Page 51 of Isle of Pain

She nods and swallows thickly, anxiety written all over her body and gentle face.

“It’s okay to back down now,luna mia. No one will mock you or comment on it if you decide that getting closer to your family’s business is too much for you,” I tell her. There’s no pressure to perform here. I will be the knife and if she wants to be the hand dolling out our punishment, I’ll gladly follow but it’s all up to her.

Yet, a flash of fire glints in her eyes, the challenge I didn’t realise I voiced having her stand taller. “I’m ready.”

We get to my office and I show her the feed of the cameras set up in the work room. Like I thought he would, Eli Kent stands in the middle of the room, suspended by chains pulling his arms above his head. Just how I like to start. My lips pull into a smile at Andrea’s clear display of affection. I don’t know how brothers are acting in other parts of the world and fringes of society but to me, to us, this is what brotherly love looks like.

I take a step back and let Marie take it all in. She doesn’t say a word but her lips part slightly, and she takes a step forward towards the cameras. “What did he do?”

“Remember when we had that talk at Andrea and Giulia’s family dinner a few weeks ago? That’s him. You don’t need to know his name, I don’t want it to sully your tongue. He supplies Misha Petrov with easy targets for his skin trade,” I say on a hiss.

Retelling his story makes my skin crawl and my vision tint red. The need for violence threatens to pull me under and I tap my right leg with my right index three times.

Marie doesn’t stop me. Instead, like I’m not a monster about to take a life, she caresses my cheek. “Let’s go, sweet boy. Someone needs to meet their maker, and you’re the executioner.” Her voice is pure sin and I let out a low groan.

I’ve never been aroused by my own violence. Only by how it feels on my skin when I get it. But she makes me want to make her proud.

We leave the office and walk the short distance to the work room. The sliding door glides silently but our movements draw Eli’s attention. His beady eyes follow Marie with a leering gaze and the asshole has the audacity to lick his lips. For that alone, I’ll make him suffer.

As always, I start the process the same way. By removing my clothes and putting on the painter suit and mask that will protect my skin from a stranger’s fluid.

“What’s all this for?” Marie asks.

“I don’t want blood on my skin. It makes me violently ill.”

She frowns and tilts her head, not reconciliating how hard I got when she made me bleed. “You’re the only one who can have me begging to bleed for you, Miss Marie,” I whisper in her ear, satisfaction swimming through my veins like whiskey when she shudders.

“Do I need to dress like that, too?” she asks.

“I would prefer it, yes. I also don’t want you to be sullied by someone else’s fluids on you, especially blood. It sticks everywhere.”

She nods solemnly before removing her dark jeans and knitted black sweater, leaving her in nothing but a lace bra and panties that barely cover the curves of her ass. I’m salivating, clenching my fists with the need to kneel at her feet.

Eli decides it’s the perfect moment to let out a low whistle. “You got me my last meal, Death? I don’t mind dying if I get to sink my cock into the pretty whore. Bet she’ll scream so good for me.”

I stalk to him, grabbing one of my knives from where it rests on the metal table, and seize his jaw. The sharp blade cuts through the thin flesh of his cheek as I carve from his mouth to his left ear. Blood oozes from the wound, pooling along my gloved hands and painter suit, the rivulets creating a mesmerising crimson river on the white fabric. I do the same to his other cheek while he thrashes against my hold, tears mixing with the blood. It’s useless but his instincts are driving him to fight.

Good.

I want him to fight every minute I’m gonna drag this out.

“The only reason you can still see her is because I’ll take my time carving out your fucking eyes so I can keep them for my shelf trophy,” I tell him, unhinged and so fucking close to his face I barely recognised myself.

Of course layers separate us, but it’s very rare that rage drives me so close to my assignments.

My threat lands as desired, fear painting his eyes and staining his pants. The mask doesn’t fully protect me from the acrid smell of urine.

It never occurred to me before this moment that someone could reject me because of what I do. I’m so used to the people I love knowing exactly who I am that considering any other reality where I’m not myself didn’t register. For the first time, I doubt my choice to bring Marie here. My fingers mindlessly tap my legs in the same old rhythm. Apprehension has my stomach roiling and I turn back to face her slowly, preparing myself for the disgust or fear on her face.

She’s fully dressed in the gear I prepared for her. Her voice is muffled though the mask but I hear her loud and clear as she asks if she can join me. My heart is in my ears, beating against my body as though it wants to leap out to join her. The three steps she takes to make her way to me are weighted.

“You’re beautiful when you look like Death,” she says as she lifts a gloved hand and caresses my plastic-covered cheek. The fabric between us doesn’t erase how much I want her.

My sole purpose since she entered my life is to kneel at her feet. So I do.

The corner of her eyes crinkle with satisfaction and I don’t need to see her mouth to know she’s smiling. As I drop my head down, silence fills my ears. It’s like the sound of fresh snow on a winter morning over the field of Scottish bluebells by my house. Untouched and pure.

I barely know why I’m here other than to please the goddess in front of me.

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