Page 59 of Rising from the Ashes

“Mmm, like music to my ears, but I prefer to be called creative.” I smirk as I walk around the chair, running my hand delicately along her back.

Aside from her heavy breathing, the only other sound echoing off the walls in the persuasion room is the crunch of the concrete beneath my heels.

Circling back in front of her, I glide the tip of the arrow down her cheek, watching closely as the porcelain skin separates and the blood slowly drips out. She screams out in pain. I repeat the same process to the second cheek, the blood beginning to drip down her face to her neck.

The sounds of her moans make the heat in my core intensify.

She wriggles against the chair, trying to break free, but the ties hold her in place.

Leaning forward, I whisper in her ear, “The more you struggle, the tighter those ties will get. I love playing rough, sweetheart.”

My eyes rake over her swollen breasts fighting against the fabric of her lace bra, peeking through her unbuttoned white blouse. As she breathes heavily, her eyes begin to roll into the back of her head. I have no doubt she is still dizzy from the after effects of the ketamine and the pain she is certainly feeling from the deep cut in her cheeks.

“Awww, don’t die on me yet, sugar.” I croon, sweeping her golden hair out of her face.

“You can’t kill me,” she says. I detect a hint of amusement in her voice. She looks at me with her icy blue eyes, smirking. “I’m already dead. That family took everything from me.”

I recognize the pain in her voice and the torture that is etched in her eyes. It is almost like I am staring into a mirror to my soul.

What did Allister do to her?

I straddle her on the chair and cup her cheeks in my hands, the blood from her cuts dripping through my fingers.

“What did your father do to you?” I ask curiously, my pointer finger softly grazing her jawline to her chin.

“How do you know it was Allister?” Her breaths are still heavy, but I can feel the tension in her body begin to relax the longer I touch her face. She’s quite literally melting under my touch.

“I know more than you probably care to learn.” I whisper. Brushing her fallen hair from her face once more, I continue. “Tell me what he did to you.”

She lets out a large exhale, “That night you found me at the bar? I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. I only heard bits of the conversation. He killed my parents when I was a child because they failed to pay him protection money. Then he took me in as his own.” She laughs, “Honestly, that’s not even the worst part. I was so young I don’t remember them.”

She looks down between us like she is ashamed that she isn’t sad about him killing her parents, but for whatever else he did.

Urging her to continue, I tilt her chin up to me and look into her eyes, “Then what was the worst part?”

“A few months ago, when I came home for break from NYU, my da-, Allister, claimed that my fiancé had left. With no warning. The same night I found out about my parents, I found out he was a part of his disappearance. Mitchell did not agree with my father’s new found interests and enterprises. So he had his men hold him captive for months and then ‘dispose of him’. Those were the words he used to whomever he was talking to.”

“Our fathers both sound like two terrible men.” I say, softly. I don’t know how much she knows about my father and that Enzo was working with Allister to obtain control of the docks, so I resolve to tread lightly.

“My father, Enzo, roped yours into working with him,” I confess. “My father is a horrible man and he has done some awful things that I am determined to make him pay for.”

Quinn’s eyes finally turn from the icy blue that could pierce someone’s soul to a soft blue hue. Her furrowed, frustrated brow relaxes as she ponders over my admission.

Then, as though a light bulb flipped on, I blurt out a horribly dangerous idea. One that could get her killed; or worse, me killed if Everly doesn’t agree.

“You could be of use to me here.” I say as I study her face.

I am overwhelmed by how beautiful she is, with her flowing blonde hair, blue eyes, and her sassy attitude that rivals my own. I would love to taste her. The thought of her writhing around tied to the chair, in both pain and in pleasure causes my clit to ache. I fight against the urge to grind against her, if only to alleviate the pressure that is building.

Shado, who has been leaning against the wall observing, begins to laugh. It pisses me off that he can read me like a book.

“Now, Cal, she’s not your toy to play with,” he teases. I can hear the sternness in his voice. He knows what I’m hinting at, her joining our mission, and selfishly I’d have another play toy.

I pout, looking over my shoulder at Shado, “But I could have so much fun with her.”

Her breathing has quickened again, and my heart begins to pound within the walls of my chest.

I slide my hands from her face to her neck, taking the tip of the arrow and gliding it

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