Bound By His Name

Soon

Damien POV

I leaned back in the leather chair, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette burning between my fingers. The sharp burn of alcohol slid down my throat as I took a slow sip, followed by a deep drag from the cigarette. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling.

The door to the room opened.

Victor stepped in, his massive frame filling the doorway. He gave me a cheerful salute, a wide grin on his scarred face.

“Boss,” he said, voice booming with satisfaction. “The bar attendant and those small gangs have been crushed. We got them all.”

I exhaled another cloud of smoke, waiting.

Victor continued, “But your stepmother intervened. She stepped in before we could finish butchering the rest of those useless gangs. We had to pull back. The men are still on standby though, ready to resume the slaughter whenever you give the word.”

A low chuckle escaped my lips. I took another sip of whiskey, the liquid warming my chest.

“I knew she would intervene,” I said, my voice calm but laced with amusement. “That woman has always loved digging her nose into things that don’t concern her.”

Victor stood silently, waiting for my next order.

I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and leaned forward. “Recall the men. Bring everyone back. I already know exactly who did this.”

Victor raised an eyebrow but nodded without question.

“Also,” I added, my lips curving into a cold smile, “tell my dear stepmother she can go f**k herself on a tree.”

Victor’s grin widened, clearly delighted. “Yes, Boss. I’ll deliver the message personally.”

He gave another cheerful salute and left the room, closing the door behind him with a heavy click.

Once I was alone, I reached for the file lying on the table in front of me. I flipped it open slowly. The first page showed a photo of a strikingly handsome young man. His face was beautiful — almost too pretty — though the forced smile in the picture didn’t reach his eyes.

I stared at the image for a long moment.

“I still can’t get rid of this weird sensation in my body,” I muttered to myself, eyes tracing every feature of his face. “If possible… I’d like to pound you again.”

My fingers lingered on the photograph.

Just then, my phone rang. I answered without checking the caller ID.

“Boss,” Luca’s voice came through, sounding slightly tense. “Some gangs are admitting they were the ones who drugged you that night. They’re also claiming they’re connected to some big company.”

A dark, dangerous laugh rumbled from my chest. The sound was low and dreadful, the kind that could make even grown men’s hair stand on end.

On the other end of the line, I heard Luca swallow hard, clearly scared.

“They’re trying to push a false narrative,” I said coldly, my mind already racing. “Fine. If they want to play this game, I’ll follow their little story.”

I paused, tapping my fingers on the table.

“Send me the information on all the accused. And take your cut from Victor.”

“Alright, Boss,” Luca replied quickly. “I’ll send everything right away.”

The call ended with a soft click.

I placed the phone down and took another slow puff from a fresh cigarette. Smoke filled the air as my mind turned over every possibility, every way I could destroy the person I suspected was truly behind this.

My eyes returned to the photograph of the beautiful man in the file. I gently rubbed my thumb across his face in the picture.

The memory of his tight heat, his broken moans, and the way his body trembled beneath me still lingered like a drug in my veins. I couldn’t shake it off.

I needed to deal with the insects first before I went back to claim what was mine.

“I will come for you soon,” I whispered to the image. “But for now… I need to end some of this crappy bullshit first.”

I picked up my phone and dialed the number. It rang only twice before the line connected. The voice that answered was completely motionless, unfeeling — like a machine built only for killing.

And yes he was built for killing.

“You called,” the voice said flatly.

I leaned back in my chair, swirling the whiskey in my glass before taking a slow sip. My voice came out low, calm, and dripping with darkness.

“I have a job for you. I want someone assassinated.”

Silence.

Then the same stiff, emotionless voice replied, “Price of the head. And send a picture.”

A cold smile crept across my face. These types were all the same — no soul, no fear, only greed.

“Twenty million per head,” I said. “The pictures will be sent to you later today.”

I paused, letting the silence stretch before continuing, my tone turning even darker.

“Make it gruesome. I want the body so destroyed that it becomes unrecognizable. Tear them apart. Leave them looking like meat. And an address will be sent along with the picture. Deliver the corpses there when you’re finished.”

“Thirty million for a head,” the assassin countered, his voice still completely flat.

I let out a low, menacing chuckle that sounded more like a growl. The sound was cold enough to freeze blood.

“Don’t push your f*****g luck,” I warned, my voice dropping into something lethal. “I’ll give you twenty-five million. That’s more than generous. Take it, or I’ll find someone who knows how to follow orders without testing me.”

The line stayed quiet for a moment. I could almost hear the man calculating his chances of surviving if he refused.

“Fine,” he finally agreed. “Twenty-five million.”

“Good boy,” I murmured darkly. “One more thing. Carve a big ‘R’ on the bodies. Make sure it’s clear and visible. I want them to see it.”

“Understood.” The call ended with a soft click.

I tossed the phone onto the table and took a long drag from my cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly through my nose.

Pathetic, I thought. They really believe they can throw false names at me and walk away clean? I’ll send their little puppet back to them in pieces. Let them choke on their own lies.

My eyes drifted back to the beautiful man photograph lying open on the file. That beautiful face. Those eyes that had looked at me with fear and unwilling pleasure.

A dark hunger stirred deep in my chest.

“Soon,” I whispered to the image, my voice barely audible. “I’ll come for you soon, pretty boy. But first… I need to paint the streets red.”

I picked up the glass of whiskey and emptied it in one gulp, the burn doing nothing to cool the violent storm building inside me.