Dante Dexter
1777 Words
Dante’s POV
I have always hated my life.
Now, I hate it even more
And somehow that hatred doesn’t stay mine alone,
It spreads,
Until other people begin to hate theirs, even if it’s just a little more.
“I f*****g liked this shirt”, I grunt, staring at the crimson stain blooming around my collar.
Ruined!
All because this i***t doesn’t know how to stop pushing my buttons and now he was going to pay dearly.
I turn to face him, “my latest play thing” .
His eyes are bloodshot from tears he cannot seem to hold back.
A warning.
Clear. Simple.
“If you mess with my dough, you mess with your life.”
He laughed.
Not nervous laughter.
Not the kind people use to save face.
No!
He laughed like I was nothing.
Like I had limits.
Like there was a line I wouldn’t cross.
My head tilts slightly.
People always assume that.
They always need to see it to believe it.
There is a technique I picked, back in medical school.
Funny, really… how easily psychology slips into everyday life.
And how much damage it can cause in real life.
I never cared for its real name, I gave it one of my own.
“Three Breaks”
It has proven efficient over the years especially when I’m in the mood for something… exciting.
For three days, he sat in that chair, blindfolded.
And everyday, I showed up at the exact time.
Not early.
Not late.
Precise and predictable.
The digital clock becomes his only certainty, it’s unfortunate that he cannot even see it.
By the third day, he thinks he has mastered my game.
And on the fourth, I don’t show up.
That’s when he begins to break, slowly at first .
Because now, he doesn’t know what’s coming next.
The little whimpers make me shake my head.
“three breaks” didn’t break him
Which means now, I’m left the honors.
“Alabama”, I whisper behind his ears, his hands are raw, red from struggling.
His head snaps to the side as my fist connects with his mandible, blood spills through his teeths
“You will f*****g answer me when I speak to you”, I groan, my hands on my thighs as I sit back in my chair.
“f**k you”, he spit, blood trailing his cheek.
My head snap from side to side, eyes blazing with anger as they lock onto him, then suddenly, a loud laughter escapes my throat.
Alabama was a dead man, he just didn’t know it yet.
“Oh baby, you will wish I did”, I mutter, circling his chair, my hands taking off his blindfold.
“You are a sadistic son of a b***h”,
He swallows. I see it, the tight movement in his throat, the way his fingers twitch against the restraints. Fear always starts small like that. Subtle. Manageable.
Until it isn’t. And that’s what I’m here.
“I have been called worse, now where the hell is my money?”I ask, my hands crossed over eachother as I watch him, my patience running thin.
“I don’t have it”, he screams, just as the hammer lands on thumb.
His eyes squeeze shut as a scream tears out of him, the muscle in his neck tightens, pulling sharp lines across his expression.
Raw and jagged, just like I enjoy.
My shoulders begins to shake, my head tipping back slightly as the sound of my laughter fills the entire warehouse.
I hate to admit this, but I miss this.
“Now let’s do that again, Alabama, where the f**k is my money?”, I grunt, hands on his jaw as I lift his face to face mine.
“I will like you to think about your answer very carefully”, I say, the glint in my eyes now replaced with annoyance.
“Master Dante…please…I spent it all”, he groans, the tweezer on his index finger as I press it there.
A small smile makes its way to my face.
“ Ama. Two years old? brown curly hair, looks just like her mother. Thanks be to God”, I croak, watching his eyes
“Now love, tell me what I want to hear”,
“Hush”, I say, my eyes snapping to the source of the sound, irritation curling tighter inside me.
The little whimper draws me back to him. My eyes lock onto his, sharp and menacing.
“Make a sound”, I whisper, each word deliberate, “and you”ll have Ama’s eyeball for dinner”
Mama is calling.
Why the hell is Mama calling?
Hello, Mama,” I breathe, eyes still on him.
“Son, what did steph do this time?”
I roll my eyes, trying to remember who that is.
“Steph… Mama, I don’t know who that is,” I reply, eyes darting to the ceiling, water leaking from an old crack.
This warehouse has been ours for years. It’s infuriating no one bothered to maintain it, considering what goes on here.
This warehouse… where I tortured and killed my first plaything. Her name was Sasha, and she deserved every hair I removed from her scalp with a cuticle remover.
“Dullard? Rings a bell,” she interrupts my thoughts.
“Oh, Mama… you keep sending these girls who just want to suck my c**k. It’s pathetic,” I bark.
I was tired of Mama sending whores in the guise of maids. Once they discover who Dante is… they go on their knees so fast.
“Dante, that’s no way to speak to your mother,” she barks.
Mama’s the only woman I let speak to me that way.
The only woman.
“Si, claro,” I reply, gripping my wheelchair tightly, knuckles white as I propel forward.
“Dante, love… why won’t you allow yourself all the help you can get?” she whispers, voice cracking.
I hate this.
I hate this chair.
And I dare say… I hate Mama.
“Mama, I have told you many times, I don’t need a maid or a caregiver. I’m fine,” I almost yell.
Mama never listens. She thinks she knows best.
And it hurts to admit… sometimes, she might.
“It’s settled then”, she sniffles, “You have a new housemaid. Her name is Alicia. Don’t be a bastard”,
And just like, the lines goes dead
Metals clatter to the floor as I flip the table over, rage folding every nerve. A loud shout tears from my lips as I retreat back to my spot…opposite Alabama.
“Master Dante, please don’t kill me”, he cries, “I don’t have the money anymore… my little girl has cancer, I had to…I had to, use the money for her treatment”
“Ahhh.. that explains her baldness… I mutter, a grin tugging at my lips, “ I thought you were some kinda crazy father obsessed with having a boy”
$850000 dollars was measly. I could afford to let it slide.
“I’m sorry Master Dante”, he stammers, “ I can find you a maid…one that won’t try to seduce you”
Every nerve in my body screams, my jaw clenching , a loud growl ripping my throat as I pick the hammer and get closer to him, each movement, deliberate.
“When you are in my condition, we can talk about housemaids”, I grunt, and with one long, brutal swing, the hammer crashes on his knees.
Now he will wish I killed him instead.
His screams fill the entire room, as I leave the warehouse entrance.
Mama said “not to be bastard”,
And I plan on doing the exact opposite.
I am still livid when the driver pulls up in my drive away, my eyes landing on Clinton or was it Christopher?
Not like I cared about his name, he was Mr slob.
He definitely looked the part.
My eyes burned, narrowing on Mr slob, did he not value his job? was his life that futile to him?
He has one of the easiest jobs in the world and yet, he still manages to mess it up.
It’s pathetic that I need to be eased out of this bloody chair.
More pathetic that Mama prefers traveling and splurging to actually being a mother.
She should f*****g be here.
“Where is she”, I bark, my hands tugging at the back of hair, irritation fueling me strongly.
My breath hitch in my throat when I see her, fear flashes in her eyes at the same time, something explodes inside me.
She knew!
She knew I was crippled and still took the job.
What nut job does that?
My eyes flicks to her, brief and accessing, it lingers there a fraction too long. My grip tightens slightly around the armrest of my chair and when I finally look away, it isn’t disinterest…
She is…
Beautiful.
Not in the way most woman try to be, there is no forced sway in her hips, she wobbles for a second and then she stands straight.
My gaze drifts, taking her in piece by piece, like I’m committing her to memory.
Not quick enough to be polite.
My gaze goes higher, almost accidental, catching the soft line of her neckline, before snapping back to her face.
I put on my poker face, fear gripping me that the memory will hunt me later.
Anger replaces the fear almost immediately.
“So Mama not only employs a dimwit but one that thinks she can seduce me with saggy boobs”, I say,
A lie,
A weak one,
Gosh, those boobs are everything but saggy.
Her expression changes and for a second, I think she might fight back
But she doesn’t.
She swallows slightly, her eyes trained on me, “I have no intention of seducing you sir, I didn’t realize that the dress had a zip”, she mutters, a voice, higher than before.
“Liar”, I scream, wheeling towards her.
Too close.
Closer than I should be.
My breath hitches as she bends down.
How will you…” she leans closer, voice barely audible, “…if I actually tried to seduce you?
The air between us thickens. My pulse hammers in my temples, not from fear but from curiosity. That tiny breath, that soft hesitation does something to me I’m not ready to admit.
She really does believe me, incapable.
How cute.
- Writer
