Soulless Deeds (Temple of Kings #2)

1. I

I

Spencer

H er tongue slicked against mine, the soft, supple pressure sparking heat to my centre. I caught her roaming fingers with my own, pulling back to stare into her intoxicating, lust-filled eyes.

Direct, straight forward, no room for misinterpretation.

I squeezed her hand gently. “It isn’t you, it’s me.” I internally cringed at the cheesy line, but I wasn’t blessed with tact. She ignored me, pushing closer to catch my lips once more, grasping my nipple with her deft fingertips just the way I like .

Sudo’s attempt to seduce me into submission was a solid plan, but she didn’t know I was the master of manipulation. When I made up my mind, I made up my fucking mind .

Retreating out of reach, her hands fell limp, ringmaster costume jacket opening a sliver to give me a clear view of her puckered nipples and dripping centre. So inviting, yet if I stole one last taste, my departure would only be harder on her.

Sudo’s pleading eyes lined with tears, expression distraught. “Please stay. We can keep this casual. I take what I said back. I didn’t mean it.”

I tucked a loose strand of shining black hair behind her ear. “You did mean it. I warned you from the beginning not to get attached. We’re over, darling.”

As I steered for the door, her despair turned to anger, her plea desperate. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You lying piece of shit.”

My step faltered. I was no liar. Actually prided myself on being transparent, almost brutally so. My sisters described me as overly emotional and chaotic. The word they were missing was real. I was always true to myself. Always.

None of that fake shit. I wasn’t about to dull my shine for others to swallow me down easier. They either handled me— all of me— or got the fuck out of the way.

I spun, scanning her narrowed eyes, her features warped into an impressive sneer. Another person who thought they could twist my words and give them whatever meaning they saw fit.

I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “You know when I said it wasn’t you? Well…it is you. From the first, I warned you not to expect anything from me other than a paycheck. I’m no liar, darling. You’re lying to yourself.”

With her mouth agape, I departed—well, tried to. As my hand reached the handle, I heard a curse from behind, shortly followed by a whoosh. I ducked. A red stiletto thumped against the door where my head was a second before.

Crazy bitch.

With a shake of my head, I made my exit, slammed the door behind me and never looked back.

And there we have it, folks, another scorned lover… If only I cared.

Sudo was a pawn in my infiltration mission, a valuable source of intel as well as a good fuck. She had adequately met both needs and was paid handsomely for the trouble. Not that I ever left her physically unsatisfied.

Sudo was known as Ringmaster, the madam of Playhouse—an exclusive club full of lustful sin and desire. A debaucherous maze that catered to every kink, each room tailored to specific needs involving flesh, sex and guaranteed ecstasy. Playhouse was the epicentre of Serpents Row, the red light district of Junction City, the streets owned and run by the illustrious underground organisation called Vice. Which was why I was there.

I was genetically coded for undercover operations, my DNA alone the single tool I required to achieve my goals. Of which I only had one.

Soul-destroying revenge.

Ten percent of the general population were blessed with a Variant—essentially humans with superpowers. And I was one of them. Even amongst our own, my ability was considered elite. Being able to change my appearance at will meant I had countless possibilities at my disposal. Without my Variant, I was already a goddamn queen, but with it, I was a fucking twenty-year-old goddess amongst men. And I fully took advantage.

Sucks to suck.

I weaved through the glossy black corridors with a whistle on my tongue. The sporadic chandeliers cast sensual shadows to dance along the walls, showcasing the priceless art and tapestries hung throughout, all displaying different sexual positions that were quite frankly complicated if not impossible to coordinate. Trust me—I tried.

Despite the allure, the atmosphere had grown stale. The circus ringmaster with the magical mouth had brought my experience to an end with her unrealistic demands, transforming our transactional relationship into candy floss and rainbows. If that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t have gone there.

In my reverie, I unconsciously took a wrong turn, arriving at a dead end with a shining black door. Before I could backtrack, a painful grunt echoed through the thick wood—two male voices conversing or arguing, I couldn’t tell.

“I said the safe word.” Whack. “Oh, god.”

“Safe word? I’m paying for a service, and I plan to get my money’s worth.”

Is this some degrading kink? What the fuck did I walk into?

“Please, sir. Please stop —” The terrified plea cut short on a pain-filled gasp.

I shimmied the door open, sneaking a peek through the one-inch gap. A naked adonis was strung up in the centre of the room, limbs outstretched in a star as his back was torn to shreds, the red V of his Vice tattoo stark on the base of his neck, camouflaging with his blood.

Behind him was a heaving middle-aged man sporting an expensive suit and a black leather whip, the tip lined with plated metal to cause maximum harm. Droplets of blood covered his face, highlighting the crazed expression pinpointed on his victim—his very unconscious victim, who had befallen to the assault.

The client didn’t seem to notice or care, his heavy hand advancing to deliver a series of unrelenting blasts. He was absolutely destroying the man’s body, ripping nasty strips of flesh from his comatose form and getting high off the damage—proven by his rock-hard cock which was impossible to miss.

I was all for a little bit of pain, but that flaying was dangerous and borderline psychotic. Yeah, the worker may have originally been a consenting flagellant, but he was way past that. His injuries were gravely deep, the gashes sure to leave scars if the flaying continued.

Then, a high-pitched noise came from the captive—a mix between a scream and whimper. He had regained consciousness—barely—the sight pathetic enough to have me intervene.

I snuck up behind the sadist asshole who was too caught up in his ministrations to detect me. He visibly shook with wrath and pent-up lust, the noxious mix causing his frame to shake.

On his next backstroke, I grasped the whip and pulled hard on the lash, the momentum shifting him off balance. He turned with speed, a feral rage distorting his features. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember him. Not that it mattered. By the time his expression could change, I’d already wound the rope several times around his neck and swiped at his legs. He buckled to his knees, hands grasping at the leather constricting his bulging throat.

He was a handsome man, his expensive cologne and three-piece suit screaming old money, his brown eyes popping red like fireworks as mini blood vessels burst behind his rapidly blinking lids.

With all the commotion, torn-up adonis was finally able to escape his restraints, bearing some gnarly bruises from the strain. He fell to the floor on all fours, completely still, digesting the scene with swirling silver eyes. He didn’t stop me.

I tilted my head in contemplation. I had a theory I wanted to test.

Psycho said I wasn’t strong enough to rip the lower jaw off a living person. He should have known better; I was all too willing to take on the challenge. The man at my feet tried to fight me off, of course, and with his solid muscular form, he may have stood a chance—if his system wasn’t already heaving from oxygen deprivation.

In one fluid motion, I wrenched his head back, shoved my hand in his mouth and yanked on his mandible. His teeth pierced deep grooves into my flesh, but I didn’t relent, pulling with force until I heard a reverberating crack.

He screamed (well, tried to), and I sighed in disappointment. I’d dislocated his lower jaw rather than ripping it clean from his skull.

Cutting my losses, I gave his neck a quick, thorough twist, the echoing fracture bouncing off the walls as his body slumped to the floor. As kills went, it was relatively clean.

Naked adonis had backed himself against the far side, body trembling, limp dick bobbing, tears staining his face.

Ignoring him, I roamed his room and fingered all the jewelled figurines that lined the shelves, all carved in precarious sex positions. His room was themed as a treasure trove, and he was supposed to be the crown jewel, no doubt.

“You can stop crying now. He’s dead,” I said.

He continued to sniffle. “That’s why I’m crying.”

“Oh… Was he your boyfriend?” I didn’t bother looking. I already knew the tears were fake.

“No. I’m crying because his death will come at a price. One I may not be able to pay.” My gaze flicked to his, which were narrowed into slits…at yours truly.

I huffed dramatically, laying a hand over my chest. “You can’t possibly be blaming me? I saved you.”

“And that’s the only reason I haven’t sounded the alarm.” He approached at speed for someone severely injured. I sneered as he laid a firm hand over my outstretched wrist. “Put it back.” Not such a scared little baby, after all.

I pouted, returning the figurine that was smuggled beneath my long sleeve.

“And the other one,” he said, lifting an obnoxious brow to my opposite arm.

I rolled my eyes, returning each jewel that had miraculously made a comfy home in my dress. Turning for the opposite shelf, I squealed. He had gum. My favourite gum in the whole wide world. Sweeter than Sweet wasn’t just candy; it was a fucking revelation. I swear, they ate that shit up in heaven. I was surprised they left enough for us lowly earth dwellers at all. By that token alone, I knew he was my type of person.

I jumped on one of the sex swings in the corner, content in blowing bubbles with my valuable find. He settled on the edge of a double bed, sparking up a pipe, in his birthday suit and all. I didn’t mind. Nudity was organic, the most natural thing in the world. It also helped that he had the body, face and dick of a perfectly crafted male specimen.

After a few tokes, his body relaxed, rigid posture now poise. His silver gaze tracked up and down my long-sleeved mini dress covered in sequins that directly matched his eyes.

“Anyone would think this was premeditated.” I smiled. He continued to suck on his pipe as I kept swinging back and forth. “This has been sanitised, right?” Damn, I ought to have asked before I hopped on.

“I haven’t seen you before. What room are you from?” He offered me the death stick. I refused.

“Hmm, I came from the circus room. Although, I don’t think I’ll be welcome back there.”

“Sudo is a hard nut to crack. This job isn’t cut out for everyone.”

My head cocked to the side. “I’m not here for a job. I’m a client… Well, was a client.”

His face drained of colour, fake eyelashes fluttering. “You.” Cough. “Fuck, I’m totally screwed.”

“I don’t see why. He deserved this.” Referring to the corpse positioned in the centre. “Your eyes seem awfully dry now. Where are those tears for your lover?”

He growled, whipped a silk robe over his form and paced, thick smoke floating behind as he toked harder.

“Do you need help with the clean up?”

He halted, silver eyes fixed on me in disbelief. “Who are you?”

“Do you need my help or not?”

“Why would you…”

I shrugged, aiming for the door. “If we’re done here, I’ll be heading off now.”

A firm hand pulled on my shoulder, spinning me to face plant into his sweaty, hard chest. “Ah, what the fuck?” My words were muffled from the contact.

He retreated, averting his eyes. “What do you want from me? Name your price.” For my silence. I knew how that game went.

My brows rose. Taking the lapels of his robe in each hand, I closed it over his chest and tightened the belt around his waist, near cutting off his circulation. He winced, no doubt his back bleeding with excruciating pain. “No offence, but I don’t think your injuries would be able to hold up.”

I backpedalled, his mouth agape, stunned into silence. When I reached for the handle, he found his voice. “You wouldn’t be able to afford me anyway.”

My lips wobbled, preventing a snicker from breaking through. My eyes roamed up and down his killer frame, muscles flawlessly proportioned and accentuated with the fine sheen of perspiration. “Hmm, I can tell.” We both gave a carefree laugh. “What’s your name?”

He waved an errant hand in the air. “Trove.” He was dead serious.

“As in treasure trove?” I chuckled. “Not your stage name, your real name.”

He hesitated, unsure how I would use the ammo against him. “Remi.”

I dropped into an elaborate curtsey. “Well, Remi, I’m Spencer.” Giving him my name was probably stupid…but if he used it against me, I’d simply kill him, which would be unfortunate. Despite my previous statement, I liked injured, sexy things.

Remi’s lips lifted into a reluctant smile. “I’m in your debt.” I gave a dismissive wave. I had no intention of returning.

Pushing through the exit, Remi’s voice drifted behind. “When you think you can handle me, come back for a visit, Spencer .” My name rolled off his tongue as smooth and alluring as a lover. I simply lifted a middle finger over my shoulder, metaphorically telling him to go fuck himself.

His chuckle chased me down the corridor.