CHAPTER 3
Evren
Murder in my mind – Kordhell
Metal clinks softly as my wrench finds another bolt. I'm elbow-deep in the engine, sweat and grease smeared all the way up my arms. My ECU got fucked earlier.
Fuck.
I should've wrecked that BMW M3. Those fucking Iron Hounds and their reinforced chassis.
The more I think about how they got past me, the more my blood starts to boil.
They kept ramming the rear of my car until it ended up on their hood, then they'd slam on the brakes and send my car bouncing off again. They did it at least four times, and I couldn't get them the fuck off me without risking my life.
“Fuck!” I bark, yanking a wire harder than I should.
My breathing harsh and ragged, my eyes drop to my hands—The transmission harness.
Great, I just fucked up my own car.
I stare at it like it owes me money, my jaw locked so tight it hurts.
As if I needed more shit to fix.
My hazel eyes start to glow.
That's what happens with my ocular augmentation, a mod that lets me track fast movement, adapt to low-light environments, and process spatial shifts, especially during races or fights. But they glow whenever I use it.
Especially when my emotions get the better of me.
And right now? I'm fucking furious.
Not because I just damaged my own car—a Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat.
No.
The weekly race I competed in tonight, I lost, and I rarely finish fourth.
Against Ghost Void—that gang of silent freaks always pulls the same shit.
You don’t see them.
You don’t hear them.
Then, suddenly, they’re there, slipping past like ghosts just before the finish line, stealing the fucking win while you’re still trying to process how the hell they got there.
Motherfuckers.
I hurl the damaged wire across the garage, it slams uselessly against the concrete wall before dropping to the floor.
I rake a grease-covered hand through my hair and pace once around the front of the Charger, restless energy buzzing beneath my skin.
The garage feels too fucking quiet. Too still and I hate that.
I glance around and see no one.
Good.
I don’t have the patience—or the desire—to deal with any of those idiots right now. I need to move, or I’m going to destroy my own gang’s garage.
I don’t bother washing the grease off my hands.
I stalk to the garage entrance, yank the door open, then slam it hard enough to make the whole frame rattle.
Like I give a shit if the damn thing breaks. If I order those idiots to fix it, they will.
The cold night air hits my face, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.
I stalk away from the garage and jam my hands deep into my oversized jeans.
I need to clear my head.
I lost money tonight, lost the race, and fucked up my own car.
I need to put that resentment somewhere, or the next fucker I cross paths with is getting his face introduced to a wall.
I keep walking—or stalking, depending on who’s watching.
My comm buzzes in my back pocket. I already know who it is. I don’t even need to check to know it’s Lira.
That little cunt’s probably missing my cock.
I sigh and change direction.
Now I know exactly where I'm going, how this ends, and who's taking the hit for my mood.
After twenty long minutes of walking and taking the Ascender—one of those secure elevators that haul people up into the Upper Layers of the city—I finally arrive at Lira's apartment.
I press my palm against the biometric pad since she added my handprint to the system. The door slides open, and I step inside.
The neon lighting hits me like a fucking assault, I squint my eyes to prevent her from blinding me.
For fuck's sake.
“Lira,” I lift a hand in front of my eyes to stop the harsh light from burning my retinas. “Turn that fucking mood killer off before I go blind and fuck you up anyway—though not in the way your needy little cunt would like.”
“Oh my God, I'm sorry, Evren.” Lira says, panic sharpening her voice.
I hear her heels clicking across the marble floor as she hurries away.
The lighting dims. I lower my hand and kick off my shoes.
“You didn't answer my texts,” she adds, crossing her arms beneath her augmented breasts and pushing out her overfilled bottom lip in a pout. “So I didn't know if you were actually coming.”
I look past her, letting my gaze sweep across the apartment.
Marble polished so clean it throws my reflection back at me, gold crawling over every surface.
Pink velvet, glass and crystal.
Too much of everything.
Just like Lira—expensive, loud, and desperate to prove she's worth looking at.
Then my gaze drifts back to her, and that spoiled little brat act pisses me off even more than losing the race did.
“I don't owe you shit, sweetheart.” I take a slow step toward her. “Whether I come or not is my decision, so get on your knees, and do what you're actually good at.”
“Evren!” She snaps, utterly offended. “You can't talk to me like I’m your whore—”
I tune her out like she doesn't exist, she can yap all she wants.
I reach for my belt, the metallic clink of the buckle echoing through her vast apartment like a gunshot, and pull it free from the loops of my jeans.
I hold it in the air for a second before wrapping it around her slender throat and yanking her forward, cutting off her protest.
She gasps and stumbles toward me, her legs moving before her brain catches up.
“I can,” I bend down slowly toward her. She’s so small I have to practically fold in half. “Because you are my whore. Now, act like it.”
I growl, my breath hot against her pale cheek.
“And I don’t like waiting.” I look at her, my eyes hardening.
She drops to her knees and unbuttons my jeans.
She looks up, her pink cyber-lenses wide with fear and anticipation.
I'm already hard as a rock—Not because I want her, she just happens to be available for me to dump everything boiling inside me.
I reach down and grab the back of her neck, tangling my fingers in her perfectly brushed, pink-streaked blonde hair.
Lira reaches up and slowly pulls my jeans and boxers down together.
The moment she pulls me free, my heavy, thick cock pulses with violent, impatient heat.
The piercings at the tip and base catch the apartment's light. It slaps against her lips.
She gasps, her mouth parting before her tongue darts out to wet them.
I'll never get tired of that look—when they see the size and realize I'm pierced down there.
She's seen them before, more than once, but it still catches her off guard every time.
Whether it's real or she's putting on a show, I don't give a fuck, I love it anyway.
She opens her mouth and my cock slides in.
I tighten my grip on the back of her neck, my fingers digging into her scalp to guide her.
My hips jerk forward on instinct, the metal of my piercing scraping against the roof of her mouth.
Fuck. That's what I needed.
A warm mouth wrapped around my cock, bleeding the frustration out of me.
Lira's head bobs back and forth, gagging around me.
I look down and groan with the sensation, seeing a woman, on her knees, taking me, choking is too good.
I guide her deeper, drawing tears to her eyes until they spill down her cheeks.
“Yeah, just like that, sweetheart.” The words come out in a low rumble, satisfaction vibrating through my chest.
My fingers curl tighter against her skull, controlling the depth and angle of her head as I use her for my own release.
I watch her through hooded, predatory eyes.
I pick up the pace, each thrust harder than the last. Every drive sends another jolt of electricity racing up my spine.
“Take it all,” I rasp, my voice breaking into a low guttural command.
The tip of my cock hits the back of her throat with blunt, demanding force. I feel her throat working around me.
Cute.
I hear her gagging.
That wet, choked, involuntary noise does more for me than the whole fucking city tonight.
I don’t slow down, don’t soften my rhythm to accommodate her discomfort.
If she didn’t want it, she shouldn’t have contacted me tonight.
I was not in the mood, if anything, seeing her tears track through the grime on her cheeks, seeing her eyes glaze with the struggle to breathe, only makes me drive harder.
“Yeah... that’s it,” I growl, my voice a jagged, primal rasp.
I watch the way her small hands, so perfectly manicured in pink, claw at my thighs sending a surge of pure, sadistic heat straight to my core.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my voice thick with the dark triumph of finally getting my frustration out. “Crying like a little bitch while you take every inch of me.”
I pick up the pace, my thrusts becoming frantic, heavy.
I’m no longer just driving into her—I’m slamming, my hips hitting her chin with a rhythmic, bruising force, the piercing at my base striking her nose.
I feel the coil in my gut tighten to the breaking point. My breath comes in short, violent hitches, my muscles corded and trembling with the effort of holding myself upright.
“Don’t you dare pull away,” I command, my voice dropping into a lethal guttural snarl as I feel the first tremors of my climax. “Swallow it all, you fucking whore. Take it!”
With a final, violent lunge that drives me as deep as humanly possible, I let out a low, roaring groan, my entire body stiffening as I begin to spill into her throat, my hips buckling uncontrollably against her face.
I hold her here, pressed against my pelvis with a brutal strength to feel her throat working and spasming to swallow.
I groan, a long, low sound that starts in my chest and vibrates through my entire body.
“Fuck...” I rasp, the word barely a breath.
I continue to thrust, driven by the heavy, involuntary bucking of my hips as I spend myself. As the tremors finally begin to subside, I slowly—almost cruelly—loosen my grip on her hair and release her.
My cock slips free with a wet pop, a strand of saliva and cum stretching from the head to her lips.
I reach down, my thumb catches a trace at the corner of her mouth, and bring it to my own lips, tasting myself.
“Good.” I murmur, my voice returning to that low dangerous rasp.
I stand there, looming over her in the dim light of her place, watching her struggle to find her breath.
I reach for my boxers and jeans pooled around my thighs, tugging them back into place when my comm suddenly buzzes in my back pocket.
The screen lights up with a message from Neo. What the fuck does that fucker want now?
I yank my comm from my pocket.
“Who is it, Evren?” Lira asks, starting to rise from her knees, clinging to my arm as her pink nails dig into my skin while she tries to look at my comm.
I look down at her.
I pry her fingers off me, grab her shoulders, and shove her away.
“None of your business, Lira.” I say coldly.
“Evren, please stay with me tonight, just this one time, I need—”
“You know the drill, Lira,” I cut her off. “You know I don’t stay. I never stay, and I’ve got more important shit to do now.”
I slap her ass, making her gasp in surprise, then turn and walk out.
The music slams into my ears the second I step inside. Neon lights sweep over the entire place, and it reeks of sweat, sex, and alcohol.
Everything I like.
I let my gaze roam over the crowd until it lands on my gang, ore specifically, on a flash of black and toxic green hair—Neo.
He’s grinning, doing some stupid shot competition like a virgin teenager against the rookie I just recruited.
I roll my eyes and head toward them, the crowd parting before I even reach the table.
Probably because I’ve got that kind of charisma or, because they’re smart enough not to fuck around.
I’m six-foot-three, and I don’t have time to check whether I shove annoying drunk assholes too hard.
I’m not built like those guys who spend every waking hour sculpting their bodies until it looks like their muscles are about to burst through their skin.
My strength came from doing, not posing.
I don’t mean to suck my own cock, but I don’t spend hours in the gym beating the shit out of sandbags and lifting car parts for nothing.
I stop in front of the booth and clear my throat.
The rookie immediately scoots aside, letting me slide into the seat.
One of them offers me a drink, I take it.
Soundwaves bounced off the walls and filled every corner of the room.
Some overpriced Upper Layer dance bar packed with rich people—the Uppers, who think having credits means they understand life.
I take a slow sip of my drink while everyone starts talking about the race I just lost, about how some of my people didn't do their fucking jobs.
The argument grows louder, spiraling into statistics, car builds.
Just excuses.
I slam my hand down on the table hard enough to rattle the drinks, and every one finally shuts the fuck up.
“This isn't about the fucking build!” I shout.
“It's about every single one of you not doing the jobs I'm paying you for.
So, let's make something very clear—if you don't want to end up floating in the docks, you'd better start doing your shit properly. Make damn sure those Iron fuckers never ram my car again, and Ghost Void never gets ahead of me. Am I clear enough, or do I need to make an example out of someone?”
They all bark out a yes at once.
I lean back, grinning.
Good. That's how it's supposed to work.
Hours pass, and my gang—Crimson Velocity—drink their asses off on Lira's tab.
She's rich, and I fuck her right. She can at least do that for me.
Then a commotion cuts through the noise, loud enough to make me raise an eyebrow and lower my glass.
I let my gaze drift over the crowd, but there's nothing.
I'm about to dismiss it entirely. It's a club—loud noises happen. Then I catch a retreating figure as I turn my head back to my table.
Long, dark hair swishing with what can only be furious strides. I track the tension in her shoulders, the angry stomp of her boots across the dance floor.
I wonder what the fuck could've happened to make some rich girl storm off like that. Maybe her cocktail wasn't expensive enough.
I scoff to myself, but then I follow the path she left in her wake.
Oh.
My gaze shifts to the bar, where a broad-shouldered man lies sprawled on the dirty floor, grunting in pain and clutching his balls.
My hazel eyes gleam, satisfaction surging through me.
Took down a fucker twice her size—and drunk enough to deserve it.
Interesting.