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Chapter Twelve - The Knife, The Throw, and The Tackle
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2025-12-10 03:14:51He gave her slack.
Just an inch.
And she took it.
He barely saw the shift in her posture before she struck—fast, vicious, fluid as water. She twisted out from under his grip, using the wall as leverage, spinning her body in a way no untrained captive ever could.
Dante blinked once.
She was already behind him.
Damn.
Before he could turn fully, something cold slid against his palm—
He actually laughed.
“You little thief,” he said, thrilled despite himself. “You really did plan this.”
She didn’t smile, but her eyes burned like wildfire.
She lunged.
He dodged the first slash.
She moved like a shadow, a trained assassin in full control now that the façade had fallen away.
Every strike she threw wasn’t wild or angry — it was precise. Controlled. Efficient.
“You’re enjoying this,” she hissed as she forced him back a step.
“Of course I am,” he said honestly. “I’ve been waiting for you to stop pretending.”
She swung again.
“That’s going to leave a mark,” he muttered.
“Good,” she spat. “I hope it scars.”
He grinned.
That earned him a snarl and another slash—this one fast enough that he had to dodge with real effort. His heart kicked hard in his chest, excitement curling through him like smoke.
He wasn’t fighting a captive anymore.
And it lit something dark and hungry inside him.
He caught her wrist mid-swing—
He stumbled.
Stumbled.
Dante Valenti never stumbled.
The shock of it made him laugh, one sharp, delighted sound.
Aria Moretti was trying to kill him — and he’d never been more turned on in his life.
Before he could regain full footing, the basement door swung open.
“Boss?” Marco called. “I heard—HOLY SHI—”
Aria reacted instantly.
The knife flew from her hand with deadly precision, aimed straight at Marco’s skull.
She didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t miss.
Dante moved on instinct.
He reached out, caught the knife midair, inches from Marco’s forehead.
The guard screamed anyway.
Aria’s eyes widened for the first time — not with fear, but with irritated disbelief.
“Oh, come on,” she snapped. “I had him perfectly lined up.”
Dante held the knife between two fingers, admiring her aim.
Marco made a choked sound. “Boss, she almost killed me!”
“Almost,” Dante corrected.
“Practice?” Marco squeaked.
Aria rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to dive in front of my blade, that’s on you.”
Dante barked a laugh.
He liked her more every second.
Then he threw the knife aside and lunged.
She tried to leap away, but he caught her around the waist, momentum slamming both of them into the floor. She fought like a wildcat—knees, elbows, even her teeth aiming for anything she could reach.
Marco jumped in, grabbing her ankles as she kicked at Dante’s ribs.
“Hold still!” Marco shouted.
“I’ll slit your throat if you touch me,” Aria snapped back.
“And that,” Dante said breathlessly as he wrestled her arms behind her back, “is what makes you absolutely… intoxicating.”
“Go to hell!”
“You first,” he growled, tightening his grip. “Since you keep trying to send me there.”
Between Dante on her upper body and Marco pinning her legs, they finally got her restrained. Her wrists were cuffed again, pulled tight against the chain.
She sat there breathing hard, hair wild, eyes blazing pure murder.
Beautiful.
His.
“Feel better?” Dante asked, wiping a smear of blood from his forearm.
She glared at him like she wanted to set him on fire.
“You did,” he admitted, stepping close again. “And do you know what that does to me?”
Her jaw clenched. “If you say it turns you on, I swear I’ll—”
“It turns me on,” he said.
Marco groaned. “Oh my god, boss.”
Aria actually choked. “You’re insane.”
Dante brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles, savoring the way she didn’t flinch—she braced, ready to bite him again if needed.
“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice dropping to a growl. “And I want more.”
“Of course you do,” she snapped. “You’re a lunatic.”
He leaned closer, lips ghosting her ear without touching.
She cut him off with a glare sharp enough to slice steel.
He smiled, dark and slow.
Her breath caught.
Just for a second.
Then she snarled, “In your twisted dreams.”
“Oh, sweetheart…” Dante stood and wiped his hand on his jeans. “You have no idea how twisted they get.”
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The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Nine - Emotionally Wet
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The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Seven - Shower and no chains
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The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Five -
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