Page 54 of No Saint

But I already had her. Her mental state right now might have aided her into giving something she wasn’t ready for in this moment, but she would give herself to me. She wanted to so badly.

I didn’t blame her for trying to take something now, to feel something but when I fuck her, when I devour her, I will have her sure she wants it. Because when I do, she will be mine. Mine to please and fuck, mine to punish and worship.

She’ll belong to me.

22

Ileave her sleeping.

Closing her door, I leave it unlocked as I make my way back downstairs, steadying my breath in hopes it’ll hide the raging hard on I’m currently sporting. Feeling her tight little pussy grinding up against me, no matter the circumstances, it wasn’t a memory I would soon forget.

Clean up are currently busy dealing with the gore in the house but I pay them no mind as I head through to the kitchen and towards the door at the back. Silence greets me as I open it and take the steep stairs down into the basement, finding the large metal door ahead of me sealed.

The sound of cries and moans greets my ears when I open it. Atlas stands in front of one of the men, dangling from ropes by his wrists and suspended from a hook hanging from a pole that stretches from one side of the room to the other. The smell of piss hits me a moment before I notice the puddle beneath the man’s dangling feet.

“Pissed himself already?” I muse, “And we haven’t even got started yet.”

Asher stands silently off to one side and my enforcer, a man of few words who could make you piss yourself with just a look, stands in the shadows of the room. As much of a brother to me as the twins but we share no blood.

“Enzo,” I roll my head lazily towards the man, “I assume the sight of you made our guest empty his bladder.”

I’d asked him to remain unseen for the past couple of weeks, I didn’t want to scare Amelia. Because that’s what Enzo would do, he was the ghost stories people whispered about, the demon made flesh and bone and while we all enjoy a kill, this man lived for it. Breathed for it.

He was menacing.

He steps from the shadows, and I laugh.

When I first met Enzo a lifetime ago, I’d underestimated him. He was a pretty boy, and he took great care in his appearance. Dark blond hair, styled and groomed to perfection and a dark tan with blue eyes and a white smile. He made women drop their panties with a whisper of his fingers, but those same hands have ripped tongues clean out with nothing more than pure strength.

Beneath his pressed and crisp grey suit, I knew hundreds of tattoos inked his skin, and when he wasn’t here working for me, he ruled the underground fighting rings, a champion and God among the revelers that lived for the chaos.

And while some may look at him and see that face, it’s the eyes that hold the menace. The promise of pain, and blood and death.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t smile.

The man dangling goes deathly still at the sight of my enforcer.

“So, you’ve heard of him,” I note with a smile, “Your reputation precedes you, Enzo.”

I step around the urine, turning my nose up in a sneer, “You’ve heard the stories of Enzo, haven’t you? You know what he’ll do to you if you don’t talk. Who sent you?”

His bloodshot eyes bounce around the damp space before landing on the unconscious bodies of his men. Devon had likely sedated them while we pick through them like the worthless rats they are.

The man finally looks back to me and spits. The bloody saliva lands on my cheek. With a sigh, I reach into my jacket and wipe it off with a handkerchief before jerking my head for Enzo to step forward. I drag a chair forward, straddling it as I watch Enzo land a wind knocking punch to the guys stomach. Spittle flies from his mouth as he grunts, choking to get back air.

He hits him again. Again. Again. Until the man hangs there limply, head dangling between his shoulders and drool leaking from his parted lips.

Enzo rears back, “Wait, Enzo.” I order.

He stops and steps back, cocking his head like an animal at the man in front of him. He reaches forward and grabs his chin in a bruising hold, forcing it up so I can see.

“You scared my wife,” I tell him. “You caused her pain.”

“Good,” he spits.

“You know,” I pluck a knife from the table of tools, slicing the blade across my finger, only gently but it’s enough to separate my skin and let blood well and pour down the digit. “This wouldn’t have been quite as bad if you hadn’t scared her. For every tear that fell, I will take payment from you.”

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