03: Pray For My Mercy.

“Your whispers of forgiveness only fuel my desires to damn you.”

Ezreal’s POV

Before he could breathe another protest, I slammed my lips against his, swallowing his gasps.

He thrashed underneath me, but I didn’t let up.

The lake’s water still clung to my skin, and the only barrier between us was his wet robes. His body felt hot, matching the fire within me.

I wanted to punish him, to make him regret and drown in doubt, breaking the morals he held in high regard.

This was my revenge.

It was meant to be slow, taunting, and cold, yet here I was, drowning in the feel of his trembling lips.

I angled my head, deepening the kiss. He still fought against me, a huge contrast to how he pulsed against my palm. I squeezed him harder, drawing a gasp from him.

My tongue thrusts deep in his mouth, taking more control.

This wasn’t the bashful kiss we shared fifteen years ago. It was rushed, demanding, and painful.

I had so much anger stirring within me, so many questions I wanted to ask, but I kissed him instead, kissed him hard.

Baron struggled to keep up, especially when my hand still clawed his throat. His hands flailed against my chest, but he was losing strength due to the lack of oxygen, and soon, he gave in, letting me use and explore his mouth.

He tastes just like he did the last time, a tang of coffee and lime, an odd combination, and I was irritated by how I remember.

Like I could ever forget. But the bone of contention here.

I had promised myself. Never again would I fall victim to the weakness that is love.

This was revenge.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

I pulled back deliberately slow, letting my lips linger as though reluctant to leave. When our mouths parted, a thin string of saliva connecting us, I smirked at his expression.

Baron looked up at me, tears clouding his eyes. He resembled a defeated man, one who wrestled with his demons and lost.

Good.

Suffer more.

Agonize more.

Go through tenfold of every emotion I was forced to endure.

I wouldn’t stop until I had completely shattered his faith, his beliefs, and everything he had deceived himself into accepting.

Straightening up, I watched as he drew in a sharp breath, his hands flying to his neck, almost as if to protect himself from me.

His chest heaved, his swollen lips parted as though he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Pathetic.” I scoffed.

Without another word, I stood to my feet and left, leaving him drenched and stunned.

*****

I cracked my neck, my gaze fixed on the man strapped to a chair before me, painted like a mosaic with his own blood.

The old warehouse reeked of mold, death, and rusted iron, a building built for one purpose alone.

Discipline.

The traitor looked up at me desperately, tears glistening in his eyes as he trembled like a tumbleweed, his wails muffled against the gag in his mouth.

I bent to his eye level, examining him quietly. As always, Vincent stood by my side, his gloves drained red.

“What did he do again?” I asked dryly, reaching for a blade from the table of torture tools.

“He was planning on organizing a coup against you, claiming that you killed the former boss in prison and stole his place,” Vincent answered diligently, like he didn’t just cut ten of the traitor’s toes off.

“Is that so?” I smirked, the blade glinting in the dim light as I raised it for inspection. “You don’t think I’m cut out to lead the gang?”

With a flick of my finger, a guard stepped forward and took off the gag from the traitor's mouth, allowing him to reply.

“You..you will never replace Rodrigo…” he breathed, and there was something in his gaze that irked me.

His screams bounced off the walls and I stabbed the blade into his thigh, twisting it slowly until his yell transitioned into a pathetic sob.

A grin spread across my lips, but it didn’t reach my eyes. It didn’t soothe the growing knot in my chest.

I felt empty, and in that moment, I realized why this damn rat annoyed me so much. It was the defiance in his gaze, one that shone through the fear and pain, the very same glint that shone in Baron’s eyes.

Defiance despite his betrayal, rejecting justice rightful judgment.

Days passed since I last saw him, and yet, I found myself tossing in my bed each night.

I couldn’t get a clear image of him out of my head

His wet and hard body pressed against mine.

His lips, sweet yet sinful, were trembling as I devoured him.

The fleeting moment he kissed me back, and how his body betrayed him.

And his gaze….fiery, pleading, and conflicted.

I unconsciously pressed the dagger deeper into the traitor’s thigh, ignoring his cries.

My rage spilled out, and I continued to stab, blood staining my suit as I slashed at him.

But it wasn’t him I was raging at, it was Baron.

His restraint cut deeper than the wounds he inflicted on me, and although I was satisfied to see him in agony, a part of me throbbed as well.

I hated it. With every fiber of my being.

The warehouse grew silent as the traitor went limp against the chair. I straightened up, my chest heaving, not because of the kill—but from the pulsing ache I couldn’t bleed out of myself.

“Get the car ready,” I said to Vincent, wiping the blood from my hands with a napkin.

“Yes, boss.” He nodded, gesturing for the other guards to get rid of the body.

A few hours later, we arrived at the church.

It was past midnight, but the doors were always open, always ready to accept whoever sought redemption.

But I didn’t come here for redemption.

The church was dark, save for the dim glow of lanterns illuminating the aisles.

And of course, there he was.

Baron knelt before the altar, his back turned to me, hands clasped tight as he recited a silent prayer.

He didn’t notice my presence, strung up in a holy trance.

I made my way towards him, my footsteps soundless against the polished marble floor.

Once I reached him, I watched him silently, straining my ears to hear his prayer.

He was praying for forgiveness. Alas, he never asked for mine.

My hands balled into fists at my sides, clenched at my sides. Each word he uttered only fanned the flames of my anger, simmering beneath the surface like a brewing volcano.

But then, in a shaky whisper, his words spilled out like a confession.

“Lord… deliver Ezreal from his demons… protect his soul from the darkness he’s chosen…”

I stilled, my blood running cold.

Chosen?

The word slashed at me like a violent sword.

I didn’t choose anything. He had chosen for me, fifteen years ago when he chose everything else but me.

At that moment, my patience snapped.

I lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of his hair. His prayer ended with a startled gasp, his eyes flying open as he clasped my wrist.

“Ezreal—Arrgh!”

His words cut off as I pushed him back against the altar, his knees scraping against the floor as he struggled against my hold.

“Fuck it all.” I rasped, my free hand moving to unbuckle my belt.

Baron’s eyes widened in horror, the damned restraint flashing in his gaze once again. But I didn’t care. I held him in place, freeing my cock from the constraints of my trousers and pressing it against his lips.

“Tell me, Father…” I hissed, my grip on his hair tightening, forcing his gaze to meet mine, making him see the devil he created.

“…how many Hail Marys will it take to wash away the taste of me?”