HIS BROKEN PLAYTHING

"Shut your whimpering Carter, or you'll lose more than just a finger.” The guy with the knife, ordered while pressing his boot harder against the man’s fingers. The sickening crack of bone followed by a strangled cry. The man on the ground, Carter, was soaked in sweat, blood streaking down his face. Bruises swelled across it. I swallowed hard, crouched behind a crumbling wall, praying they wouldn’t see me. “You owe us money, Carter,” The man with the cigarette piped up, voice dripping with Arrogance. Clearly the leader of the lot.Debt collectors. That explained a lot. But their methods? Far too brutal to be considered ordinary. Were they gansters?“I know,” Carter choked out, his voice breaking. “I swear I’ll get you the money….just give me time!” “Time?” The one with the gun chuckled, his laughter sounded dark and terrifying. “We’re fresh out of that,” He said, the sound of his gun clicked.Carter was now yanked upright by his collar and slammed hard to a nearby wall. A

Cedric POV The car reeked of bleach, blood, and that sharp, metallic copper smell that always comes with the mess. It was in the air, in the seats, even in the damn leather. I leaned back in the plush seat of the Bentley, pulling off my gloves and wiping my hands with a damp cloth. It didn’t do much. The scent was there, lingering in the fabric no matter how many times I tried to scrub it out. It stuck to everything, a constant reminder of the shit I have to deal with. “Boss,” Dominic said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “You’ve got blood on your collar.” I looked down, seeing the dark smear just below my tie. Great. Another shirt ruined. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I muttered, grabbing a cleaner rag from the seat next to me. “Figured I’d mention it before you get home and scare the crap out of the twins,” Dominic added. That made me pause. “Shit, I forgot they’re staying over tonight.” “Yeah, man. You think Mia wants to explain to her six-year-olds w

“Lyla, your father is dead.” My breath hitched, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if I was even breathing at all. The room tilted slightly, as if the ground had shifted beneath me. I stared at her, searching for a flicker of remorse, some sign of regret. Maybe she was joking, trying to toy with my emotions but Romona’s expression was unreadable. Her voice was calm, almost too calm, as if she were delivering news about the damn weather. “You’re lying,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Her crimson lips curved into a faint smile, but there was no warmth in it. “I’m not in the habit of lying, Lyla. You know that about me by now”Romona tilted her head, her dark blue eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t say……Triumph? Pity? No, not pity. She’d never wasted that on me before.“Why would I lie about something like that?” she continued coolly. Adjusting her perfectly blond bun hair. “The hospital contacted me yesterday. They said they’d been trying to reach you, but you’re i

The restaurant was ridiculously fancy. Marble floors that shone like mirrors, gold-trimmed walls, and a chandelier so massive it looked like it belonged in a palace. The tables were draped in crisp white linens, with crystal glasses and polished silverware neatly arranged like they were expecting royalty. Even the waiters gilded around like they were trained in a dance studio. I tugged at the gold dress Romona had shoved me into. It sparkled under the soft lights, but it didn’t fit right. It was unbearably tight at the waist, loose at the bust, and itching like hell. Fuck, it felt like I was sharing the dress with a bunch of termites it made my skin crawl. My dark brown hair was pulled into a neat bun, with a couple of Romona’s sparkly hairpins stuck in to make it look fancier than it really was. I mean it meant to look that fancy, seeing that we spent three whole hours on the damn hair. The whole place screamed luxury, and I felt like I was the only one who didn’t belong. The marb

The moment the automatic door closed behind me, I crunched down on myself and silently screamed.That was fucking humiliating.Ms. Rachel was really sweet for trying her best to comfort me after my little crybaby meltdown. She stayed by me till I was able to feel a bit better. But of course, it didn’t stop there. Apparently, we had an audience watching nearby. A couple of old granny had been sitting and watching the whole thing, and as soon as Ms. Rachel finished, they swooped in like they’d been waiting their turn. One of them patted my arm with a warm smile and said, “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve all been there. If you haven’t cried in public yet, you’re not living.” Obviously aware I was uncomfortable and ultimately embarrassed at my situation.I stared at her, caught somewhere between mortified and amused. Before I could even process it, her friend chimed in, cracking some joke about how they’d seen worse meltdowns at church bake sales and bingo night fiasco. And, honestly? It worke