Page 71 of One Love

Petey admitted to helping Cook take out our mafia soldiers, squealing like the little pig he is in hopes of getting off lightly. But he and Cook took out at least twelve of our men, so there wasnever a “getting off lightly” option for him. What he and Cook hadn’t accounted for was me being friendly with Zavier. The fact that I had met and assessed this man myself before any of this even happened meant I could easily get a read on him, and a murderer he is not.

“Wanna play?” I pose my question to Dmitry, unsheathing one of my knives and holding it up.

“Always. Terms?” He’s quick to respond, bouncing on his heels in anticipation.

“Hit each target I name without killing them.” I shrug.

“What’re we playing for?” His question is full of promises only he can make.

“For each target I hit, you owe me an orgasm?” I laugh a little, because that is not usually something I’d come out with, but fuck it, I’m letting my cunt speak for my brain for once.

“Deal. And for every target I hit, I get to give you an orgasm?” He wags his brows, and wow, I foresee a blackout number of orgasms in my future.

“Done. First target, the rope around Petey’s right wrist.” The trick is to not throw it so hard that it pierces his skin, but hard enough to stick into the thick rope without it falling.

Lining up my first knife, I hold it by the tip before throwing it, watching it spin like a dancer as it flies through the air, perfectly landing in the target rope. There are several ropes intricately holding his body suspended from the ceiling, and I’m making sure to pick targets that won’t fuck it up by loosening him completely.

Although, if he falls from that height, in the state he’s in, he’s a dead man anyway.

Dmitry follows suit, throwing a knife at the target, his blade sitting beautifully next to mine.

“Left Knee.” Again, I line up my shot and throw. Perfect. Petey yelps, but it’s so faint, so without effort, and I know that meansmy knife split skin. The blood now dripping from beneath the rope confirms my suspicions.

“Tut tut. Does that make it a fail? Because I’ll let you off, Little Demon. You can still have that orgasm.“ He throws his next blade, and it glides through the air, again, landing perfectly next to mine.

I choose to not comment on my mistake, opting for aiming at Ronan’s torture device instead. “Tip of the barrel.”

We do this for ten minutes, having to retrieve our daggers a couple of times to keep playing. I’m on for at least thirty orgasms, and as much as I hate to even think it, I hope he doesn’t try and fulfill them all at once.

Petey’s breathing becomes more ragged than usual, which I know means his death is imminent. This is one of the final stages of starvation and dehydration, along with dizziness and severe muscle loss. It’s surprising how little time it takes for a human body to decline when it’s not getting the fuel it needs.

Ronan must hear it and he slowly moves his eyes upward to look at his suspended grandson—because, of course I made sure Ronan has a good view of his kin’s slow death.

Torture upon torture for this man; I feel like I’ve truly outdone myself with this one.

“N-no! L-let h-h-him go.” Ronan sounds pathetic, his rough, barely-there, breathy voice sounding about as powerful as the flies crawling all over him.

“I had to watch Murphy die. I’m just reciprocating.” I laugh, having too much fun watching him suffer.

It would be so easy to kill them now, to end their miserable lives, but I think I can let this drag out for a few more days. Ronan gets to watch Petey die, because he is definitely going first if his erratic breathing is anything to go by.

“I’m bored, wanna come play again tomorrow?” I direct my question to Dmitry and he nods eagerly as I walk over to Ronan with a bottle of water.

Pouring it over his head, I make him work to get any down his throat, allowing the rest to run down his tied-up, fully-clothed body and into the mess building up in the bottom of the barrel.

I don’t bother with Petey, he won’t last the night, but I’m going to leave him hanging there for Ronan’s pleasure.

“See ya in the morning, Ro-Ro. If you can last that long.” It’s possible that heart failure could take either one of them at any moment, I would just like to be here when the light finally leaves Ronan’s eyes.

We leave the room and I’m horny as fuck—despite the disgusting smells that have assaulted my senses since we walked in there—but I also want to get back to Hallie. She’s spent the day with River, and I don’t doubt she’s had fun, but I’m conflicted yet again.

Spending time in the torture room with Dmitry has been fun, and I’ll forever believe the skull mask over half his face is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, I just need to do the whole priorities thing. Priorities means I can’t get fucked just because I’m horny when I should be spending time with my daughter.

Motherhood is difficult.

“I need to get back to Hallie. Same time tomorrow?” There, I can do that, I’m coming back anyway.

Now outside, Dmitry rushes at me, bending just in front of me and pushing my stomach onto his shoulder, and lifts me like a fucking caveman.

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