11. Eleven Kai
Eleven: Kai
After that night, everything was fucked. I couldn’t tell where anger began and possession ended. I sat there, back against cold leather, rage clinging to the edges of my vision. I needed to regain control. Hiding from this fucking issue wasn’t helping anything. She’d sent out legions of low level drug runners to find me and it was getting irksome killing them. That bitch haunted me, twisted up in every damn thought until I couldn't separate the hunger for revenge from the fucking craving that gnawed at me every time I caught a glimpse of her on the street.
"Revenge or fuck her into submission?" I muttered under my breath. Obsession was a bitch, and she wore Gia’s face. But as much as I plotted her downfall, I wanted her underneath me, clawing, screaming my name. It made my blood burn hotter than the fires of hell itself.
My hands clenched into fists. Fuck it. Time to burn it all to the ground. It was a wasted effort, trying to take back something so broken.
At the warehouse, the smell of gasoline was a sweet promise as I splashed it across the walls, the crates, the floor. The men started to arrive and I watched from my car. They chattered to themselves before going in, wondering why the fuck I’d called them for a meeting but wasn’t there. It wasn’t until I closed and locked the door that they understood. The match in my hand was a flicker of damnation waiting to be unleashed.
"Kai's lost it," they'd say. Maybe they were right. It didn’t matter anyway.
The fire roared alive, consuming everything, everyone. Screams cut through the air and the smell… God the smell. They wouldn’t be missed. Some other useless mafia would take their place. Cinder Crew’s stronghold became nothing but a burning pile of shit.
I didn’t see Damien coming. That fucker was always too quiet for his size. Needle plunged deep, sedative pumping through my veins, and the world went sideways. Numbness spread, stealing control, leaving me at that bastard’s mercy.
"Got you now, motherfucker," he grunted, dragging my limp ass through shadows, deeper into the bowels of Gia’s domain. The familiar hallways, smells, lights, until he threw me down the stairs and dragged me into a room. Nice. A dungeon under her dungeon. Touché.
"Enjoy the show, boss," Damien's voice carried a smirk I could almost see.
Lying there, paralyzed, the cold concrete pressed against my bare skin, I waited for her. As if I had a choice, this paralytic was amazing. I could feel everything, but I couldn’t move. If Gia let me live, I’d have to ask Damien for his recipe.
She stood over me, a little smile on her lips as her skirt swayed, giving me full view of her bare pussy. A knife glinted, sharp with serrated edges near the handle, in her grip. Fuck, she was magnificent.
"What took so long?" I tried to taunt, my lips failing to push the words out.
"Kai, you're one sick fuck," she spat, swiping at the fabric of her skirt, revealing more of those legs that I wanted to suffocate me. “Killing all the men. Effectively destroying… well, everything. Now neither of us get Cinder Crew. We are all that’s left. You’ve been a very bad boy.”
Her weight settled on me as she sat on my stomach. She lightly trailed the knife down my skin, and I was hard for it, for her, for the twisted relief that came from knowing she wanted this as much as I did. We were both doomed, shackled together in this dance of destruction.
"Was waiting for you," I rasped, the effects of the paralytic letting up just enough so I could speak.
"Why, Kai? Why fuck with my empire?" Her snarl was all feral beauty.
"I just… I’m fucked up, G. You fucked me up. From the moment I saw you. Nothing else mattered and I fucking hate myself for that.”
Her lip curled in disgust as she felt me harden beneath her. "You're sick."
"Never claimed otherwise."
She pushed up her skirt before unzipping my pants and freeing my cock, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, and sank down onto me. The sensation was immediate, intense, a searing blend of heat and tightness that clawed a groan from my throat.
"Fuck, Gia..."
She rode me hard, each movement a deliberate provocation, a claim to power. My hands, mostly useless against the paralytic, twitched with the urge to grip her hips, to control the rhythm that was driving us both to the brink. She was merciless, relentless, and it was fucking glorious.
The pleasure was edged with danger, every thrust a dance with death as the knife hovered, promising pain. It was a razor's edge of ecstasy, a perfect reflection of the insanity that bound us together.
"Cut me," I wanted more, to feel the sting of cold steel slicing into flesh, to mingle blood with the sweat that broke out on our bodies.
She obliged as she sliced, trailing a line from the top of my shoulder, following the outline of a tattoo, down to my wrist. I could see the madness there, a mirror to my own. With every line, she cemented her dominance, marked me as hers with a possession more profound than any scar, any ink could ever be.
"Come on, sweetheart," I goaded, willing her to take it further, to push us past the point of no return. "Be my queen of chaos."
We climaxed together, leaving us gasping in the wreckage of what we'd done. Our depravity was etched onto our skin, with the sweat, soot and sin that lay waste to to the death behind us and the destruction before us.
And then, she released me—the knife pulled away, her body relenting. My breathing came ragged, matching hers. She climbed off me—a goddess. I propped myself up on my elbows, glad that some feeling had returned to my limbs.
"Look at us, Kai," she said, voice even, as if discussing the weather. "A perfect fucking disaster."
My gaze traced her form, the blood on the blade, the smear of it on her thighs, her chest. Her face was flushed with triumph, eyes alight with the reflection of the flames we both fed.
"Beautiful," I thought, because what else could you call such a deranged display? We were reflections of each other's madness, two halves of a whole lot of fucked up. And as I lay there, naked and marked by her, I couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction.
She owned this moment, owned me, in a way no one ever had. And goddamn if I didn't respect the hell out of her for it.
"Fuck Cinder Crew," I growled, pushing myself up on shaking arms until I was sitting, feeling the tug of my wounds. "They're nothing but ashes now. Let’s get outta here."
Her cold laugh echoed around us. "And do what?" she asked, her tone laced with derision yet not devoid of curiosity.
"Anything." I locked eyes with her. "We can go anywhere, be anything. Why this? Why here? Be my queen."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then she stepped closer, the point of the blade pressing against my chest, right over my heart. It was an offer, a threat, a promise—all rolled into one sadistic gesture.
"Your queen?" A smirk twisted her lips. "Or your executioner?"
"Both," I said without hesitation, every fiber of my being alight with the prospect. The danger turned me on. It’s why this worked. She made me feel alive in a way no one ever had.
She considered it, the edge of the blade dancing across my skin, drawing a line that could end it all or start something even more twisted. My pulse hammered, anticipation curling tight within me.
"Fine," she finally hissed, withdrawing the knife but leaving its sting. "You already destroyed everything anyway. And I like bouncing on your dick."
I smiled.
This was going to be the start of the rest of our lives.
And I couldn’t wait.