by Xavier Neal
“Oh, I’m going to kill you.” The declaration is proceeded by me repositioning myself near his hands. “I just may do it faster than originally anticipated out of pity.”
“Fuck you, Benicio.”
His blood spat sneer causes me to nod and swing the machete down on his wrist.
An ear-splitting scream is instantly launched, prompting Dario to cover his mouth to stifle the sound.
I begin hacking at the pieces that have managed to stay intact on the first strike, while Miko jams a needle into the side of Phillip’s neck. “Something to help the pain.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him grinning. “To make sure you can feel it but can’t scream about it.” Another two chops is when he instructs to Dario, “You can let go.”
Dario’s hand drops from Phillip’s cracked open mouth. It’s obvious he’s trying to yell for help or in agony. His inability to do so or to even lift his mouth closed causes new tears to collect along the brim of his lids.
“Do you feel…terrified?” I use the edge of the machete to flick his detached hand away. “Trapped?” My body moves over to the other side of his. “Powerless?” Once I’m there, I lean a little closer to his face and growl, “Imagine how my fucking fiancée felt when the man you and your fake girlfriend hired hunted her in the office.” The weapon is placed beside his head at the same time I quietly confess, “Sometimes at night, I can still hear her panicked voice in my ear.” A flick of the wrist is all it takes to separate his ear from his body. Blood lands on my lips and near my eyes but I don’t wipe it away.
I let it stain my skin.
Baptize me in the brutality that I want to always be known for.
Placing the blade at the top of his arm, I leisurely scrape the length of it, removing both fabric and flesh effortlessly. Fresh blood begins its search in joining the other that has been shed, igniting another wicked smirk to slip onto my face.
Just as I prepare to push down on the area near his wrist, my cell begins ringing in my pocket. Giving one look at my blood-soaked hands is all it takes to have Miko reach into my pants pocket and remove the device for me.
He shoots Dario a teasing look. “Dovrai imparare a farlo anche tu.”
You're going to have to learn to do that, too.
Dario’s cringe is followed by my cousin swiping to answer it on speaker.
“Is everything alright, Mia Bella?”
“I need your help.”
The familiarity of fear that that phrase instills has me damn near dropping the weapon in my hand. “Where’s. Antonio?”
“Standing awkwardly on the other side of the door.”
My brow twitches in confusion.
“I’m not exactly comfortable asking my future…father-in-law…? Stepfather in law…? Whatever the correct terminology is…for this particular type of help.”
“I wouldn’t be comfortable giving it!” Antonio chimes in from somewhere in the background.
More perplexity pops onto my face; however, it’s immediately washed away when Miko opens the text that has come in.
Back-to-back photos of Chantal in lingerie are displayed on my screen. Not only does each contain her striking a provocative pose in tit-taunting attire, but they both have my mind redirecting its focus away from Phillip’s silent shrieks to burying my face between her thickening thighs to induce her very vocal ones.
Miko makes an impressed face as he mouths, “Damn.”
I promptly point the machete in his direction and mouth back, “Look away before I carve out your eyes and make you swallow them.”
My cousin rolls them at what he believes to be an empty threat.
It’s not empty.
There’s nothing in the contract that says he can’t be sent to his new residence in pieces.
We checked.
Not for this scenario, but in the hopes of perhaps becoming wounded during one of these skirmishes, rendering him useless in the proposed position of being her second. It was a long shot, but desperate measures are all desperate people have.
Chantal snickers into the phone. “I take it the photos came in?”
“Sì.”
“Blue or red?”
Miko’s mouth starts to move, resulting in me lifting the point of the tool near the aforementioned area.
“I cannot make such a critical decision over the phone,” I casually state, mirth caked in my response. “It needs to be evaluated in person. Purchase both.”
She quietly counters in an airy voice, “I only wanna leave with one of these…Sir.”
That term.
That tone.
Fuck.
How is it one word can make me so goddamn weak and so fucking powerful in the same breath?
“Very well then, Mia Bella…” I swing the machete around and thrust it through the center of Phillips neck. “My afternoon meeting has concluded early.” Blood drizzles down the metal for the handle. “I will be there shortly to give you my ruling.” Red streaks continue to cover his frame while I stare on in satisfaction. “Aspetta lì.”
Wait there.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Posizione uno.”
Position one.
Sounds of movement are heard through the phone prior to her cooing, “Yes, Sir.”
An anxious growl is the last reply she’s given. I motion my head for Miko to hang up and yank the machete away from Phillip’s body at an angle. His head is left barely attached like he’s nothing more than a child’s toy someone accidentally stepped on and broke.
I nod in approval of the execution, silently grateful to be one step closer to completed comeuppance.
His phony girlfriend will be the last one served.
From the information previously gathered, it was clear one female had been calling the shots. One female had initiated the idea and then ran the operation. The others were merely pawns. Pieces she cleverly used. Manipulated. Her end game wasn’t in their best interests as she had made them believe.
It was in hers.
This will be reflected in her retribution.
That is a vow that can’t be broken even in the unlikeliness of my death.
Miko would then ensure that her particular punishment is rendered.
I look forward to delivering their collectively deserved vengeance soon.
Very fucking soon.
After arrangements are made for a proper cleaning of the premises and the saving of certain parts, the three of us exit the way we came, leaving my uncle in charge of overseeing the process. Dario drives, which allows for Miko to lecture him about how particular I am regarding the cleaning of whatever weapons were used to maintain their longevity and to always have a sanitation kit for me to have a car bath.
Despite my loathing for the phrase, it’s accurate.
I prefer cleanliness when possible.
It is not always feasible to stop by the estate or a hotel to wash away the blood or lingering smells, so there needs to be an on-the-go option available.
The fact that I may have just committed a ritualistic murder doesn’t need to be broadcast.
I also happen to hate the way dried blood looks on my skin.
Upon our entry into the lingerie boutique in the middle of downtown Highland, I take an immediate survey of the situation. It’s a small yet seemingly pricey store given the designers of the pieces that are on display. Cerise is contemplating on items to herself in the opposite corner of a browsing customer, while the only employee that appears to be on duty is texting behind the counter.
My hands fold behind my back as I stroll her direction. “You’re going to close the shop early today.”
The young strawberry blonde woman squeaks in startlement.
“You’re going to put whatever that woman has in her hands, in a bag, and insist she leaves because you are now closed.”
Her painted red lips start to lower.
“You will then lock the door, turn off the cameras in the dressing room, and pick one of my members of security to
escort you across the street to have a drink while my fiancée finishes trying on lingerie in private.”
A tiny squawk sound festers in the back of her throat.
“When we are finished, I will pay for the hours of sales you might’ve missed, the unknown woman’s items, whatever it is my fiancée’s best friend has found, and of course, any merchandise that we have decided to leave with or possibly break in the fitting process.” I stop once I reach the glass counter. “These are not requests. These are instructions. And, if you waste my time asking me idiotic questions about who I am or what authority do I have rather than fulfilling the orders given, I will do everything in my power to ensure that the best job you will be able to possess in the future is that of a gas station restroom attendant.” My eyes bore into hers. “Here is where you say ‘yes, Mr. Bennett’, and act quickly.”
Whether it’s my name or my tone that has her swiftly moving isn’t known.
She does everything I command, including saying my name and picking Dario to buy her a drink.
Antonio does a sweep to ensure we are, indeed, the only ones remaining on the premises before dismissing himself.
Cerise leaves her items on the counter beside me, decides she should probably drag her boyfriend away from the nearby cigar club I got him into, and casually states for Chantal to text her when we’re done.
Miko locks the door behind her and saunters over to the nearby lavender, Chester chaise lounge sofa. He plops down on the furniture obviously meant for display purposes only and teases, “Sai che ascolterò.”
You know I'm going to listen.
I toss him back a taunting expression as I head the direction that I know she’s waiting. “Immagino che dovrò tenerla tranquilla allora.”
I guess I'll have to keep her quiet then.
“Non probabile.”
Not likely.
“Sfida accettata.”
Challenge accepted.
Miko swings his legs up onto the furniture and stretches out. “Cosa ci guadagno se vinco??”
What's in it for me if I win?
“I let you keep your ears.”
The wink he’s delivered causes him to shake his head on a light laugh and retrieve his cell from his pocket.
My arrival in the nook area of dressing rooms is proceeded by me calling out, “Mia Bella?”
“In here.”
Her decision to occupy the one at the end of the hall that is also the largest causes me to grow a grin. I casually pull the door open, revealing to me a display that is even sexier than it was when displayed on my phone.
Chantal’s lingerie-clad body is in the gray velvet chair in the far corner beside the mirror with her legs open wide and finger innocently lingering between her teeth.
My vocal cords and cock immediately swell at the sight leaving me to murmur a strained, “Dio sei sexy.”
God, you’re sexy.
Her finger abandons her lips to toy with the hair resting on top of her propped-up tit. “Does that mean you want me to buy the red one, Sir?”
“That means I want you.” I shrug off my jacket and carelessly banish it to the floor. “End of statement.”
An impish smile starts to take over her expression.
“Su.”
Up.
She doesn’t hesitate to rise to her feet.
“Mani sullo specchio.”
Hands on the mirror.
There’s a motion towards the mirror to translate the word she’s less familiar with.
My fiancée seductively swivels her frame around, presenting me a minor performance worthy of the violent demands for freedom that my dick is making.
“Apri la bocca.”
Open your mouth.
Chantal meets my gaze in the glass and lowers her jaw at a tantalizingly slow speed.
Seeing it wide and open, as well as anxious to be filled, has me damn near choking myself in the rough pursuit of pulling off my light gray tie. No matter how fast I move, I swear it’s not fast enough.
I carelessly cram one end inside the cavity yet gingerly feed her more material on a sadistic smirk. “You’re going to keep quiet, Mia Bella.”
Fabric fills the space fully.
“Only I will hear you scream.”
She twitches a smile around her blockade.
“Solo io.”
Only me.
Once I’m convinced she can’t take any more into her mouth, I savagely shove her face against the glass and grumble near her ear, “Guardami.”
Watch me.
Chantal’s eyes immediately cut to my reflection and do their best to focus on the rate at which articles of my attire are falling to the floor, exposing my throbbing cock. Whimpers of anticipation swiftly multiply when the tips of my fingers stroke themselves along the thin string that’s wedged between her round cheeks and down to where her pussy is soaking the panties.
A heated chortle escapes while I push my fabric-covered finger slightly inside. “We’ll have to buy this one, Mia Bella. You already made a mess,” the pressure is increased, “in it.”
Her muscles twitch in response to the words.
The force.
“Not to mention, the bottoms are torn.”
She isn’t presented a moment to react to the statement before I’m abruptly removing my touch to complete the action.
Ripping sounds reverberate throughout the small room alongside a stifled gasp.
I tug the material free from its thigh prison, toss it over my shoulder, and use my knee to nudge her into a better position for the taking. “Your face is to remain against the glass, Mia Bella.” One of my hands protectively cups the small bump while the other angles my cock at her soaking entrance. “But your stomach should never touch it.”
Nothing will ever harm my child.
Especially not me.
The idea of guarding it even in our roughest moments together has my fingers flexing. “È capito?”
Is that understood?
I hold her stare in the reflection of the mirror and wait until after she acknowledges my serious statement with a nod to thrust forward. The first push is ferocious. Springs her frame to her toes. Knocks her head into the glass. It’s packed in primitiveness and possession alike. Her muscles don’t swell like they’ve missed me but like they own me. Like I’m their captive here to meet their demands instead of being here to meet mine. An animalistic grumble grows in the back of my throat as I grip her stomach tighter. Drive myself deeper. Demand her pussy drenches every single inch of my dick in its delectable juices.
The hand that guided me inside is relocated to the side of Chantal’s face where it presses down to keep her pinned in place. Short hot huffs squeeze past the tie and fog the surface. Spit seeps into the expensive material she’s clamping down on every time she releases a scream in ecstasy, while her eyes briefly roll to the back of her head in bliss during every bounce forward. Despite how easy it would be to keep them there, she commands them to return to the front so that they’re on me.
On my actions.
Relentlessly, I pound into the soaking wet sanctuary that has somehow managed to forget in a short amount of time that it’s my name carved into its walls. My cock chisels the reminder repeatedly, collecting new sets of screams to stroke myself off to in the shower and leaving behind new reasons for her muscles to ache. Scorching, sticky streams are smeared all over my balls every time they manage to brush against the backside of her pussy. Each skim sends shudders up my spine and shoots selfishness through my fingers. They curl against her growing stomach in tandem to the aggressive growls being given near her ear. I mount her body like an untamed beast that’s unsure whether to break her beautiful body or contort itself to shield it from the tiniest puff of air.
Perspiration pours from my pores as I mercilessly continue to pump. Seeing a similar sheen coating my fiancée’s neck and back ignites irrational jealousy that can only be soothed by me thrusting faster.
Fiercer.
The nee
d for every fiber of her being to know it’s mine…that I’m the only one who should ever touch it…causes my head to spin with need.
Greed.
Chantal’s trembling frame that’s waiting for permission to come calls for me to add to the seemingly importunate frenzy. Untamed jerking is matched by wild facial slamming, yet the sounds leaking out of her aren’t that of pain but pleas for release. I watch her entire figure tense underneath me, damn near losing its hold on the gray obstruction that’s changing shades from the amount of spit she’s expelled over this stretch of sweat-filled fucking.
Orgasmic urges tickle the base of my balls, and I slide my hand down to brutishly cup her pussy. “You can come for me, Mia Bella.” The added weight of my palm being pressed against her slick clit is what tips Chantal over the edge. “Come for the man you fucking belong to.”
A glass shattering cry manages to pierce my ears in spite of the sound suppressor. It’s high pitched. Reinforced by her pussy ravenously pulsating. The soaked muscles squeeze and suck until my cock meets the same fate they did. Barbarous barks are delivered on every blistering burst and the euphoria of coming is so overwhelming my knees buckle, knocking us both off balance.
Instinctively, one hand shifts up to her stomach to cradle her back into me at the same time the other soars to the space beside her face to catch us from falling.
Relief rams into the lingering rapture resulting in a crooked grin.
My fiancée removes the tie from her mouth to quietly tease, “Should we try the blue one next?”
Her sassy nature receives a short chortle, a small smack on the ass, and my mouth capturing hers. Our tongues tangle in an almost dueling nature that tells me, in spite of how hard she just came, she’ll be ready to go again any minute.
I may not love the paranoia that having a pregnant fiancée has come to instill, but I do love the insatiableness.
I hope that shit stays.
I hope that shit stays and late-night cravings for crappy, stale vending machine style food goes.
Chapter 18
“You can’t be serious.”
