Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Thirty minutes prior
Blackwell
In an instant, we’re transported from the room with Bellonna and Varys back to the clubhouse, straight into Warrick’s office. Fuck me. I love this mode of transportation. It's right out of a Star Trek movie, and I’m here for it. Beam me up, Bellonna.
The office is silent at first, a stillness hanging in the air, but it shatters as Warrick slams his fist on his desk. The impact echoes like a gunshot, the wood cracking under the force.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Warrick’s voice booms as his chest heaves with ragged nonexistent breaths. His face twists with a fury that’s so raw it’s almost primal.
“Testy, aren’t we?”
He lifts his head, his eyes scanning the room as if he’s searching for the next target to inflict his wrath on.
The glass of whiskey is the closest to him. Picking it up, he throws it across the room, barely missing me as it flies past my head. My eyes track the glass as it crashes against the wall, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor as the faint remnants of the liquid contained inside splash everywhere.
“Well, there goes the matching set. Might as well break the other while you’re at it.” I turn back around, facing the glorious madman before me, waving my hand to the mess. “Oh, great.” I wave my hand at the fragments of glass on the floor. “We do have humans in the clubhouse, Warrick. Are you trying to add a trip to the ER to our budget when they inadvertently step on one of the jagged pieces of glass? Bold move. I respect the risk factor,” I goad him.
He sneers at me, his rage unrelenting as it consumes him. He takes hold of a chair, hurling it across the room. It hits the wall with a deafening crack.
“Don’t mind me, though. Please, continue. This is very therapeutic—for one of us. I’ll have one of the prospects clean it up when you’re done. My skin is far too delicate to risk getting a splinter from the wood. They hurt like a bitch. I remember the last one I had as a human. I begged for them to just cut my finger off.”
Warrick lets out a guttural roar, letting me know he’s not a fan of my play-by-play commentary, but fuck if I care. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in decades. Maybe I should video it, then let it go viral on the web. I could make millions. Not that I need the money, but the anguish it’ll cost Warrick once he calms down and sees it will be priceless.
He picks up the laptop from his desk, chucking it across the room, and it lands with a thump on the floor. Yep, that’s unusable now.
Warrick growls under his breath, moving around the desk toward me, swiping the books sitting on the corner of it off with a single furious motion, sending them tumbling to the floor in a flurry of thuds.
Drawers are yanked open, their contents strewn across the floor in a chaotic mess. Papers flutter like wounded birds before settling in disarray. A lamp follows, its delicate base reduced to rubble in an instant.
His breathing grows heavier, each gasp a mix of exhaustion and unspent rage. He stops for a moment, standing amid the destruction he’s wrought. The room is unrecognizable—broken furniture, scattered belongings, and an eerie silence has replaced the chaos. But the anger still burns in his eyes, a wildfire not yet extinguished, even as the aftermath of his fury surrounds him.
He clenches his fists, his body trembling now, the adrenaline slowly giving way to something else—regret, maybe, or shame. His shoulders slump slightly as he turns away, pacing like a caged animal, his jaw tight and his hands bloody. The room bore the brunt of his rage, but it’s clear that this time Bellonna has really sent him over the edge.
I cross my arms over my chest as I stand and watch him throw his tantrum. “You know, I was just thinking this place needed something new done to it. Just didn’t think disaster zone was the vibe I was imagining,” I say, an almost cheerfulness present in my tone.
Warrick freezes, picking up his laptop, staring down at the ruined device as if even his fury couldn’t shield him from the reality of what he’s just done.
I click my tongue as I snicker. “Oooh, that’s a pricey one. What’s the resale value of a laptop in three pieces? Probably not great.”
It’s almost like a switch goes on in Warrick's head and his rage of destruction stops. His eyes scan the room, taking in the mess he’s made. His shoulders slump, and he looks down at the mess like someone waking up from a bad dream. He hates losing control, and he just did.
“Well, you’ve successfully destroyed the room. Feeling better? Or should I go hide anything valuable just in case? Next time, just yell into a pillow or beat the fuck out of a prospect. Cheaper, and I won’t have to call an insurance adjuster.”
“He’s still there with her. He’s ours, and she just waltzed in here and took him from us like it was nothing. We need to get him back. He’s ours,” he growls.
“Then call her. There’s a mirror. Somehow, it managed to survive your rampage. We’ll say it’s a sign. Call her. It’s not that hard. It’s just two words, repeated three times. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” I chuckle.
“If it’s so easy, then you do it!” Warrick barks, and I give him a bow, ready to show him how a real man handles his issues- head on.
“Fine,” I reply, making my way over to the mirror on the wall. I always found it funny we had one in here. I always thought Warrick had a secret pretty boy image and liked to primp in front of it. Or maybe it was fate. Those bitches would know we needed one at this moment and already had it destined to be here. Surely if Bloody Mary is real, so are they.
“Well, what’s taking you so long? Scared?” Warrick’s deep voice fills my ears, and I bite back my remark.
“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,” I chant and wait, but nothing. She doesn’t appear, not even in the mirror. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mar-” I call again.
She doesn’t appear, but her sultry voice echoes through my head. “Busy!”
Busy? What the fuck? Hell no!
“Where is she?” Warrick asks.
“She said she’s busy. But fuck that. Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,” I call again, with more emphasis on her name. While I like games, I can’t let Warrick think this is harder than I said it would be.
Her voice rings out again. “ I said I was fucking busy. But since you are so impatient, enjoy.”
Enjoy? What the fuck does she mean? Then it hits me like a punch to the gut. My body’s on fire. Slick and hard at the same time. It’s like there are a million nerve endings firing all over my body simultaneously. Then it changes and I feel like I’m being crushed, gripped so tightly as something moves along my body.
Fuck, my cock is so hard.
I yearn to come, to shoot my load, and to clamp down all at the same time. What the fuck is happening? My hand goes to my pants, undoing them quickly as I pull out my hard shaft, gripping it as tightly as I feel my body is. My hand moves up and down the shaft, my thumb running over my swollen mushroom head, gathering the pre-cum that's there.
“What the fuck are you doing? You’re supposed to be getting her here, not rubbing one out.”
Fuck me, I want to respond, to tell him what’s happening, but I can’t get the words out.
“You like being my pussy and Varys’ cock, Blackwell? Does it make you hard? Do you want to come?” Her voice dances in my mind, telling me the answers to why I feel so alive.
“Yes,” I moan. “I want to come. I need to, baby. Fuck, this is amazing.” I don’t know if my response is through this mental link she’s created or if Warrick can hear me, but fuck if I care. I just want to come.
“ That’s all you get, ” she sing songs, and then there’s nothing. All I feel is my hand stroking my cock. My eyes roam the room, catching sight of Warrick staring at me with confusion. I don’t give a fuck though. I keep stroking myself to the vivid memories of what I felt until I’m shooting ropes of hot cum onto the floor and mess, adding to Warrick’s new decor.
Warrick’s face twists into a scowl, his confusion boiling over into sharp annoyance. His gaze locks on me, his eyes narrowing like the edge of a blade, and his voice carries an edge of barely restrained anger.
“What the fuck are you doing, Blackwell?” Warrick demands, his tone low and tense. “Why the fuck are you jacking off? Where is she?”
I smile, calmness taking over after my release, and I meet his glare. “She was here,” I tell him.
Warrick’s jaw tightens, his frustration spilling over. He shifts his arm in a sweeping arc, gesturing toward the empty room around us. “Here?” he barks. “Where, Blackwell? Where?! Because all I see is me and you.”
His voice rises with the last word, the sharpness cutting through the tense air like a whip. He takes a step closer to me, not even caring my cock is still out. Warrick drops his hand to his side, fingers flexing as though he’s fighting the urge to grab me by the neck and shake the answers out of me.
“Is this some kind of game to you?” Warrick continues, his voice rougher now, frustration spilling into every syllable. “If she’s here, then why the hell can’t I see her? Or hear her? Or anything? What the fuck are you talking about?”
I tilt my head slightly, my expression maddeningly neutral, which only seems to stroke his temper as I tuck my cock back in my pants, wiping the cum from my hand onto my jeans. “She’s here,” I repeat slowly, my calm delivery like oil on Warrick’s fire.
Warrick exhales sharply, a sound of pure exasperation. He turns in a slow circle, gesturing broadly to the empty room again as if to make his point painfully obvious. “Unless she’s invisible, hiding under the goddamn furniture, or you’ve lost your damn mind—she’s not here, Blackwell!”
His anger crackles in the air between us, a storm without an outlet. Warrick’s hands clench into fists at his sides as he stops pacing and faces me again. His chest heaving with barely contained rage, his eyes sharp with accusation.
“Stop playing games with me,” he growls. “I know you’re fucking insane. But even you know reality. You can see as clearly as I can that she’s not here. So what the fuck is going on? You call for her, then start jacking off, moaning like you’re buried inside some bitch’s pussy. So, don’t stand there and tell me she’s here when she’s obviously not.”
“Oh, but she was.” I laugh like a madman. It’s time to put Warrick out of his misery. “I called for her. She said she was busy. I called again and the little devil got mad. She decided to clue me in on what she and the unicorn were busy doing in her own special way.”
“And that was?” he asks, all patience gone at this time.
“Fucking. They were fucking and she let me in on the fun. And when some bastard finally gets lucky and ends this immortal existence of mine, I hope reincarnation is a true thing, because I know what I want to be. I’m coming back as a pussy, no a cock, fuck, they were both so good I can’t decide which one I want to be. Can I be the sexual organ of a hermaphrodite?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Blackwell? You’re not making any fucking sense.”
“What I’m saying is the unicorn and death dealer were fucking and I was her pussy, then Varys’ cock. I could feel everything and I mean everything . When I was her pussy, I could feel myself clamping down on his cock. Then I was her fucking clit; oh fuck, was I on fire. It was the best fucking thing ever and I want to do it again. It’s fucking spank bank material. Fuck this, kill me now, Warrick; chop off my head, I’m coming back as cock-pussy.”