Chapter Ten. Asad #3
He cuffs my wrists, claws at them, trying to escape my grip and keep the knife away from him.
Pleasure—slick, obsidian, and feral—slides through me, weighing down the doubts, the questions whirring in my mind until they’re suffocated, extinguished by the sheer joy of the upcoming kill.
Even the sting of his short nails in my skin is another dick-hardening sensation, adding to the purity of this moment.
I release him, palm his face, and mush him back against the chair.
“Prince, fuck y—”
He doesn’t finish that sentence.
Isn’t able to.
Not without a tongue.
His sharp, agonized screams ricochet off the walls.
Xavier’s hands fly to his mouth, covering it.
But they do little to contain the sound.
And the shit is sensual. I swallow a groan at the texture of it, the wet, metallic scent of the blood, the gorgeous sight of all that dark crimson running down the sides of his lips and over his chin like tributaries. He’s a fucking sensory feast.
I toss his tongue to the desk, and it lands on top of his calendar with a sickening plop, then return my attention to him.
“Since you said you ain’t telling me shit, you won’t need that,” I say, tipping my head toward the severed offending muscle. “And you also don’t seem to hear or comprehend the consequences of fucking with me, so this can also go.”
Quick as a snake, I strike out, slicing his left ear off. Another gargled cry pierces the room as I drop the useless cartilage to the floor right next to his foot. I lean over him, ignoring his tortured writhing and pitiful whimpers.
Getting right up next to the space where his ear used to be, I whisper in the bloody hole, “You should’ve gone for quick, Xavier.”
Then I get back to work.
Hours later, with Xavier’s blood still staining my nails and its pungent odor lingering in my nose, I sit in the back of the van several feet away from another dark house.
“Shit, I’m about to be in my fucking feelings,” Eli mutters, his irritation coming loud and unfiltered through my earpiece. “No security in sight here either. Did Deacon and Xavier get together and form some sort of pact? I mean, gotdamn, I ain’t even get a chance to pinch a mu’fucka tonight.”
I snort, dragging a new black hoodie over my bare chest. Unlike my second-in-command, I’m relaxed, my muscles loose, a calm blanketing me like I just took the biggest shot of Patrón to the head or faced the fattest blunt.
That’s what a good-ass torture session will do for you. Clear your mind, body, and spirit.
“Deacon doesn’t have cameras, so you’re clear on that.” Disgust tinges Ro’s voice at his obvious negligence. “Also, the security system is not engaged. I don’t know what that means, so move with caution. He has a keyless entry. Let me know when you’re at the front door so I can give you the code.”
“Got it.”
I stamp my feet into a new pair of black Timbs and quickly rearm myself with the weapons I removed when changing out of my clothes covered in Xavier.
Moments later, I step out of the van and join Corey, Murk, and Crystal.
It’s a repeat of the same mission at Xavier’s. Same plan. Same execution. In and out.
Deacon’s Pacific Palisades house sits even farther back in the cut than Xavier’s, which is a benefit to us.
The four of us take off up the winding road heavily bordered by forested acreage, which provides better coverage for us, while the rest of my team approach from different angles.
Our boots hitting the pavement at a steady clip join the nocturnal sounds of insects and distant traffic.
By the time we creep to the front door, it’s clear, as Eli warned, that security is nil.
If we hadn’t already experienced this with Xavier, the absence of a detail would concern me, but like his friend, maybe Deacon decided to roll the red carpet out for us.
More expedient for me.
“I’m here, Ro,” I say.
“Hold on, stop.” The low yet strident alarm in Makeda’s forceful demand halts my hand, leaving it hovering over the keypad.
“What’s going on, Makeda?” I ask, unease skittering down my spine.
“What’s up?” Eli crackles in my ear at the same time.
“The French doors to the patio on the east side are wide open. Gimme a second.” A pause, and the low murmur of voices. Several moments pass before her voice echoes in my ear again. “Same on the other side of the house. Not French doors, but the ground-floor windows are open. I don’t trust it.”
Yeah. Even with the lack of security, leaving the house vulnerable is suspect as fuck.
Me, Corey, Crystal, and Murk crouch down on either side of the front door, waiting for Makeda’s signal to move. Impatience and a little unease crawl through me. This was supposed to be as clean and simple as Xavier’s. But it’s not shaping up that way, and it’s worrisome.
“Can you see anything?” Eli asks.
“Negative,” she says. “Too dark.”
I glare at the keypad next to the front door, running the information and possibilities through my head. “What do you suggest, Makeda? What’s the play?”
“Let me and my teams go in first and clear the house. If it’s all good, we’ll come to the front door and let you in. And, Eli, on my word, you enter through the mudroom.”
“Got it.”