Frozen Savage (Cinder Crew: Mafia Fairytale Retellings)

4. Four Kai

Four: Kai

I watched her from the shadows. The security guard leaned in close, his mask doing shit all to hide the panic scrawled across his face. She listened, her body rigid as ice, and then it happened. That beautiful, explosive rage I craved—it burst from her like fireworks, her blue eyes igniting with the promise of hell.

The fucker must've broken the news—another client gutted and left to bleed out. My handiwork. I could barely contain the smirk pulling at my lips.

Got you by the balls now, don't I, Gia? This was a slow game. One I was enjoying. I’d killed one last night but made the mistake of dumping him outside. It would be a while before he was missed. But not this one. I gutted him and the girl sucking his dick and left them there for the timer to expire and the next set of clients to find them. When word of this spread, Gia would do anything to save face, and I’d make my move.

She spun on her heel, that luxurious mane whipping around like a flag of war. Her mask, a delicate piece of artwork, only amplified the lethal look etched in every line of her face. Goddamn, she was magnificent when pissed. I couldn’t wait to fuck away all that anger. That hate.

"Bet you can taste the blood in the water," I whispered. This was better than the kill itself—watching her world unravel, thread by bloody thread, each loss a strike against her self-esteem. That fragile little ego she tried so goddamn hard to hide. I’d had to hide a snicker today when she shot that emaciated kid at the meeting. She tried so hard to be tough, but I saw the flicker beneath her gaze. The girl wanting our approval. She’d gain mine the day she sank to my knees and sucked my cock.

I slinked through the shadows, my eyes never leaving the sway of her hips as she bulldozed her way into her office, the door slamming against the wall with a thunderous crack that echoed down the corridor. Her rage was palpable; almost louder than the stupid techno that flooded the club. I could almost reach out and touch it, that delicious fury.

"Answer me, you worthless shits!" Gia's voice cut through the silence that followed her entrance. No amount of steel could sound-proof her voice through the door.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. My fists clenched at my sides. It should've been me in there, commanding respect, instilling terror. But no, Daddy dearest had handed his empire to this thundercunt.

She lowered her voice and I strained to hear. The muffled sound of her berating someone carried through the walls, a continuation of threats and scorn. This was the Gia I knew—cold, calculating, a force of nature that left devastation in her wake. The one I was coming to damn near respect. To need. Not in a life partner kind of way, but in a ‘she’s my muse’ kind of way.

"Keep fucking up, boys," I whispered, leaning against the cold wall, relishing the chill that seeped into my bones. "It only makes my game easier."

Suddenly, everything went quiet and I moved down the hall and flattened myself against a wall, peeking around the corner. She stormed out of the office, the door slamming shut with enough force to make the walls shake. Her heels clicked on the polished floor as she all but ran back towards the bar. She was a fucking hurricane in stilettos, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"Fix this shit," she turned and spat at the scrambling men trailing behind her. "Or I'll find someone who can."

She didn't just walk to the bar; she prowled, every step dripping with power and fury. It was a sight to behold, Gia in her element, chaos in her wake and control just a whisper from slipping away. I knew what she needed. A damn good fucking.

I pushed off from the wall and followed behind her, the mask snug against my skin. The bar's dim lights played with the edges of my vision as I grabbed two glasses off a waitress’s tray. I sauntered over, feeling the weight of her gaze, heavy like a loaded gun pointed straight at me.

"Need to fuck out your anger?" I offered, voice low, as I handed her a drink. "Tonight, you're mine."

The laugh that escaped her was dark, dangerous. She took the glass, her fingers brushing against mine—a jolt of electricity, a promise of war. We stood there; roles yet undecided.

"Yours?" she challenged, a smirk playing on those perfect lips. "You don't have what it takes to dominate me."

Her words were a red flag, bull-fucking-shit meant to provoke. I leaned in close, our masks nearly touching, inhaling her scent—fucking psycho with a touch of floral.

"Watch me."

I stepped closer, the heat from Gia's body stirring my own. The glint in her eye dared me to make a move, and fuck, I was never one to back down from a challenge.

"Think you can handle this?" Her voice sliced through the tension.

"Try me, sweetheart." I shot back, my hand snatching out to grip her wrist, tugging her flush against me. She resisted, but I had the advantage of surprise—and brute strength.

Her breath hitched, those lips twisted into a snarl. Quick as a viper, she slammed her knee up, aiming for my groin, but I pivoted, taking the blow to my thigh.

"Feisty bitch," I grumbled, admiring her fire even as I lunged, pinning her arms above her head with one hand. My other hand found her throat, squeezing just enough to show her who was boss.

Gia's eyes widened, but not with fear—no, it was exhilaration that sparked in those blue depths. Her chest heaved, pressing against mine, a silent battle raging between us.

"Like that, do you?" I whispered, tightening my hold, feeling the pulse thrumming beneath my fingers.

She bucked against me, a wildcat cornered and ready to claw her way out. Her leg hooked around mine, trying to throw me off balance, but I held firm, our bodies grinding in a perverse dance of dominance and lust.

"Fuck you," she spat, the fight in her making my blood sing.

"Been there, done that," I sneered, but admiration curled inside me. She was a worthy adversary.

In a flash, one of her hands was free, cold steel pressed against my side. Shit. I hadn't seen her palm the blade, hidden somewhere on that deceptively lethal body of hers. Tightening my grip on her throat, I ignored the sting of the knife slicing into my flesh.

"Cut me, and it only gets better," I growled, the pain a fucked-up aphrodisiac.

Her arm strained against my hold, the blade drawing a warm line of blood over my skin. I watched, fascinated, as red blossomed against my shirt. She pushed it in and twisted. Little cunt actually stabbed me. Fucking hell.

"Should've known you'd like it rough," she hissed, her cut carving deeper.

"Rough doesn't fucking cover it," I retorted, wrenching the knife from her grasp and tossing it aside. It clattered to the ground.

We stood locked in a stalemate, breathing hard, the scent of iron and arousal thick in the air. A twisted smirk crossed her face, a mirror of my own dark amusement. We were kindred spirits in depravity, each refusing to yield, pushed to the brink and loving every goddamn second of it.

"Who the fuck are you?" she demanded, her voice a blend of anger and something raw, something needy.

"Call me Dante.”

“Well, then, Dante, let’s go to the rooms. This can’t continue here. You’re bleeding on the floor and the guests are looking.”

Knowing she was right, I followed her lead, allowing her to take my hand and shove me into the room.

The minute that door shut, I grit my teeth, yanked her close, muscles coiling as I felt her push against me. Her breath hit my face, hot and heavy. "You think you can just take what you want?" she spat, defiance blazing in those icy blue eyes.

"Always do," I grunted, thrusting her back against the wall, the impact a was thud that vibrated through my bones. She was wild, a storm of violence and sex, her power an aphrodisiac that had me hooked. She tore my shirt off my body, as I took my pants off before ripping her little black number straight off, the straps leaving red welts on her shoulders.

A guttural sound tore from her throat, half-growl, half-moan, as she raked her nails down my chest, marking me with streaks of red.

"Fuck you," she seethed, but her body betrayed her words, arching into mine, seeking the friction.

My hands gripped her thighs, hoisting her up until she was forced to wrap her legs around my waist, her thighs opening to reveal a glimpse of her pussy.

She locked her ankles, squeezing tight, trying to flip the script, pull control away. But I wasn't having any of it. Slamming her once more against the wall, I caught her wrists, pinning them above her head, a silent message—I owned this moment. I owned her

"Never gonna happen," she hissed, thrashing beneath me, her fight only sharpening my need to conquer.

"Bet on it," I growled, crushing my lips to hers in a punishing kiss. She bit down, hard enough to draw blood, a copper tang mingling with the taste of her mouth.

I pulled back, staring into her face, flushed with rage and arousal. "You will submit." The words were a weapon, a declaration of war as much as possession.

"Oh will I?" she laughed, voice dripping with contempt and something dangerously close to desire. "Keep dreaming."

With a swift movement, she twisted, legs and arms a tangle of strength and strategy. We hit the floor, my breath whooshing out of me. I was on top, then she was, a cyclone of power shifts that left no room for anything less than total dominance. We tore at each others’ clothes like feral animals until we were bare, but for marks, bruises and scratches earned at the behest of the other.

"Fuck submission," she breathed, nails digging into my shoulders as she forced my cock inside her and set a bruising pace.

I grunted, trying not to cum before flipping us over with a force that left her gasping.

We moved together, desperate, relentless, every thrust a statement, every moan an admission of how fucked up and perfect this twisted game was. It was chaos, it was carnal, and it was exactly where we belonged.

"Give in to me," she demanded.

I didn’t even bother with an answer. My hand twisted around her throat as I squeezed, watching as she tilted her head back, eyes fluttering closed as she yielded that bit of power over to me. It was… orgasmic.

Our climax hit like a damn explosion, simultaneous, shattering, a fucking collision that left us wondering what the fuck just happened.

Gia's chest heaved, those ice-blue eyes opening and flashing with the same fire that kept me stalking her every move. Fuck, she was magnificent—and I hated that I loved it.

"Now, who the fuck are you?" The question sliced through the heavy air, her voice cool but her body betrayed her, still trembling from our collision of wills.

"I already told you.” She studied me, knowing full well I was lying.

She rose, grabbing a robe from the back of a door. I tracked her every step, my gaze lingering on the blood that was caked on her skin. It was a promise, a silent vow that this thing between us was far from over.

"I don’t believe you, but because your cock is great, I won’t push. For now.”

A dark chuckle rumbled in my chest. She was everything and nothing, all rolled up into the most sadistic package I could ever dream of. I watched her walk away, the sway of her hips a challenge I intended to accept—again and again until nothing remained but our hatred and our anger.

With the click of the door, my mind refocused on the task at hand, all semblance of what had transpired mere minutes before already forgotten. I winced as I stood, realizing blood was still spurting from where the little bitch stabbed me. I’d need to call doc for stitches.

“I’ll be seein’ you, sweetheart. I’ll be seein’ you real soon.”