Page 41 of Twisted Cage

She glances down at her handiwork, a look of dissatisfaction crossing her face. Her hostile gaze crawls from his mutilated cock and balls up his chest before landing on his sniveling face. A look of contemplation lights her features. Her eyes narrow in a glare, lingering on his fingers, then his eyes.

My pulse kicks up. I suck in a breath, my chest expanding, my shoulders straightening as curious energy zips through me. I need to see her in action, the carnage she leaves behind when she metes out punishment.

Take the eyes, Nikoletta. Do it!

A wicked smile curves her lips as her slim fingers grip the knife once again. Grasping a hunk of his hair at the crown, she yanks his head back. Staring straight into his eyes, she rocks the blade back and forth as though she needs the scissoring motion to free the knife from the chair under him. But there is no way she needs to move it that much.

No, she is torturing him. Keeping him nice and distracted.

If Nikolaj were here, there’d be hell to pay for allowing his sister to do something so barbaric. Something reserved for the men in our world. We’ve kept her sheltered for so long and he’ll never have the chance to see another side of her. But I’ve had a glimpse, the night she put her virginity up for sale so she could leave this world behind. So desperate to escape, she plunged, bleeding, into shark-infested waters.

We’ve been wrong sheltering her. We should have been training her. Nurturing her untapped potential. Turning her need to flee into a desire to stay.

The knife pulls free. She flips it in her hand with deft fingers. Wasting no time, she sinks the tip into the corner of his eyeball and pops it from the socket. With a slash of her arm, the orb slides free from the tip of the blade and tumbles to the floor.

Nostrils flaring, she drops the knife between his legs and slice into his thigh. Hot blood gushes from the gaping wound. Proof she hit the femoral artery.

Pride tilts her chin as she throws him to the floor, one eye still intact, so he’ll have no choice but to see what she’s done to him. He slinks pathetically away, fingers groping the wood, his gushing leg dragging behind him. His final moments, he spends searching for the eye she plucked from the socket.

When he collapses, what little energy he has left spent, Nikoletta rolls him over onto his back and kicks his feet open. With a gritty snarl more animallike than human, she delivers a nasty kick right between the legs.

The rest of my men begin filing in then, bringing with them the residents they’ve collected. Gazes land on the mutilated corpse, a few gasps break free, but beyond that, no one seems surprised to see the destruction before them.

If anything, most of them look… relieved.

I swipe a hand down my face. What a fucking mess.

A pretty pink blooms on Nikoletta’s cheeks. My palms itch to reach for her. To claim her. But these men have no idea the lines we crossed, leaving us in the confines of goddaughter and godfather.

Adrenaline rules in the aftermath, leaving her pupils blown and her breaths coming in rapid pants.

Oh, she’ll be in this position again. I’ll make sure of it. But this time, without an army of witnesses. Only the two of us… and I’ll tap into the perfect storm brewing and fuck every last drop of energy out of her.

“Nikoletta…” Her name, almost rusty with disuse, cut through the thick silence. The first time I’ve uttered it since the last time I saw her.

Her golden eyes lock on mine at the sound. Her head tilts and her jaw clenches tight. Tension rolls off her as she takes a step toward me. And then another.

Six in total.

The final step is punctuated with her closed fist delivering an uppercut directly under my chin that sets my teeth rattling with the force of it.

Gasps fill the room and my men grow more rigid, more alert, never taking their eyes from her. She may be the mission, but they won’t stand by indefinitely and let her show such disrespect.

“Don’t you ever say my fucking name again.” She delivers the warning with a dangerous edge. The girl she had been, dead and gone, leaving her bitter and hostile.

We face off, her feet planted wide apart, her hands curled into fists at her side with no sign she felt the contact her knuckles made with my jaw. She is good. I’ll give her that. Not even a flicker for the ache sure to be radiating through her hand for days to come.

I should have known she’ll never deliver an open-palmed slap. It would be too predictable. So incredibly pedestrian and beneath her.

Physically weaker… sure, but she won’t let it deter her from hanging with the big boys and delivering payback in the same crude way.

Stepping into her, I force her to tip her head back if she wants to maintain her warning glare. I snake my fingers around the back of her neck and bury them in the hair at her nape.

My fury for the cheap shot and relief at touching her for the first time in far too long war within me. The force of my grip surely causes pain where my fist locks in those silky strands.

Settling my cheek to her temple, I suck in a deep breath, my chest expanding, lungs filling with the scent of her.

She stiffens, a gasp lodging in her throat.

---