I decide to take pity on the girl. She seems frightened enough as it is. Smiling, I nod. “Thanks for letting me know, Megan.”
I step inside the elevator. Before I can even press the button for Andrew’s floor, the doors close and the elevator begins ascending on it’s own.
That’s when I realize—this motherfucker is watching me in here. Clocking my every move. Commanding the elevator to rise up straight to him.
I turn all around the elevator and find the tiny orb of the camera on the ceiling. “I feel you, you bastard,” I growl, glaring at it, not even caring that he might pick up on the meaning behind my confession.
What is he doing? First the thing with my mother, now this?
Why the hell is my office empty?
I’m not about to get fired. This I know deep in my core. In the same place I feel him, the sensation growing stronger with every floor the elevator climbs.
Suddenly, it stops and opens.
And just as suddenly, I’m afraid.
Before me is black marble floors. Black marble walls vined with gold. I don’t know how far of a walk it is to his office—
Fuck that. I know. I know because of the maelstrom in the air, how close his presence feels.
And I’m scared out of my mind. Walking into that maelstrom . . . I’m not coming out of it the same. I’m not coming out of it my own person.
Andrew’s intent is too bold in the air. As if the molecules themselves are warning me.
He plans to own you.
Ridiculous thought. I must be paranoid. It can’t be true.
It is, my mind insists.
But what choice do I have? I have to go in there.
So I do. My heels click on the marble with every nervous step. I only take three when I realize that there’s a glass wall to my left.
Behind that glass wall? The vast expanse of the Drevlow throne. A high-tech, black marble, gold, and glass gilded power center, with it’s king leaning against his massive desk facing me.
I’m lightheaded. Panicky. It’s isn’t until Andrew shifts off that desk, a deadly predator in a dark suit uncoiling, that I realize why.
I stopped breathing.
Toffee colored bedroom eyes stare at me, unflinching, cataloging every weakness.
Whatever truly happened all those years ago, this man plans to own me.
And he isn’t going to give me a choice in the matter.
He approaches the glass wall and a part of it slides open automatically.
That’s when I notice the large desk to my left, directly in front of the wall. It’s huge.
Well, it has to be. It’s holding four monitor screens and all my shit on top of it. “Wh—what is this?” I whisper, my pulse a thunderous, weakening storm in my veins. I’m too out of breath to even speak properly.
“It’s your new desk, Lexi.” So calm and yet so turbulent at the same time. That gaze ineffable, and universal, and all-consuming like a supernova collapsing into a black hole.
“What?” I whisper, shaking all over. Dear God, what’s wrong with me? What is this?
My pulse pounds hardest between my legs, screaming out the truth.
The madness of this hunger is something I almost forgot. Almost. After everything I went through and what Stephen did to me, I went numb. Couldn’t feel. It afforded me a cushion. A way to almost erase the memory of this insanity.
Andrew draws closer and it occurs to me that he can sense me. That he knows what’s happening to me and he’s actually trying to not frighten me anymore. “It’s your new desk,” he repeats softly.
It’s that soft tone that almost does me in. The tenderness that tinges his wild need for me. “Isn’t that where your assistant . . . sits?” I finish the last part on yet another whisper, my eyes widening with realization.
“Yes, Lexi. You’ve been promoted. You’ll be working from here from now on.”
48
My entire body pulses with bright violent images of me backing Lexi up and lifting her onto that desk.
I’m so amped, so on fire, that all it’d take is three nice strokes to explode inside her. Three hard, deep, nice strokes.
She’s right there with me. Her lush little body shakes with desire, and I know she’d come all over my dick as I fill her with my come.
You can’t. She’s fragile. And I have no facts, only a brutal suspicion that makes me wilder.
It shouldn’t. It should make me softer. More caring. It should give me the power to treat her carefully.
But the thought of anyone hurting that sexy body of hers only makes me want it more. I’ll please her. Destroy her. Make her come so many times her mind will shatter from the pleasure.
She’ll never be right again.
No. She wouldn’t. And that’s how I’ll know she is finally mine again.
“Your assistant?” she asks, and I can’t fault her for the way her tone trembles with fear.
You should be afraid, baby. You should be out of your mind with your need to escape. I’m wired to take everything from you. To make you a puppet on my string. I’m made to own you like you’re the most precious thing in my entire fucking universe and we both know I’m not going to be able to stop myself.
“Yes,” I say simply, arms crossed, like my mind isn’t a malfunctioning mess of primal impulses.
“But . . . I’m supposed to be on the providence project—” Her excuse is weak and feeble, even to her own ears.
“You will. You’ll be coordinating the entire team and working alongside me. But—”
“I’ll also be working as your assistant. Your personal assistant.” There. A spark of sexy defiance in her eyes. The type that revs me the fuck up. Excites me like nothing else.
I want her surrender.
I’m going to have it.
But I want to have the scars of her all over me when I win. I want her to add to the marks already left on my body by the loss of her.
I can’t help but smile at her. Lexi sucks her breath in sharply at the sight of my smile. Running my hand across my lips, I remind myself I need to find civility somewhere. My woman was probably hurt in ways I don’t yet understand. I can’t go off like a wild man on her.
“Come. You’ll be training directly inside with me for the next few days.” An extra chair is already placed beside my desk.
“No,” she snaps, her fear finally transforming into defiance.
I walk into my office anyway, smiling. She’ll follow. She has no choice. I saw the questions in her eyes. She wants things from me and she knows the only way to get them is by being close to me.
I’m already by my desk when I feel her behind me. What I don’t expect is for her to spin me around.
She pushes me back against my desk and glares up at me.
I let my eyes caress her, knowing that I’m a fool for doing so. That focusing on her for too long is nothing more than a tease to my starved heart.
Her hair is wavy on the ends today, like she didn’t have enough time to straighten it out.
Those big, luscious curls are still there. I vow to myself that one day I’ll see them again.
“Tell me exactly what happened all those years ago.” Her voice wavers, and I hear the fragility of her so damn clearly.
Whatever happened to her all these years, her hate of me helped keep her strong. Gave her something to focus on. If I tell her the truth, I’ll be taking that away from her.
“Tell me what Menahan did to you, Lexi,” I counter softly, hands fisted at my sides so stop myself from touching her.
Her teary eyes blink in surprise—I see the deception fall over them like a shade, before she even speaks. “He infected my mother to keep me under his control.”
Half a truth.
Enough to detonate the last of my humanity.
I feel the darkness fully unleash itself in my veins, but I focus on Lexi’s eyes instead of giving away the sudden bloodlust taking over me. “What else did he do?” I ask softly, slowly.
Lexi shakes her head, backing away from me, striving for cool denial.
Even as her trembling increases and the stark despair of trauma overflows her eyes.
And in that moment, without uttering a single word to me, she conveys the very thing I’d been suppressing.
That one suspicion.
It not being true was the only thing that could’ve saved me from becoming a true villain.
I can barely breathe as I finally admit to myself what deep down I’d already known.
Stephen Menahan raped my woman.
49
Turns out, not even the government is all powerful.
Well, it can be, but when dealing with the lives of their undercover agents and all the intel—read: usefulness—that those people can provide, even the government has to play within a certain set of rules.
No outward involvement until the operation is finished.
Everything has to be done stealth. Sneaky.
And they don’t give a damn who dies because of it. Not when going up against their most bitter enemies.
The man struggling in the dark right now, tied to that chair, has done nothing to warrant the government’s ire.
He’s just a means to an end for them. Expendable.
A perfect tool to get their guy even more of a foothold within the mafia.
I heard a well-orchestrated lie once. That the government doesn’t condone their agents getting deeply involved with the criminal activities of their targets. Especially the killing.
A well-orchestrated, well marketed lie, as I said. Maybe that’s how it works with the FBI. Hell, maybe that’s how it even works with the CIA.
But whatever branch of the government sent that bronze-haired motherfucker deep into the Bratva, they want him deeply involved with every aspect of their trade.
Especially the killing.
I’ve been sitting in the dark, in the same stone cellar as my victim, for two hours now.
Two hours ago, the undercover sat me down in another room outside of here and asked me if I understood what I’m getting myself into. Offered to do the killing for me.
Here’s the thing. He doesn’t have to prove to anyone he killed the piece of shit I hear gasping in front of me. He just has to produce the body.
I kindly—coldly, according to him—declined his offer.
It’s a deal between me and him. His bosses don’t know about it. Why he’s obliging me I’ll never know.
Maybe he senses that, no matter how much of a professional he is and how much more training than me he has, there’s nothing in the world that can stop me.
The soon-to-be dead man in front of me takes a deep breath and resumes his struggles. “Hello?” he screams into the darkness. “Is anyone out there? We can talk this out! I have the money ready in my offshore account!”
Too fucking late.
He left the Bratva waiting too long. Went into hiding. Now it’s a matter of reputation. He has to die for trying to play them like fools.
And even if that wasn’t the case, now he has to deal with me.
I wonder if somewhere deep inside his primitive, lizard brain he senses the seconds ticking away, counting down to his last breath.
He screams out for someone again.
I slowly take a cigarette out of the box I bought earlier. I haven’t smoked in years. Ever since I went through rehab. A junkie should avoid all addictions. Dipping into just one of them could mean a downward spiral back into the pit.
Too bad I’m already halfway there and too consumed with my need to kill to stop myself. “No one’s coming for you.”
He stops struggling, stunned into silence at the sound of my voice. The only sound for a few seconds is his panicked, quick breaths.
That’s right. He knows. He has more to fear from me than the Bratva.
And to think. The moment I called him, faking desperation, confessing I knew about what Menahan did to my Lexi, begging to see him so I could convince him to help me, he thought he had his chance.
I agreed to meet him in a closed down warehouse lot, at 1:00am, for “old times sake.”
He thought that, in my desperation, I’d been fooled into believing that he’d actually help me go up against his best friend.
He also thought he could come with two of his men and finally take me out.
See, that’s the difference between him and Menahan. They can both hold a grudge for eternity and it makes them thirsty for blood.
Menahan is smart about it. Logistical.
This waste of skin is impulsive. Emotional.
He still despises me for getting him kicked out of school all those years ago. His strict, abusive dad sent him to military school until he was twenty-two. From what I understand, it wasn’t the typical military school. Fucked up shit was done to him there.
Funny, not even that could teach him self-control and patience.
And he blames me for all his trauma, of course.
That’s okay. I hold him partially to blame for everything me and my girl went through the last seven years.
Putting the cigarette to my lips, I calmly flick the lighter, and hold the light right at the end of it.
Letting Barnard see my face illuminated in the dim light.
He’s sweaty. Pupils blown from both fear and the dark.
I still remember the look in my father’s eyes when my words caused him that final heart attack. When it first started, I saw the truth shining in them. The realization that it was over.
A dead man’s look.
It’s the same look on Barnard’s face right now. The look of a man that knows his time is up.
I light the cigarette and take a pull. After years of not smoking, a person is supposed to struggle with the first few pulls, lungs going into a mini-shock from the bombardment of smoke.
I take to it like I never left. Like the black tar I’m inhaling was always meant to be a part of me even if I took a years-long break from it.
When I killed my father by telling him what I did, I felt calm. Unemotional in the sense of purpose. I wanted him dead but I also knew he had to go, and that it had to be by my hand.
I guess smoking and killing go hand-in-hand for people like me. I feel the same way about Barnard’s imminent death as I do about the cigarette. As I did about my father dying.
As if this was just a role I was always meant to step into.
Torturer.
Murderer.
I palm the little remote in my hand and press the button, sending all the lights blazing on.
The pathetic sycophant in front of me reeks of fear. Desperation. Real shit, not faked.
“I—I had nothing to do with him raping her—”
I lean back in my seat calmly, as if the mention of that doesn’t threaten to send me flying at him, teeth bared for his throat.
“You’re truly one of the only things he cares for,” I say, flicking the ash off my cigarette.
“And Lexi. He truly loves her. He didn’t mean to—”
Wrong. Thing. To. Say.
I press another button and a side of the wall next to us slides up.
Behind it is a cage.
Inside that cage is four rabid dogs, massive in size.
They too, like me, smell Barnard’s fear in the air and it awakens their killer instincts.
Barnard takes one look at them and pisses his fucking pants.
The acrid smell of his urine is like an appetizer to the angry mutts. They hurl themselves up against the cage, massive jaws snapping.
“This is what they said they would do to you when they find you, no?” I raise my eyebrows nonchalantly, waiting for a response.
“Andrew, please man. We were like brothers once—”
I interrupt him yet again. This time by calmly standing. “And then you humiliated my woman. Caused me to lose her. Helped Stephen hide, control, and abuse her. I’ll make sure to send him one of your body parts as a gift once it’s over.” I mean that, too.
Turning, I wal
k out the room, ignoring Barnard’s desperate screams for help. For forgiveness. For every damn thing me and my girl weren’t afforded the last seven years.
The heavy metal door closes behind me. Without even looking back at it, I press the button to open the cage.
The sound of Barnard’s horrified scream as the dogs come at him follows me down the hall.
Andrew and Lexi’s story will continue is SS #4, the fourth episode in the Siege Serial
Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek!
He’s a monster. An even bigger one than I ever imagined . . .
But he’s not the monster I thought he was.
No. He’s deadlier. Madder.
He’s not the monster I set out to destroy. Instead, he’s the monster that will annihilate everything in his path.
A monster that looked me in the eyes and admitted he killed his ex-best friend. For me.
And he’s going to do it again. Andrew Drevlow has sworn vengeance on my behalf and nothing I do or say will stop him.
But he’s not the most twisted creature here. I am.
I don’t want to stop him.
His bloodlust ignites my soul.
His rage leaves my heart pounding with hunger.
I’m fragile, distorted, my entire reality realigning itself, and in a single broken moment I realize:
His obsession with me has turned psychotic.
My newly awakened obsession with him has become even worse . . .
50
There’s actually a small window above my head. The sun started shining through a while ago. Has to have been three hours at least.
I’ve been sitting on this cot the whole time.
The light is naturally dim back here. It isn’t like some of those holding areas with the bright lights and institution-like set up. I can see dust particles flying inside the bright ray of sunlight pouring in.
That’s all I’ve had to focus on all these hours. That and the growing black hole in my fucking gut.
Systematic Siege Box Set: Parts 1-3 Page 14