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CARLOS POV

 

In my years as Don of Viper Lane, everyone fears me. My rivals. My followers. The people who warm my bed. The presidents I lord over and the enemies I destroy.

Even Zara, eventually. And Zara feared nothing. She was a psycho even more ruthless than I am—well, was, until she figured out my dog can bite its owner.

 

But now I’m seated across a perfect prey to hunt and break. A fair-skinned girl with ash eyes and full lips that glimmer like they were crafted by some sadistic deity specifically to test my control.

 

She’s feisty, bold, and a blatant liar. I clocked the deception the moment she walked into my lounge four months ago, pretending she didn’t know exactly who I was. Doing the same today as well.

 

First mistake: Everyone knows who I am. You might not have seen me, but you’ve heard of me.

 

“I. Don’t. Repeat. Myself.”

 

My temper isn’t real. Not entirely. It’s not about her disobedience or her lack of fear, though both are intoxicating in ways I can barely comprehend.

It’s about the fact that I want to see those defiant eyes go soft, desperate, and broken in all the right ways as I punish her just for looking at me like I’m something she could defeat.

 

Teach her what happens to a mouth that subject her ass to spanking and punishment. I clench my teeth as my cock hardens at the thought.

That's new. I don't get hard unless I talk myself into it.

“You did just now,” she counters.

That saucy mouth.

Orio moves, but my look stops him. She deserves to die. But I don’t kill prey who still have fight in them. I break them first until all their rage dies into a plea as I watch life slip out of them.

The game has rules: the longer, the more brutal. And I’m a patient man when the prize is worth the wait. Breaking her seems like it’ll take a while.

 

Her eyes glimmer with murder and Images flood my mind: me shoving my gun into her throat, thrusting until she chokes on the smoke of those I’ve killed, until all she can do is plead for mercy I won’t render.

 

"I see you're not afraid"

She blinks at my word then stares at the chessboard between us.

I watch her face cycle through emotions: defiance, anger, calculation. Most people who face me realize their luck has run out and start begging. Or preparing to die.

 

Not her.

Jaw tight, she eases back into her seat with a smile that’s pure provocation.

 

It’s working.

I tilt my head, cataloging that smile. It’ll be the last after I make her realize that I set the tone for every game, and a five-foot-ten woman with chaos for a mouth and rage in her eyes won’t change that.

 

I lift a brow at Orio. He points his gun at her head. She goes completely still....a façade. I’ve seen people who are scared of guns.

 

“Play,” Orio orders, “or never play again.”

 

Her fists clench and unclench beneath the table:a technique to keep calm.

“What are you....” She stands to showcase her anger, Orio shoves her back down with a hard push on her shoulders.

If looks could kill, I’d be ash. Sadly, I smoke it.

I tip over two of her pawns with slow, deliberate movements. Her eyes widen, lips part, then close.

Full, soft lips that should be wrapped around my cock, getting fucked until tears stream down her face. Down those high cheekbones that look like they’re meant to catch my cum.

 

“‘Never play again’ isn’t an empty threat.”

The dominance in my words infuriates her further. Slowly she inhale, forcing down her rage.

“You didn’t introduce yourself or state your stakes,” she says softly, her voice doing things to me. Things like the need to ruin her. Maybe soon. But right now, I’m not playing stranger with her.

 

“You know who I am, Thalia.”

Her eyes widen at the obvious shock of hearing her name.

 

Good.

She’s lived with monsters.

But it’s time she learned to dance with one like me. Time she learned that-

some monsters don’t just bite.

Some of us devour.

 

 

THALIA POV

 

“Don is here!”

“Viper Lane strikes again!”

Screams blend into each other as bodies push through the doors.

He makes his opening move with a neutral face that shows no anger, no satisfaction. Just those dark, pitch-black eyes.

I hold my breath, forcing calm into my racing pulse.

 

Gun to my head.

He knows my name.

How much else does he know?

On paper and online, I’m just an orphan who launders trust fund money, which isn't too far from truth. He could’ve found me out if he dug deeper, but surface-level? I’m clean.

 

Orio presses the gun harder against my temple and I resist the urge to break his wrist. If this turns into a gunfight, should I use mine?

I can almost hear Marcus’s voice, sharp with fury:

“You blew your cover? Six years of careful planning over a chess game?!” 

I shudder at the thought.

No. Marcus and Henry would kill me themselves if they knew I’d compromised everything over this.

 

“I don’t know what you mean, but I do need the money.”

A lie. I need something far more valuable: access.

He leans closer.

My pulse hammers as his cheek grazes my skin, his nose pressing against my neck. I expect words, threats, something.

Instead, he just breathes me in. Slow and deliberate.Taking me in like I’m evidence while I resist the urge to slash his throat.

 

Then, he removes the gun from my temple and settle into his seat, lighting a fresh cigarette, his fifth tonight by my count.

 

“You say you need money.” Cigarette smoke curls between us.

“But your leather isn’t cheap.”

“And? Some of us want more.”

His eyes narrow

“What kind of debt are you in?”

There it is. He’s profiling me, searching for leverage.

“Why? Want to be my pimp?”

Carlos’s eyes widen as he chokes on his cigarette with a cough.

 

𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘶𝘳

Laughter erupts from my left.

I’ve scoped out this place, so I know it's Damien. Carlos’s grim expression return and metal presses against my temple. Again.

Carlos stands so quickly his chair falls to the floor. He draws his own gun, pointing it straight at me.

My entire body goes cold, throat goes dry as he takes a deathly step closer to the edge of the chessboard between us.

 

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥? 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳

I lift my foot and slowly stretch my hand down for my gun as Carlos draws nearer.

Before I can bring it out, he stretches his hand past my face. Straight at...

 

Orio’s head.

“Never point your gun at her without my direct order. Ever.”

He doesn’t shout, but my body feels the threat.

“Yes, sir.” Orio’s voice shakes as he lowers his weapon.

I remain frozen, staring at Carlos’s sharp profile.

“Do you all hear me?”

The harshness in his tone makes me want to cover my ears.

“Order received, Don.”

Five voices, maybe more, respond from the darkness.

I scan the room but see only Orio and Damien clearly.

Carlos sits and we hold each other’s stare until he discards his cigarette for a cigar and Orio lights it.

 

“Okay pretty doll. You'll be my PA?”

I squint at him.Did he just give me a nickname? No wait.

 

"PA!?"

“You start tonight if you win.”

“Tonight?!" I scream louder, unable to hide my shock.

I don’t need a job that chains me. Marcus’s PA lives in Marcus’s building, has access to everything about Shadow Lane but Marcus knows his breathing schedule, where he goes, even what he doesn't say.

If I win, I’m trapped. Monitored.

In days, Carlos will discover my records are fabricated. My affiliation with Shadows, his enemy.

"Yes" he replies with dead finality

I make a mindless move, already working through implications as we play on.

 

I'm close to losing and I can't be more grateful.

I reach for my bishop and move it into a vulnerable position: an amateur mistake.

His eyes narrow and he draws his gun, pointing it straight underneath my jaw. Is the gun a toy?!? I blink my eyes at him, hands shaking.

 

“Stop playing games within games,” he snaps, trailing the gun down and settling its barrel between my cleavage.

Instead of fear, unwanted heat spreads through my body. His scent, voice, and breath form a dangerous mixture I have no name for.

I hold my breath… and my thighs together while he stares, dare I say, at my lips.

 

No one speaks. No one moves. Then he plays.

“One wrong move on this board,” he presses the gun harder between my breast.

“and this game will end in your scream.” I gulp.

"Or blood.”

He finalizes, settling back into his seat while my body leave my brain. I’m not stupid enough to be his PA no matter how desperate I am. I’ll die within days.

 

I pick up my rook.

“Don’t,” he says sharply.

“What?” I glare, my rook suspended in air.

“That move is suicidal.”

 

Is he kidding?

“You literally had a gun between my breasts seconds ago.”

“And I’ll put it on your head if you play like I’m stupid.”

Fuck. He knows I’m throwing it.

 

Dying now or later is same result, I take away my rook, exposing my queen.

Immediately, his whiskey glass shatters and I flinch. Blood fills the table, then floor. My throat closes up as I watch his hand drip blood everywhere.

 

Red. So much red.

My breath catches in my throat.

No. Not now. Stay present. Stay focused. 

 

But the red spreads across the white and black square tiles, and suddenly I’m not in the lounge anymore.

I’m seventeen, standing in the doorway of my childhood home. Blood on the walls. Blue on the floor.

 

I force my eyes to focus on the chessboard, but the pieces blur into my father’s cold body. Gun marks on his chest and forehead. On my mother’s temple.

 

I feel Carlos’s attention on me like a physical weight.

"Live to kill Carlos" I repeat my mantra over and over in my head but it fails

“Interesting,” I hear him whisper.

 

“I think we should get her a doctor,” Damien says, sounding restless.

“No.” Carlos cuts him off.

He’s so close to me.

From the fog in my head, I see his hand move up to my cheek. The same hand that pulled the triggers on them.

 

“NO!”

The scream tears from me. I try to stand, get away from him, but my legs wobble and I collapse onto a rigid body with raspberry scent.

 

Him