1st Carlos pov
1438 Words
THALIA POV
In my six years of preparing to end Carlos, I've killed. I've almost been killed.
Marcus: Henry's older brother and the owner of Shadow lane, the mafia group where I'm trained made it a duty to always put me under life threatening situation.
Made sure I could take hits, not just deliver them. Like now.
"What a very brave way to invite a deep, painful death."
The threat hits like a fist. My knees weaken at the pressure on my windpipe. He sure knows where to hit
"Aaaa... I..."
I truly can't breathe. Can't even complete a sentence.
"Too soon to show weakness now,pretty doll." His voice drops lower, nails digging into my skin.
His hands are ice but his eyes are lava.
And that's what pins me in place. Such dead eyes on a man in his early thirties. Deep and dark like his hair that's pulled back in a man-bun beneath thick brows on a clean-shaven olive skin.
I've watched him through camera lenses for years, and every time, the same thing strikes me: how utterly empty his eyes are. Like he killed his own soul long before he killed my family.
Now they're locked on mine as he exhales cigarette smoke directly into my face.
My throat burns. My eyes water.
I might stab him but then, he releases me & I suck in a lungful of air.
"Lucky you,His gaze drags over my body.
"I've always had a weakness for brave little things."
He concludes. Eyes stuck on my cleavages.
Before killing him, I'll gouge out that eyes.
I'm on black lace top & matching leather pants. My favorite outfit for blending into shadows and looking like a bimbo
He looks back up after his analysis, completely unaware of the gun strapped to my ankle.
Before I can catch full breath, his fingers grip my jaw, forcing my face up. Again.
"Play with me" He repeats.
One stupid information my nose decide to catalogue is his smell. He smells like sweet incense and tobacco. Like raspberry melted in spices. Like something you'd want to inhale despite knowing it would poison you.
"When a stranger needs something, the word 'please' usually comes first." The ghost of a smirk map his face for a nano second as I commit to my grave.
He looks to the floor as he flicks the ash of his cigarette, then releases my jaw before taking precise steps back. His men grip my shoulders in return causing my earpiece to fall.
"Hmmmm." He drawls, lighting a new cigarette with agonizing slowness.
"Am I... a stranger?"
Each word ease out from him like a taunt.
Anxiety floods my system instantly.
Does he know? No. Impossible. He never saw me that night. I've lost the baby fat, sharpened my features. I've become someone else entirely.
But doubt creeps in, cold and insidious.
If he knows me then this game is rigged.
I turn toward the door. Desperate for air, space, the ability to think without his presence scrambling my thoughts.
"Leave."
Carlos's lethal voice halts me.
His breath fans my neck while his chest pressing against my back. A solid wall of muscle and threat.
When did he get so close?
In one swift move, he turns me to face him, pinning my back against the door.
"Leave and you'll find out why people disappear in my presence."
He lets go of me
I hate myself for how easily he subdued me. All those years of training, and I'm playing the helpless victim so convincingly I almost believe it myself.
I open my mouth. Close it.
The corner of his left lip lifts and he turns his back on me.
People in the lounge avert their gazes like they've seen nothing. Those in his path move aside immediately.
Then he seals my fate without looking back.
"Get her to the table."
Orio's hand clamps onto my arm. Another man pushes my shoulder.
"I'll walk!"
I shake free and they let me.
CARLOS POV
In my years as Don of Viper Lane, everyone fears me: My rivals. Followers. The women who warm my bed. The presidents I Lord over and enemies that I destroy.
Even Zara, eventually. And Zara feared nothing. She was a psycho even more ruthless than I am. Well, was, until she figured out my dog can bite its owner
But now I’m seated across from a fair-skinned girl with ash eyes and full lips that glimmer like they were crafted by some sadistic deity specifically to test my control.
Lips that should be wrapped around my c**k, getting stretched and used till tears stream down her eyes down those high cheekbone that look like they're meant to sit my c*m.
My hand fisted in her blond hair as I thrust into her slowly, breaking down her bratty persona till she begs. Although,that might take time
She’s feisty, bold, and a liar. I clocked the deception the moment she walked into my lounge four months ago, pretending she didn’t know exactly who I was. First mistake: Everyone knows who I am. You might not have seen me but you've heard of me.
She's a perfect prey to hunt and break. I want to see how far she can hold her ground before falling to her knees like all the others before her.
Like Zara did, in the end.
But Thalia isn’t Zara. Zara was calculated cruelty wrapped in designer clothes. Thalia is something wilder: a feral cat pretending to be a puppy, claws hidden but ready
“I told you.” I let my temper flare, let her see the monster everyone else runs from.
“I. Don’t. Repeat. Myself.” The temper isn’t real. Not entirely. It’s not about her disobedience or her lack of fear, though both are intoxicating in ways I’m not ready to examine.
It’s about the fact that I want to see those defiant eyes go soft, desperate and broken in all the right ways, as I punish her just for looking at me like I’m something she could defeat.
Teach her what happens to mouth that subjects her ass to spanking and punishment. I clench my teeth as my c**k lifts up at the imagination.
And I have never been more aroused in my life.
"You did just now" She counters. Orio moves but my look stops him.
She deserves to die. But I can’t do that. Not yet.
The game has rules, and I’m a patient man when the prize is worth the wait.
Instead, I watch her face cycle through emotions: defiance, anger, calculation. Most people who face me realize their luck has run out and start begging. Or preparing to die.
Not her.
She looks like she wants to murder me instead. Which is interesting, because I want to do the same.
Pretty doll stares at the chessboard between us, jaw tight, then eases back into her seat with a smile that’s pure provocation.
It’s working.
I tilt my head, cataloging that smile. It'll be the last after I make her realize that I set the tone for every game, and a five-foot-ten woman with chaos for a mouth and rage in her eyes won’t change that.
I lift a brow at Orio. He points his gun at her head. She goes completely still. A facade. I've seen people who are scared of gun
Who the f**k is this girl?
“Play,” Orio orders “or never play again.”
I notice her fists clench and unclench beneath the table, trying to keep calm
“What are you.. ” She stands to showcase her anger, but Orio shoves her back down with a hard push on her shoulders.
If looks could kill, I’d be ash. Sadly, I smoke people's ash. I tip over two of her pawns with slow, deliberate movements. Her eyes widen, lips part, then close.
Full, soft lips.
“‘Never play again’ isn’t an empty threat.” The dominance in my words infuriates her further, but she forces in her rage
She’s assessing. She knows she’s outnumbered. Two of my men are visible. More lurk in the shadows, and she’s probably figured that out.
Rain, her first opponent tonight is conspicuously absent.
“You didn’t introduce yourself or drop your stakes.” Her voice does things to me.
Funny. I’m not playing stranger with you.
“You know who I am, Thalia.”
She’s lived with monsters.
But it’s time she learned to dance with one like me.
Time she learned that some monsters don’t just bite.
Some of us devour.
And I’m f*****g starving
- Writer
