Charming Savage (Cinder Crew: Mafia Fairytale Retellings)

19. Nineteen Chris

Nineteen: Chris

The mansion loomed like a goddamn fortress. Priscilla's goons patrolled the courtyard. Ella's grip on my arm tightened, the only telltale sign of nerves she'd allowed herself. The plan had changed on the drive here. Ella wanted in on the bloodshed. I was only too happy to oblige. My cock twitched at the thought of my pretty princess caked in the blood of our enemies.

"Shit, Chris, there's more than we thought," she murmured, eyes scanning the perimeter.

"More fun for us," I grunted back, scanning for weak links in the chain of guards.

We crept closer. The first guard—a beefy prick with more brawn than brain—didn't even see it coming. My hand clamped over his mouth as my other drove the knife up under his ribcage. Once, twice, three times. A wet gurgle, a spasmodic jerk, and he slumped, another piece of trash in the night.

"Fuck," Ella whispered, but her eyes burned fierce, not a damsel but a fucking warrior queen. "That was hot."

"Oh, I'm just getting started, little ember," I said, a touch of pride warming my blood for this girl who didn't break.

We picked our way through the maze of patrolling muscle, each take-down all snapping bones and stifled cries. My hands were slick, my veins pumping liquid fire.

"Next one's yours," I told Ella, nodding toward a guard too busy fondling his crotch and dreaming of pussy he'd never get. I handed her the knife, wanting to see if she would take it.

"Piece of cake," she breathed out, slipping from my side with a dancer's grace.

She moved like light, tapping him on the shoulder and driving the knife into his neck before he could even think to react. He dropped without a sound. Well, color me impressed. Together, we dragged his sorry ass to the bushes, adding to our growing collection of bodies.

"Christ," I muttered, watching her wipe her hands on her jeans, "you're something else, Ella."

"Learned from the best," she tossed back, a twisted kind of mirth in her tone.

Couple more guards down, and the thrill churned in my gut, dark and delicious. Each step forward was a step closer to Priscilla, closer to ending this shit once and for all. Fuck, the adrenaline was better than sex—almost.

"Almost there," Ella said, breathless.

"Ready to dance with the devil?" I asked, my knife ready, my soul ready, every inch of me screaming for Priscilla's blood.

"Let's fuck her up."

We reached the door, the last barrier before the bitch that had started it all. My hand shook with the need to rip into the world Priscilla had built, to tear it down, brick by bloody brick.

Corridors snaked in all directions, a goddamn concrete maze. My boots hit the marble with soft thuds, a deadly cadence. Every shadow, a potential threat; every creak, a call to arms. Ella’s light steps fluttered behind me. I knew this place, so did she. But there was only one spot where Priscilla would be hiding at this hour.

Eyes sharp, I scanned for movement—a flicker, a silhouette—anything out of place in this den of vipers. The stillness clawed at my skin, raising hairs on end. It was so silent. Too silent.

"Fuck, this silence is killing me." My hand twitched, aching for action, itching to draw blood.

"Better than alarm bells," she shot back.

"Point taken," I grunted, shifting my grip on the knife tucked away, its cold steel a comfort against my palm.

We turned another corner, the air thick with anticipation. Each step closer to Priscilla's office ratcheted up the tension coiling in my guts.

"Christ, can almost taste the bitch’s fear from here." The image of Priscilla’s smirk crumbling fueled me.

The door loomed ahead, her own personal gate to hell. A wooden slab soon to splinter under the weight of our vengeance. My pulse hammered in my ears, a deafening roar as the handle beckoned.

"Ready?"

"Open it," she said, excitement shining in her eyes.

The knob was cold, biting into my palm. Gritting my teeth, I twisted it slow, the click of the latch loud as fuck in the silence. With a nudge, the door swung open on silent hinges. The scene before us was fucking pristine, untouched by the chaos we’d carved through her ranks.

There she sat, Priscilla fucking Trevaine, decked out in power-suit glory behind that heavy mahogany desk. Her dark hair fell like a shadow around her shoulders, eyes cold and hard. Queen bitch in her throne room. My fingers twitched, itching for the grip of my knife.

"Well, well, well. How lovely to see the two of you," she greeted, voice smooth as silk, wicked as sin. That smirk on her lips was a slap across my face, a challenge.

"Priscilla," I growled back.

"Didn't expect you to come knocking at my door." That smirk never wavered, confidence oozing from every goddamned pore.

"Hope you don't mind us dropping in," I quipped, a snarl hiding under the jest. "Got some unfinished business."

"Ah," Priscilla leaned back, interlacing her fingers with the arrogance only a true tyrant possessed. "The prodigal son returns. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

My jaw tightened, grinding my teeth to keep from launching across the desk and wiping that smug look off her face.

"Let’s cut the shit, Priscilla," I snapped, anger flaring hot and bright. "You know why we’re here."

"Enlighten me," she challenged, head tilting ever so slightly. She was enjoying this, the sick thrill of the game too much a part of her twisted soul.

"We're here to slit your throat like the stuck pig you are," I chuckled, words loaded with the promise of her downfall. My fingers caressed the handle of the knife, ready to unleash hell.

"Finally grew a pair, did you?"

"Grew a conscience, too."

Her chuckle was low, a rumble from the belly of the beast. "You think you can waltz in here and call checkmate?" She leaned forward, the light catching the ice in her eyes. "You're just a pawn, Christopher."

"Maybe. But pawns have a nasty habit of taking down queens when they’re least expecting it."

"Such big words," Priscilla taunted, cool as the grave. "I wonder if you have the balls to back them up."

"Guess you're about to find out," I shot back.

"Indeed," she hissed, her smile all teeth and malice. "Do your worst."

And fuck, if that wasn't exactly what I planned to do.

The corners of Priscilla's lips twitched, her cool mask giving way to a millisecond of something raw and unscripted. But hell, she was good, reassembling that icy composure with the ease of a practiced lie. Her finger flicked on the emergency button under her desk. She was trying to keep me talking so that the boys from the safe house down the street could make it to her before she bled out. I'd entertain her for a while. But as soon as I grew bored, it was game over.

"You know, Mom, I've hated you almost my entire life. It's crazy how the woman who birthed you is supposed to love you. And when she doesn't, it twists you into something ugly."

"You are as useless as your father, I should have killed you when you cried after your dog died."

"Fuck you, bitch. I'm going to strangle you."

"Is that so? You're out of your depth, boy. Delusions of grandeur." Priscilla leaned back, smug assurance etched into every line of her face.

She stretched like a cat in the sun, her spine popping with the motion. She settled back against leather that creaked under her weight, expensive and black as sin. "Well then, puppy," she drawled, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "Show me what you got."

"My fuckin' pleasure." My voice was gravel, grinding out from a place deep and dark. A step forward, another. Each thud of my boot on the plush carpet a countdown to hell.

Priscilla eyed Ella and laughed. “Strange that such a mousey looking bitch made you so territorial. Tell me, Ella, does he piss on you too?”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll gut you like a pig.”

“My, my. You know, Ella, in all his years, my son has never been quite so protective over a girl. Must have a magical pussy.”

Ella stepped forward, a frown on her face as her palm landed square on Priscilla’s cheek, leaving a red welt. My heart swelled with pride. I should end her and be done with it, but I wanted to draw it out, to make her feel that panic as she realized there was nothing left for her on earth except her skin sliding across the blade of my knife.