A Demon's Claim

‎‎The room vibrated with the weight of his words.  

‎Castelle sat frozen, breathing shallowly, the force of Kane’s claim slamming into her ribs.

‎‎Kane’s hand moved — lazy, deliberate — as he picked up his phone from the desk. His black gaze never left her as he dialed a number with a brutal kind of ease.

‎‎A voice answered on the first ring.

‎‎"Lucien," Kane barked. "Get me every fucking document concerning Castelle’s marriage. Now. I want it buried. I want it dead. I want that piece of shit out of her life by tomorrow morning."

‎‎"Yes, boss."‎

‎The call ended without any further words.

‎‎Castelle’s mouth parted in shock.

‎‎Her chest heaved with ragged breaths.  

‎He’s serious. He’s really serious...

‎‎Kane leaned back in his chair, studying her with a darkness that melted into something far more dangerous — a predatory obsession.

‎‎"You won’t lift a finger," he said, voice rough silk.  

‎"You won't pack a box. You won't even touch a fucking door handle."

‎‎"But—" she started, panic flickering across her face.

‎‎His hand snapped up sharply, stopping her mid-sentence. But she continued "don't kill him please."‎

‎"I said, you're mine now."

‎‎There was no anger in his tone.  

‎Just brutal finality.

‎‎A muscle twitched in his cheek as he continued, voice dropping lower, each word hitting her skin like a brand:

‎‎"That house is tainted. Every fucking thing in it is poisoned. I’ll send my men. They’ll take what’s yours — what’s clean. The rest..." he smirked darkly, "I’ll burn it to the ground."

‎‎Castelle’s heart slammed against her ribs.‎

‎She should protest.  

‎She should tell him this was too much.  

‎But instead, an unfamiliar warmth curled low in her belly.

‎‎Protected and owned.

‎‎For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone.

‎‎Kane stood, the chair groaning under the force of his movement.‎

‎He walked around the desk again, slow, deliberate, that same heavy, commanding gait.

‎‎He reached her chair, and without a word, he grabbed the arms and yanked her closer — forcing her thick thighs to brush his.  

‎Her breath caught.

‎‎He crouched in front of her again, massive palms bracketing her knees, squeezing just a little too tightly.

‎‎"You listen to me, doll," he growled, the scent of leather and gunpowder clinging to him.  

‎"I will rebuild you. Piece by fucking piece. Stronger. Wilder. Mine."

‎‎He dragged his hands up her thighs, deliberately slow, until his thumbs pressed into the fleshy curves just under her hips.

‎"And when you’re ready..."  

‎He leaned closer, nose brushing her cheek, voice dropping to a feral rasp against her ear.  

‎"I’m going to ruin you in ways you’ll never fucking recover from."

‎Her body shuddered under the onslaught of his voice.

‎She could barely breathe as he pulled back enough to look into her eyes again.

‎‎Kane’s hand moved to her nape, curling possessively around it — not tight enough to hurt, but heavy enough to remind her exactly who she belonged to now.

‎‎"Rest today," he murmured, deceptively gentle.  

‎"Tomorrow, we start reclaiming everything that bastard stole from you."

‎And then, just as quickly, he released her, stepping back.

‎He walked toward the door, his broad shoulders straining against his half-unbuttoned shirt, the tattoos rippling across his skin, the leather harness biting into him like a second skin.

‎He turned at the doorway, pinning her with a look so deep it felt like she was drowning.

‎"Don't even think about leaving this room without my permission."

‎Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

‎Castelle sat trembling in the heavy silence, her body aching from the inside out.

‎She wasn’t free.  

‎She wasn’t safe.

‎She was claimed.

‎And somehow...  

‎Somehow, that terrified her less than the thought of him not wanting her at all.

‎-----

‎The heavy oak door slammed behind Kane as he stormed down the hall, his boots thudding against the marble floors.

‎Two men immediately fell into step behind him — Lucien and Matteo, his most trusted lieutenants.

‎Lucien’s face was all sharp lines and lethal calm.

‎Matteo, heavier, tattooed, a monster on Kane's leash.

‎They followed him into the War Room — a cold, windowless chamber lined with screens, maps, and weapon racks.‎Kane spun around, his dark hair messy, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury.

‎"Status," he barked.

‎Lucien flicked open a file, handing it over. "His name's Warren Blackwell. Accountant. Lower level cartel ties — nothing impressive. No protection. No muscle. Paper fucking tiger."

‎Kane snorted in disgust, flipping through the dossier.

‎Photos of Warren — smiling like a fucking saint — a ring on his finger that now made Kane's blood boil.

‎"This the piece of shit who put his hands on *her?*"

‎His voice was low, but it cracked like a whip in the room.

‎‎"Yes, boss," Matteo said grimly.

‎‎Kane's fingers twitched, dying for blood.

‎"Good," Kane said, voice dripping venom.

‎"I want him ruined."

‎He turned, pacing, thoughts slicing through the air like knives.

‎"First — strip him financially. Freeze everything. Account seizures, false investigations, frame him for embezzlement, whatever the fuck it takes."

‎"Second — discredit him. I want photos of him in every fucking brothel, every drug house. Build a public record so dirty the church would spit on him."

‎‎Lucien was already taking notes, his pen moving at lightning speed.

‎"And third..."

‎Kane turned, eyes blacker than the devil’s.

‎"...make it fucking personal."

‎‎A cruel grin tugged at Matteo’s mouth. "Permission to break some bones?"

‎Kane smirked. "Permission granted. But not yet. I want him to suffer first. I want him terrified."

‎He paused, rolling his shoulders back, the muscles under his shirt shifting with slow menace.

‎"And when he’s choking on his own fear..."

‎Kane’s eyes burned.

‎"Then we take him apart piece by fucking piece."

‎‎Lucien glanced up, his mouth tight.

‎"And the girl?"

‎‎Kane’s jaw ticked.

‎His hands clenched at his sides.

‎‎"Castelle," he said, almost reverently.

‎"She’s mine."

‎Lucien and Matteo shared a knowing look but said nothing.

‎‎"She doesn’t realize it yet," Kane continued, his voice lowering to a near growl, "but by the time I’m finished, she’ll crave my leash more than her own breath."

‎Matteo chuckled darkly. "You always did like ‘em broken."

‎‎Kane shot him a glare so deadly Matteo immediately sobered.

"you make it sound like I go around looking for broken females." Kane shot.

‎"And She's not broken," Kane snarled.

‎"She’s...raw. Pure. Untouched where it matters."

‎‎He slammed his fist into the table hard enough to rattle the weapons mounted on the walls.

‎‎"And I’ll rebuild her the way I fucking want. Piece by perfect piece."

‎‎Silence.‎

‎Cold. Heavy.

‎‎The only sound was Kane’s harsh breathing.

Lucien finally spoke, voice calm as ever.

‎"I'll start with the financials tonight."

‎‎Matteo cracked his knuckles.

‎"I’ll pick my crew. When the time's right, we'll make our move."

‎‎Kane nodded once.

‎‎"Good. Move fast. Quietly."

‎‎He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, slinging it over his broad shoulders.

‎‎"Tomorrow, I take her shopping," he said casually, but the darkness threading his tone made the air grow colder.

‎‎Lucien quirked an eyebrow.

‎‎"Shopping?"

‎For a woman like Castelle? Was Kane serious?

‎‎Kane’s mouth curled into something wicked.

‎‎"Lingerie. Corsets. Leashes. Cuffs."

‎‎He flashed a cruel smile.

‎‎"If she’s going to be mine, we’re going to start fitting her for her fucking collar."

‎‎And with that, he walked out of the War Room, the black tide of his obsession growing heavier with every step.

‎