Page 52 of Goddess of Mayhem

“Way to go, Daddy,” I hear a familiar voice on the other side of the man. Malia stands with a hip popped out and amused look on her face. Breckin and Donovan flank her, my true heir leading the pack naturally.

She raises an eyebrow while my teeth bare and I release the man with a push, a satisfying crunch from his nose reaches my ears and calms me.

It has been far too long since I have broken bones. I jut my chin out to Donovan and Breckin and they take the signal for what it is. Breckin grabs the man by the shirt and they start leading him out to the alley in the back.

I turn to Chantelle, her mouth agape for a moment before she snarls as she looks at the blood. “I’m not fucking cleaning that up.”

She is looking right at me, my jaw tics with the need to punish, conquer, and claim right here. People are watching, a few whisper at the way she talked to me. My Little Bird is challenging me and I cannot let that stand.

My back straightens, rolling my shoulders to release the tension that built. “Go wait in my office.”

“I’m working,Omen,” she growls, looking at the puddle of blood now more than she is me, disgust invading her face. The sound of my moniker on her tongue going straight to my cock.

My head cants, I hold back the smile threatening to pull at my lips, hands aching to punish. “Office now, Chantelle, if you’re not there when I’m finished, then I’ll drag you by your hair.”

She goes to argue but I walk away, following the path Breckin and Donovan had made. I stop at a door by the exit to the alley and press my hand to the scanner. I let my smile loose this time as I look at the stock. I usually keep some weapons on hand because you never know when a business deal might come up, or other opportunities arise.

Scanning the inventory, I see a saw back machete hanging on the wall to my left. I reach out and grab it, letting the door close behind me and exit the building. The excitement builds relieved I can let the beast off its leash. I have not always been in control of my deviant behavior—Malia did not get her bloodthirst from just trauma and poor anger management. My baby girl carries it genetically.

I barrel toward the three figures, one slumped over holding his face and I know that my target even in the dark. The machete twirls in my hand, the feeling familiar from childhood and how I would get used to the grip of a baseball bat.

The man snaps his head up in my direction, throwing his hands up in surrender. I slide forward, bringing the machete back and using his position to my advantage, swinging down and cutting clean through his bone and severing his forearm. He lets out a scream and Breckin grabs his head covering his mouth.

He is sobbing now, cradling what is left of his arm. I pace trying to calm my racing heart while Donovan cuts at the man’s shirt to shove it in his mouth. Knowing Malia is here, I am surprised she did not take advantage of the situation and kill him herself.

Donovan steps back when he is finished and turns to me raising an eyebrow. Both of my kids are far from squeamish, Donovan’s hands are covered in blood, however the boy draws the line at men losing their favorite appendage. I have watched him gag over the things his sister has done, only now it is like it is just another day. I do not think he is as inept for this life than he likes to believe.

“What the fuck is going on?” Donovan asks, examining his hands.

Heels click on the pavement; the steady confident strides register as Malia. “Daddy’s gone mad,” she jokes as she comes to a stop next to me.

We have barely talked since everything has happened. If there is one thing my baby girl is good at, it is grudges. She tilts her head to the side looking at the man with distaste and kicks his missing appendage. He is losing a lot of blood and will pass out soon.

Green eyes that mirror mine snap up and Malia smirks. “Who’s the girl?”

I snort, shaking my head. “A dancer,” I clip.

She hums, not pushing further. It is not technically a lie, another half-truth I am already regretting. Malia might be mad at me, but I do not know how she would react if I was interested in someone. She would snap my Little Bird’s neck if she heard her talk back to me the way she does.

Speaking of.

“Dump him,” I command, giving them my back and returning inside. I look down and my button up shirt has blood on it, who knows what my face looks like.

I loosen the collar of my shirt as I walk through the hall in the club. Not minding the few looks I get from some of the dancers in the back area. I open my door and half expect for her not to be there.

I was hoping maybe she had not so I could punish her even more.

Chantelle stands in front of me with her arms crossed tight against her chest. The look of anger in her beautiful soft features not matching her body language. She is hesitant in her stance, but her eyes scream fury. I cock an eyebrow in amusement as she huffs at me.

“Little Bird.” Chantelle’s head snaps back and she narrows her green eyes at my comment, hands falling at her side in disbelief.

I chuckle and her fists clench. Leaning against the wall, I get comfortable knowing what is on her mind, I wait patiently for her to find the words. After a few moments of searching, she takes a deep breath before running her hands through her white-blonde hair, tugging slightly at the root.

My dick twitches, my hands itching to snap out and get tangled in the tresses. This feeling is strange. The urgency and need of this wildcat in front of me. I went ten years without sex and the moment this woman yelled at me weeks ago has my dick hard with carnal urges.

“You killed him,” she finally breathes out. I tilt my head to the side, watching as she comes to terms with the decision she has made.

“Did I?” I smile. “That is a bold assumption wouldn’t you think, Little Bird?”

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