by Bella J
I stepped closer, aiming the gun at his head. “What were you looking for?”
He just continued to cry, not saying a word.
The muzzle of my gun dug deep into the flesh of his temple, and he winced, shivering like a fucking baby out in the cold.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
Blood oozed from his bottom lip as he bit into it, eyes shut completely. Odds were this fucker would probably sing like a boys’ choir if the right amount of pressure was applied. But I was out of patience, and to be honest, I was looking for a fucking reason to unleash my demons. A part of me hoped he would keep his motherfucking mouth shut, giving me a reason to inflict pain.
Abruptly, I dropped my aim from his temple to his foot, shooting a bullet straight through. The scream that ripped from his lungs was deafening, but fucking exhilarating. Screams turned into sobs, and sobs turned into whimpers. The adrenaline was setting in quickly, acting as a pain reliever.
As he finally managed to take a deep breath, his foot bleeding all over our garage floor, I decided it wasn’t enough. So I shot his other foot.
This time, it wasn’t screams. It was a shrill sound of pain echoing from his throat, and honestly, the noise hurt my fucking ears.
Manic laughed, but it was more like a frenzied chuckle, and the sound blended perfectly with the Python’s shrieks of pain. If someone had to stand outside these walls, they’d be convinced this was an insane asylum.
Plucking out my blade, I crouched down to be at eye level with him, not caring that I was stepping in a pool of blood. “Tell me why Slither sent you here. What does he want?”
The guy licked his chapped lips, his mouth already dry from adrenaline. “He’s looking for evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“That the girl’s here.”
“What girl?” I played dumb.
He swallowed, eyes pinched closed. “The PC’s daughter.”
I rubbed the blade of my knife across my beard, loving the sight of pain on his face. “The girl ain’t here.”
“Slither thinks she is.” He winced, his nose covered in tears and snot.
“Well, then he should have come here himself. But we all know your president doesn’t have the balls, so he sends his pissy prospects, blood he doesn’t mind sacrificing.”
The poor bastard cringed. I knew the kind of pain he was experiencing. There was a scar on my left shoulder to prove it. It started out as a hot ache, like a blister. But then the blister would turn into a searing pain that felt like it was melting your flesh, as if lava had been poured over your skin, penetrating deep as if it was searching for bone. Adrenaline would kick in, and the burn would fade to a throbbing ache, more like you had been hit by a bat rather than shot by a gun. Adrenaline was an amazing thing. The human’s most powerful asset.
Still playing with the knife in my hand, I kept my eyes on him. “What else does Slither think he knows?”
The prospect let out a tight scream, smothered by the clenching of his jaw. Sweat ran down the side of his face, and it reeked. Mixed with the stench of piss and spilled blood, it assaulted my nostrils, burning every time I inhaled.
“He knows you’re out to destroy him.”
“You only need half a brain to figure that out. Tell me something I don’t know.”
The prospect’s dark brown eyes met mine, his face no longer contorted in pain. His expression was pensive, like he was thinking of the right words to use.
“Spit it out, and I might let you leave with both your balls intact.” I nudged the tip of the knife against his crotch, some added motivation for him to fucking talk.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “There’s a patch over.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Ink straighten.
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man. Slither doesn’t include prospects when it comes to patch overs. That’s why we ended up here.”
I pushed the tip of the blade deeper into his crotch, and the man flinched as he tried to scoot up. “Who is the patch over with?” I pushed for an answer.
“I don’t know! All I know is it’s with clubs from the Bronx and Queens. Slither tried to get clubs from Manhattan, but it didn’t work.”
Dutch stepped forward. “Because Manhattan has already been patched to the Kings.”
The prospect nodded, and his head lolled down the front, fatigue starting to set in.
“You know what this means, right?” Ink crossed his arms. “If Slither manages to patch both Bronx and Queens clubs, we’ll be close to outnumbered.”
I rubbed my beard between my fingers. “Not quite. We got Manhattan, Brooklyn. And we can call in New Jersey if we have to.”
Dutch leaned over me, placing his hand on the chair’s armrest while eyeballing the prospect. “Is there anything else we should know?”
“I swear to God, I know nothing else. Slither just told us to keep an eye on you guys, see if we can spot the girl.” His breathing became more rapid and irregular, pupils dilated. He was going into shock. It might be hypovolemic from the bleeding, or neurogenic from the severe pain and stress. Did I care? No.
Removing the blade from his groin, I straightened, looking down at the poor bastard. “You sure Slither is the kind of leader you want to follow, man?”
With bloodshot eyes, ghostly pale face, the young prospect looked up at me. “Slither gave me a home when I didn’t have one. Pythons is all I know.”
I nodded. It was clear this young man’s loyalty had been misplaced. That was Slither’s thing, taking kids off the street, giving them shelter and money. He bought their loyalty. A man like Slither didn’t know the first thing about earning it. Unfortunately, this poor son of a bitch would learn the hard way that men like Slither weren’t worth selling your soul to.
With my knife still in hand, I slowly moved in behind him, staring at the back of his head. The blade of my knife was pressed against the pad of my thumb. I glanced at Manic, and he nodded, eyes wild with bloodlust.
I looked at Ink, and he too gave me a nod, arms still crossed in front of his chest.
Then I turned to face Dutch, my enforcer. My guide. My adviser. And my best friend. This was hard for him, and I could only image how at odds he had to be right at that moment. How conflicted he had to have felt. But just like the rest of us, Dutch knew it had to be done.
He nodded, and my blade sliced across the unsuspecting prospect’s throat. It was quick. Deep. And instant.
His head fell to the front, and blood gushed down his chest. There was no other way. He was too loyal to Slither for us to have let him go. Knowing the Pythons planned patch overs put us at an advantage to make sure we got the numbers together. If we let the prospect go, he would have told Slither we knew, and we’d lose the advantage. We couldn’t let that happen.
It was unfortunate that we had to spill young blood, and I knew Dutch would struggle with it the most. But in our world…it was live and let die.
There was nothing left to say after I killed the poor bastard, so I left even though the blood in my veins was still simmering. After pumping my own fucking cock, then torturing and killing some poor asshole who made dumb decisions, I still felt like I needed more. It was like the demons in me weren’t sated, and they were thrashing against my chest, threatening to break my ribs apart in order to get out.
Deep inside, I knew no amount of alcohol, blood, or death would satisfy the monsters. Only her. Just her.
I tried to wait. I tried to control it. Tried to give it time…until she was ready.
But the time had come. The time was now…whether she was ready or not.
Chapter Twenty
Alyx
It had to have been a dream. It wasn’t real; I could feel it in my gut. This was one of those dreams where you knew you were dreaming while in the dream.
Granite was standing outside my house, his motorcycle parked behind him. And he was s
taring up at me, smiling, waving his arms, asking me to come down. It was daytime, the sun at its highest. That alone convinced me this wasn’t real. Granite only came out at night when the moon was high.
Two men were standing behind him, but I couldn’t see their faces. But Granite’s face, it was light, glowing, his eyes filled with excitement. That was my second clue to knowing this wasn’t real. Granite’s face was hardly ever anything but cold, hard stone.
I was leaning against the window frame, and I could feel my heart race, a thousand butterflies fluttering in my belly. It might not have been real, but I was feeling all the feels. My skin tingled, my body surging with energy, and I wanted to run to him. I wanted to go to him and let him wrap his arms around me. It wasn’t something I could fight, and here, in this dream, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to fight these feelings for him, not like when he held me captive in a room, tied to chair. Here I was free to want him, to desire him, to be obsessed with him.
Excited and eager to get to him, I stormed out of my room, running down the stairs. My mom was waiting for me by the door, and I prepared myself for an argument. As I approached her, mentally ready to fight for what I wanted—the man waiting for me outside—I stopped when I noticed her lips were sewn shut with white thread. Her blue eyes were wild, panicked, and she made the most horrifying noises trying to open her mouth. Scared and bewildered, I backtracked one step at a time, the sight of her mutilated mouth making me sick to my stomach. There were so many nights, so many fights during which I’d wish she could just shut up. Times when the sound of her voice sent shudders through my body, her words breaking my heart over and over and over again. There were times she’d make me cry, and I would think that mommies weren’t supposed to make their children cry. They were supposed to comfort them when they cried, something my mom did the exact opposite of.
Here she was, lips sewn shut, her eyes scared and teary. She was me. In this dream, she had become me. My mouth was always closed, and I never retaliated. Never told her how I really felt. And my eyes had cried so many tears over her—some because of the hurt she caused me, some because of the fear she evoked.
Slowly, I moved back more, never taking my eyes off her face. The longer I looked at her, the less her grotesque appearance bothered me. All I cared about was him.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” With those words, I rushed past her and out the door. The bright sunlight stung my eyes, but I knew exactly where he was standing, and I ran straight to him. My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough, my skin already hungry for his touch. When I came within a few feet from him, I stopped, wanting a moment to look at him. To just…look at him. Granite truly was magnificent. Tall, strong, powerful. It was easy to see why women would flock to him, be drawn to the mystique that surrounded his persona. His silent confidence complimented by his broad shoulders made you aware how big and robust he really was. Authority. Aggression. Dominance. It oozed out of him, and it was impossible to ignore.
But there was something else about him. Something that managed to wrap around me like a veil…protecting me. Yes. That was what it was. Like a shield, a guardianship that he owned when it came to me. To everyone close to him. That was what Neon was trying tell me. Granite protected his family. He was their guardian, and beneath every hard layer of hostility, viciousness, and anger was a man who…cared. It was clear now that I took the time to just look at him.
It was weird. I knew this was a dream, yet it felt so real. Like all this was really happening, I was figuring him out, fitting together all the puzzle pieces so I could see the picture of the man he truly was.
He held out his arms, and I slowly approached him. This was the moment I had been waiting for, for so long. The moment my stranger in the dark would finally wrap his arms around me and whisk me away. My heartbeat was loud, my pulse racing. Everything inside me coiled tight, anticipation flickering in my gut along with the thousands of butterflies.
When I came within reach, he wrapped his arms around me—strong, big, long arms completely enveloping me as he pressed my body firmly against his. I inhaled, wanting to smell his familiar earthy scent of sandalwood. And his heat was comforting, soothing, calming me, so it felt like I was drifting in his arms. All these years, I dreamed of this moment, and it felt a thousand times better than I ever could have imagined.
I nuzzled my face deeper into his chest. “You came for me.”
“Of course, I did. You asked me to.”
My heart stopped, and I didn’t move. “What did you say?”
Fingers gently weaved through the hair at the back of my neck. “I said, of course I came for you. You asked me to.”
I looked up at him, confused. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. In fact, you asked me many times.”
Perplexed, I stepped back, but his hands were still on my elbows. “I didn’t ask you to come for me.”
“You did. Don’t you remember?” The emotion on his face didn’t change. It was still the picture of bliss and contentment. Happiness. “You asked me every night, when you stood by your window. You asked me to come get you. To take you and free you.”
I shook my head. This was the part of the dream where everything changed. Where everything went from good to bad.
“I didn’t ask you to take me, Granite.”
“But you did.” He stepped forward, but I retreated farther. “Alyxandria, what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t ask you.” I shook my head, my gaze falling to the well-manicured lawn. “I didn’t ask you.”
“You did. You asked me to take you.”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
It was starting to hurt, the confusion and turmoil of reality slowly beginning to eat away the dream. It was hurting me. It was clawing at my soul and tearing off my skin. I felt it. The pain started at my wrists, growing stronger, tighter. And then my feet.
A pool of panic filled my chest inch by inch until I was sure I would drown.
“Stop,” I whispered. And when I looked up at him, he locked his lips over mine, kissing me. It was gentle at first. Soft. Beckoning me to open for him. And I did. Even with all the confusion still storming inside me, I opened for him and moaned when I felt his tongue against mine. Soft strokes and tender lips. This kiss was nothing like the one we had already shared. But the longer he kissed me, the more eager he became—the more eager I became. It was a slow burn starting in my spine, making its way to every corner of my body. The deeper his tongue moved inside my mouth, the more my sex began to throb, my skin tingling with a need to be touched. To be kissed. To be ravished by him.
Heat spread down my arms, a burning ache settling in my wrists. It felt different than the desire that had my body humming with need. More and more, my wrists started to burn with a pinching ache.
“What’s happening?” I whispered against his lips, refusing to move away.
“You need to wake up, ballerina girl.” Then he kissed me again, but harder this time, his tongue no longer exploring, but claiming. “Wake up, Alyx.”
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
“Wake up, ballerina girl.”
Please wake up. Wake up now.
“Wake up, Alyx. It’s time.”
I smelled him before I opened my eyes. “Granite,” I whispered, breathing rapidly, oxygen getting stuck in my throat. “What are you doing?”
While leaning over me, licking his lips as if he could still taste me, he glanced from my mouth to my eyes. “I’m kissing you.”
It took me a moment to shake the remnants of my vivid dream. Trying to wipe my eyes, I felt something restricting my arms. I couldn’t move. Tugging and yanking, I realized my wrists were tied to the bedpost. My feet as well. “What is going on? Granite, untie me.”
“I told you, the next time you welcome my tongue in your mouth, you have to be prepared to welcome me between your legs.” He straightened, and my gaze raked over his naked chest. Granite was a mountain, every roped muscle oozing strength and power. His arms seemed lik
e weapons hanging from broad, sloped shoulders, and I remembered what it felt like having them around me when he kissed me. It was a feeling I wanted to experience again, being held within the confines of his arms.
Wearing only a pair of jeans, I was able to follow the trail of black hair that subtly disappeared beneath the denim.
Flickers of light came from candles placed around the room, and it cast a hundred shadows over him, emphasizing how dark and wicked he truly was. But the way he stared down at me reminded me of the man I had just seen in my dreams, and for a moment, I was that girl. The girl who stared at the man she was hopelessly attracted to and undeniably infatuated with. The girl who wanted to feel him against her. But it felt reckless, wanting him, my mind still trying to fight.
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve waited so long for you, ballerina girl.”
I tugged at the ropes. “No. This is not right.”
“Yet you kissed me back.”
“I was asleep.”
Dark curls fell over his shoulders as he pulled his fingers through his hair. “What were you dreaming about, Alyx?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t remember.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying,”
“Well, then, there’s only one way to find out.” He towered over me and placed a single finger on my lips. The wild curls of his hair hung down the sides of his face, his beard as unruly as ever. Intense green eyes followed the movement of his hand as it slowly traveled down my chin…my chest…between my breasts causing me to shiver.
I let out a whimper, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A part of me wanted to slap that smile off his face, hating that he knew he affected me this way. But the biggest part of me relished his touch, loving the way my body climbed higher and higher, closer to the edge.