Chapter Seventeen-Coping mechanisms

The bitch Khaid requested laid naked on her back on the bed in the tea room. The tea room is where he has sexual intercourse with the girls he carries. No girl has ever entered his room or laid on his bed. He brings them to this tea room. Khaid entered the room, raging. Ready to unleash the frustration and anger on him.

“Stand up” He growled. The girl, who was wearing sexy lingerie, knelt on the bed, slowly. Her movements ooze pleasure and sultry appeal.

“What do I do, Khaid?” She trailed her fingers across his chest.

The next minute, Khaid's fist was wrapped tightly around her neck. Draining life out of her.

“You're choking me”

“It's Master to you. Don't you dare call my name with your filthy mouth” His eyes were a flashing red ready to explode.

“Yes master” The girl nodded with tearful eyes.

Khaid released his hold on her and she collapsed on the bed. Coughing and gasping for breaths.

“Get on your knees, bitch” Khaid ordered. His voice laced with the authority that no was an option.

The girl quickly jumped out of bed and stood in front of him. Her eyes were glazing with pleasure as she hungrily undid his belt and brought out his penis from his pants.

“OMG. . . It's huge” She fawned dreamily.

“Get working already, slut” With accurate precision and expertise, her mouth engulfed Khaid's penis. She was licking and sucking like her life depended on it. Saliva drooled from one side of her mouth onto the floor as she worked and bobbed her mouth on Khaid's genitals. Khaid, on the other hand, held her head and shoved himself deep in her throat causing her to stop breathing for a second. He released her head when she started tapping him. He was not feeling any pleasure but rage.

“Get the fuck off” He muttered instantly and pulled up his pants.

“Sir. . .” The girl's mouth slacked in shock and disappointment. It had reached her turn to satisfy the Mafia boss and billionaire CEO and not only did she not have a taste of him in her pussy, she also failed to satisfy him. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Khaid was oblivious to all of that as he exited the room, still raging, which is unlike him. Khaid never left the room angry. He always leaves fulfilled even though not satisfied.

★

“You can leave” Khaid stated to Kael as he approached the sitting room. He needed a more immediate, primal release for the fury Bluey had ignited. He diverted his path to his personal training facility, a discreet extension located beneath the East Wing.

The room was vast, an underground concrete bunker lined with dense acoustic paneling to absorb shock and sound. It was designed to be a solitary battleground. The floor was covered in reinforced rubber matting. Dominating the center was a massive, heavy bag hanging from an industrial steel frame. Nearby stood a complex multi-station cable system capable of handling hundreds of pounds of resistance. There was also a dedicated free-weight rack with gleaming chrome dumbbells, a high-tech climbing wall with randomized grip settings, and a large MMA mat area. The space was efficient, brutal, and utterly silent when unused.

Khaid barged through the steel door, tearing his silk shirt off his body. His torso, lean and densely muscled, was slick with the residual sweat and panic from his earlier nightmare. His eyes, still blazing with the raw, unfamiliar sting of Bluey's defiance, were locked on the heavy bag.

He attacked the bag with a relentless, terrifying intensity. The muffled thud, thud, thud of leather striking tightly packed canvas was the only sound. He cycled through rapid punches, devastating kicks, and vicious elbow strikes, trying to physically purge the image of her tear-streaked, defiant face from his mind. He was fighting the woman who dared speak against him fearlessly. He was fighting a woman whose defiance got to him this much in his head. He was fighting the weakness from his nightmare. He was fighting the loss of control.

Hours twirled upon hours. The initial burst of savage energy settled into a sustained, methodical battery. He punched the bag restlessly all through the night. His only rest periods were when he picked up bottles of water that were silently snuggled into the training ground by Kael.

At 3:00 AM, back in the industrial kitchen in the Central Wing, Bluey was quietly tending her pots. She had come down from her apartment in the West Wing for a new batch of her herbal concoction. The relaxing blend for insomnia and unrest she had offered Khaid the previous morning. This time, she didn't make aphrodisiacs at her.

Despite the thick layers of concrete and acoustic paneling, she could still hear the distant, heavy thudding. It was not the sound of construction or machinery. It was the rhythmic impact of a large man punishing a stationary object. She knew exactly what it was and who it was. The sheer, violent intensity was almost palpable, filling the midnight quiet with a sense of barely contained rage. She stirred the dark liquid in the pot, the medicinal aroma rising to meet the chilling silence of the Central Wing. She thought about his haunted face at 3:00 AM the previous night, and the venom of his commanding voice last night.

The relentless pounding finally ceased at 5:00 AM. Bluey was finishing the transfer of the warm liquid into ceramic bottles when she heard the training room door slam shut. The heavy tread of worn-out footsteps approached the kitchen.

Khaid was leaving the training ground. His black sweatpants were clinging to his body, and his torso was slick with sweat, the muscles taut from the long ordeal. He was exhausted, but the raw edge of his fury had been filed down to a cold, hard resignation.

He walked past the scattered, empty plastic water bottles that lay discarded across the training facility floor and straight to the kitchen, towards the industrial refrigerator. He opened it, pulling out a fresh bottle. The cold air hit his hot skin, making him hiss softly.

He turned, taking a long drink, and saw Bluey standing by the stove, watching him.

None of them talked to each other. He looked at her not with rage, but with a defeated exhaustion that mirrored the dark circles under his own eyes. She looked small, framed by the cold steel of the kitchen, radiating a quiet, domestic calm that was completely foreign to his world.

Khaid tightened his grip on the water bottle, preparing to leave. “The herbs” Bluey's voice was low, careful, breaking the silence. “I just bottled the new batch. It's for rest. Do you... do you want some?”

He hesitated, his rigid facial expression complimenting his rigid physique. He was contemplating whether to accept the offer. His exhausted body finally gave in.

“Bring it to my room” Khaid intoned, his voice rough and dismissive, accepting the offering while denying the vulnerability.

He turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her with the instruction that bound her to his space, even in this moment of reluctant assistance.

“Okay boss” Bluey responded sarcastically. Then her eyes widened upon realization. “I don't know where your room is!”