Semua Bab His Plaything: Bab 41 - Bab 50

[Bianca]The stench of cigar smoke was enough to make me want to gag. The thug seated beside me had an arm slung over my shoulders, his sweat mixing with the greasy tobacco stench clinging to his clothes. I tried to turn my face away, but he only grinned wider, pressing closer as if he was unaware of his own stink.“The things I could do to you, gorgeous,” he said, sounding disgustingly sly.I glared at him, wrinkling my nose. “The least you could do is brush your damn teeth.”His expression dropped.The hand gripping my shoulder moved to the back of my head, and before I could brace myself, he slammed my skull against the car window.Crack.Everything went dark after that.When I woke, my head throbbed like it had been split open and glued back together. I was seated on cold concrete, arms bound painfully behind me and looped around what felt like a thick metal pillar. My legs were numb probably from sitting on my knees for too long, and my cheeks were sticky with dried blood.The fa

[Giovanni]I was whistling a country tune when the blood finally stopped leaking from the sink. Warm water washed over my hands in soothing little swirls, pink-tinted and oddly calming. I liked this part—clean hands, clean mind. My sleeves were already rolled up to the elbows, though the cuffs of my white shirt had long been decorated with blood spatters that weren't mine. I twisted the faucet shut and reached for the towel hanging from the oven handle.Behind me, someone groaned.A wet, throaty kind of sound. Like someone trying to swallow pain but failing miserably. I smiled to myself, drying each finger meticulously before sliding on my black leather gloves, one by one. I took my time. Good art often calls for patience.On the kitchen counter sat a small, dark chocolate coloured suede pouch. I flipped it open gently. Inside, nestled in neat rows like precious instruments, were my scalpels—different shapes, different edges, all polished to a fault. I admired them for a moment. So d

[Giovanni]The estate was cut off from the rest of the city. Gated, high stone walls, and teeming with security. I glanced back to watch Bianca speaking with the security and showing her ID before they let her in.Which meant that getting in wouldn't be impossible.It just required an invitation from a resident.My lips tugged into a smile as I turned away and buried my hands in my pockets. I began walking towards my 'actual' apartment which was in a different direction from what I'd shown her.I reached into my pocket and pulled out a half-melted chocolate candy, unwrapped it like I had all the time in the world, and took it in my mouth.'Bianca.'I rolled the name around in my mind while my tongue played with the candy.She was nothing special—a dull woman who had nothing but her looks and unbelievably blue eyes. I'd expected to have a harder time getting acquainted with her. She wasn't my target, but I often enjoyed the build-up before the kill—especially when a woman was involved

[Bianca]It had been two days since Dante told me not to leave the house. Two days of pacing from room to room, trying not to stare at the spot on the kitchen counter where that box had sat.And on the third day?He simply got up, got dressed, and told me we were going to work together. No explanation. No mention of Malcolm's head anymore. No questions about how I'd been sleeping, which I had barely, thank you. It was almost like the scene hadn't happened.Sometimes, I couldn't tell what Dante was thinking. Still, I knew one thing: he hadn't taken that threat lightly. Malcolm had been with him since he was just a kid. There was no way a loss like that didn't shake something inside him. He was just... holding it somewhere deep. Letting it ferment.I was still trying to decide if that scared me or impressed me.Now I was in the hallway between the men's and women's restrooms, washing my hands in the shared marble sink. The building's design was too sleek for its own good—unisex common

[Bianca]My fingertips pressed against the door as his fingers began to push and spread my insides. He wasn't rushing. He wasn't merciful either. It was punishment—the kind only he could deliver. My hips moved of their own accord, chasing the friction even as my mind screamed to stop.His second hand moved to cup my breast above the fabric of my strained shirt. "You should leave here," he murmured against my neck, his breath hot as he undid my buttons, then slipped his huge hand into my bra, tugging at a swollen nipple. "Open the door, let them find you dripping, trembling, with your tits out." He chuckled darkly. "Might as well make it official, right? You and your assistant boytoy.""Fuck you," I hissed, though it sounded more like a plea."That's the plan."His fingers slipped lower, teasing my entrance, just barely breaching me before pulling away again. My body jerked against his. The closet was too small, too hot, and yet it felt like every inch of him was everywhere—controlling