my phone away when it stays quiet. Might as well check the place out while I wait for my “date” to get back to me.
Keeping close to the walls and shadows, I do a sweep of the area, taking in every detail as I look for anything that could be a threat or a problem.
There’s not much in the room other than the crowd, the DJ booth, and the equipment. I don’t see any guards or anyone who looks like they’re there as private security for any of the attendees, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any security around. Behind the massive projection screen is a second exit/entrance that’s surrounded by large trolleys piled with empty tote bags and other things that could transport all the equipment they brought in, but I can’t get close enough to it to test if it’s locked or not.
I don’t like the idea of being trapped underground with only one accessible exit, but it’s not a deal-breaker tonight.
Against the far wall are three doors with large, stenciled X’s painted on them, and instead of joining the throng of dancers, I head over to check them out now that I know the main room is secure.
I’ve just reached the first door when the music changes from an EDM song to a metalcore/house mashup, which is the type of music that Helix, the DJ, is known for, and I pause to let the music flow over me.
I’ve never seen Helix live before, but I’ve been listening to his mixes for years, and there’s something about them that just hits different from the dozens, if not hundreds, of other DJs I’ve heard over the years.
I’ll never admit this to anyone, especially not my date, but one of the main reasons I accepted this invite is that he was the featured talent. If I’m going to travel across the country to go to a rave with someone I met a week ago, I need more than just the possibility of getting some action to motivate me.
My eyes lock on Helix as he pushes and flips different switches on his equipment, his head bobbing along to the beat and his trademark mask glowing under the hood he always wears.
No one knows anything about who Helix is, and the lore around him is even more mysterious than the pop-up rave we’re at.
He’s been on the scene for the past four years, but he only does a half dozen performances a year, if that. Sometimes they’re huge festivals with crowds in the tens of thousands, and other times it’s an exclusive and off-the-grid rave like this one.
He’s never done any interviews, doesn’t attend events or award shows, even when he’s nominated, and has never accepted any of the awards he’s won. He’s also not signed to a label, and he releases his music through an untraceable numbered company.
No one knows his age, his background, or any details about him other than he’s a white guy, and that’s only because he doesn’t wear gloves, so we can see his hands when he’s working, and he always dresses head to toe in black and wears the same glowing red mask under an oversized hood.
He’s a complete mystery, and he’s gone out of his way to make sure he stays that way.
Normally I don’t give a fuck about the personal lives of celebrities or artists, but the fact that he’s done everything he can to hide who he is makes me curious about him.
