Page 6 of His Ruthless Obsession

That was the wrong fucking thing to say. Maybe the asshole thought provoking me would get what he wanted — though why he wanted his skull bashed in I do not know — but all it's going to start is me breaking a lot of fucking bones.

"I don't need protection." I squeeze until his face turns red, reveling in the way that he jerks against me but can't break free. I know a massive grin is on my face, and I hope he sees the delight I'm taking from his suffering. "But you will if you don't get out of my club in the next ten seconds."

"You're making a mistake," he chokes out.

"Eight seconds." I'm also counting down how long it will take him to die in my palm. And deciding if I want a quick or slow death for him.

His buddies back toward the door, hands raised. Smart move.

"Five."

I pick slow. Aldo will die for this. He should make no mistake. But I do love a hunt, and letting him think I kindly let him leave her with his life only to torment him for years to come is so much sweeter.

I release Aldo, watching him stumble and gasp. He straightens his jacket, trying to salvage his dignity.

"This ain't over," he spits.

"Three."

His eyes flare as I count, and I know it's pushing at his ego. I'm treating him like the petulant child he is, and he's about to try and test me. I can tell by that look that he doesn't believe my threats — or at least, that's what he tells himself — and I'm almost eager to make him pay. I've never made an empty threat in my life.

"One."

Aldo lunges. Amateur move. I catch his fist and twist, the crack of his wrist echoing across the bar. His scream cuts short as I drive my knee into his gut.

The other four rush back in. Idiots.

I slam Aldo's head against the bar top, letting him crumple. Two of his friends charge me while the others split off toward my men.

"Take them alive," I tell Marco, catching the first attacker's wild haymaker. I redirect his momentum, using his own weight to throw him into a table. Glass and liquor spray across marble floors.

The second one gets a solid hit to my jaw. Good form, but predictable. I grab his tie, yanking him off balance, and drive my elbow into his temple. He drops like a stone.

Across the room, patrons calmly relocate their drinks to safer tables. A woman in Versace simply lifts her martini and steps over Aldo's groaning form. It's a testament to what they expected from a Bueti.

"Is this really necessary?" I straighten my jacket, watching my men efficiently disable the remaining thugs. "You're embarrassing yourselves."

"Fuck you," Aldo spits blood onto my shoes. Italian leather. Custom made.

I crouch beside him, gripping his hair to force eye contact. "Those shoes cost more than you make in a month." I slam his face into the floor. "The cleaning bill comes out of your hide."

The fight's drained from his eyes when I let him up. Smart boy's finally learning.

Through the settling chaos, I catch sight of Jazz hovering by the curtain where I left her. She stands perfectly still, those dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sends heat through my veins. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and my blood starts to redirect to my cock at the thought of her being afraid.

Afraid of me. Only me.

No one else will touch my little dove.

I grab another Mantione soldier by the throat, maintaining eye contact with Jazz as I slam him against a pillar. His nose crunches under my fist. And I give her a slow, wolfish smile as I slam my fist into his face again.

Her eyes widen, and my cock jerks in response. Fuck, I like seeing all her reactions.

"Please," the soldier whimpers, and I'm annoyed when he interrupts what I had going with Jazz. It doesn't help his cause now that I'm angry. "We didn't-"

I twist his arm until bone splinters. His scream echoes off marble floors. "Didn't what? Think I'd be here? That's your first mistake."

Marco appears at my side, wiping blood from his knuckles. "Three unconscious, two still breathing. What do you want done?"

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