Chapter 18
GEORGIY
It’s impressive how much mess Bane can make in such a short amount of time. The floor is covered in blood. He is, too. He even manages to get some of it on me.
A long splatter was strewn across my abdomen when he was sawing off a leg.
The sight of it makes me twitch, but this is how he works.
And he gets the job done. I can see why Anthony kept him around all this time.
Over the next seven hours, the two of us working into the evening, he finds out what Anthony wants to know. He does it with ease, and he has fun doing it. Or at least the constant chatter and cackling seem to indicate he’s enjoying himself.
What do you think about this? Oh, right, you can’t talk, you have no lips.
Oh, your teeth are very nice. They will make a pretty necklace.
Love the hair. Maybe I’ll ask Matty to teach me to crochet, and I’ll make a sweater out of it.
But despite the insane conversations, he’s pulled the information from them seamlessly.
Mostly. There were a lot of cuts and stabs and a little poison from Agatha, but in the end, they spilled it all.
The men who infiltrated the Costellos’ estate were hired by a Siren.
We got her info and location. She must be one of the surviving women who are out for vengeance for the murder of Tish.
Obviously, someone Anthony missed. I’d call him incompetent, but Bane wouldn’t like that.
He thinks of him like a father, and I refuse to insult him… at least while Bane’s around.
But it bothers me that because of Anthony’s mistakes, Bane’s been injured. It’s been twice now since I arrived. And all of it because of something Anthony overlooked. It’s because he’s so distracted by his toy, by Tatum, that he doesn’t have a clear head. They’re too busy fucking.
But I can relate.
Bane is a distraction too.
A huge one.
I think about sinking into that tight little hole far too often.
I peer over at the man I’m obsessed with. He’s waving a severed hand around, pretending he’s a butler.
“Hello, welcome to my humble abode,” he says with a British accent and a wild grin. He presses the severed hand to his stomach and bends as if giving a bow. “It’s so nice you’re all here. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He turns toward me and waggles the hand around lavishly. “And so has my partner. The most handsome man of all.”
I arch an eyebrow at him, and his grin widens.
“You shouldn’t be playing with body parts.”
“But it’s fun.”
He pouts so cutely that I find I can’t wait to scrub him clean and do things to him. Dirty, mean things that will make him come untouched.
I might even kiss him again.
My tongue sneaks out, wetting my lips. Bane catches sight of it and pauses, the arm and hand waving back and forth like a pendulum.
“You’re tempting me on purpose.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he says and then sighs, the hand flopping onto the ground. “I think we have what we need. We can clean up here and then go upstairs and get all squeaky clean.”
My tongue swipes across the front of my teeth at the thought.
“You can wash me with soap and get into every nook and cranny.”
My hand runs along my chest.
“I’ll smell so good for you. All pink and clean and smooth.”
I take a step toward the door, and Bane grins, shifting on his feet.
“Come on, Bane of my life. The cleanup here can wait.”
He bounces toward me, slipping on some blood and falling to his hands and knees. He smears it across his shirt when he stands, and I sigh.
“Just so you know, you’re the Georgiy of my life,” he says as I gesture for him to lead the way out.
“I am.”
“Yeah. Georgiy of my life, who plans on getting me squeaky clean.”
I do plan on getting him squeaky clean, to watch that blood slip down the shower drain and disappear from sight. To watch that pale, scarred skin become more and more evident the cleaner he gets.
I want to trace every one of those cuts. Tie him down so he can’t move and etch some more onto his skin.
I want to mark him on every limb. Not just his ass. Everyone who looks at him will know he’s mine.
As we move through the dark, dank tunnels, I shuck my surgical gown and toss it aside.
It can be burned along with everything else.
My scrubs can go into the washer with some bleach, but at this moment, I find I just want to get under some water with some soap so I can have access to him.
So he can be clean and fresh, so my skin won’t itch when I touch him.
I watch as Bane gets progressively more and more naked the further he walks. My eyes land on his bloody feet, and I want to redress the cuts on his soles when the shower is through. At least for now, he’s wearing some slides, and his feet are mostly protected by bandages.
With how he operates, it will take ages for them to heal properly.
I’ll have to make sure he takes care of them.
I’ll have to punish him if he doesn’t.
Not sure that would be much of a motivation for him, though. He might deliberately try to push all my buttons so he can face the punishments.
The wall creaks open, and we make our way down the hallway through the carnage.
There is blood spatter on the walls, men dead on the carpets.
This is going to take ages to clean, I think as I step over a dead body and move toward the bedroom.
As we do, we see Doc running back and forth downstairs, working on several guards who have been injured. Angel is, of course, helping.
I should as well—I am a surgeon after all—but these aren’t my men and I couldn’t care less about any of them.
Bane is my task. He’s the most important.
My eyes flick to Bane, who is now completely naked, his ass wiggling as he bounces down the hall. Even through the mess surrounding him, I find that the only word left to describe him is perfect.
That’s something I never thought I’d say.
I hate disorder, hate how things don’t align, how they don’t wrap up nicely, but the chaos and mess suit him. It seems to suit me as well because by the time we move into the bedroom, my cock is hard.
“In the shower,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes.
“I know. I know.”
The defiance and attitude make me grab a rope as I move into the bathroom. I’m going to tie him up and scrub him clean. The sass can wait. I’m going to make him sorry for talking back.
And then fuck that mouth with my tongue.
Bane skids into the shower stall, nearly slipping onto the tiles as I approach. I watch as he shakes his head under the water and then jiggles his dick under the spray.
I stand on the opposite side of the glass, stripping out of my clothes as the water turns pink beneath his bandaged feet. He didn’t even undress them. Of course he didn’t. He has no self-preservation.
He’s now flapping his dick around, like a helicopter, and I move inside, watching as he stutters and lets his eyes track over my body, his pupils blown out.
“What are you doing with your dick?” I ask.
“Getting some wind,” he replies.
“It is not a propeller. Stop that.” I slap his hand, and in turn, his dick, and he gasps, his cock growing erect.
“Oh, do that again. Slap my helicopter dick.”
“Bane,” I growl as I pull the rope from behind my back. “Arms up. I’m going to restrain you since you cannot seem to listen.”
“I’m the worst listener.”
“You are,” I say as his arms go up above his head, his hips arching out.
I wet my lips, eyeing his now-hard dick. I could fall onto my knees and suck on him. I don’t usually do that, though. The mess, the way it makes me squirm with discomfort, but it’s him.
I should torture him with the possibility. The thought that maybe I will.
I want to watch him fall apart just from imagining it.
I continue to truss him up, his arms strained above the showerhead, his body stretched out, his soles arched up onto his tiptoes. I step back and then use my foot to spread his legs apart until he cannot go any farther.
“Oh boy,” he murmurs, humping the air. “What are you gonna do to me?”
“Wash you first.”
I grab the shampoo, squirting some into my palm and working it through his thick, tangled strands.
He nearly purrs from the touch before I tilt his head and rinse the suds from him.
They drip down his cheeks and swirl the drain as I move my hands to his body.
I wash his arms, back, and chest, taking my time.
Making sure everything is perfectly scrubbed and clean before kneeling before him and working my way up his legs.
Bane is staring down at me as I work, my hands cupping his thighs and tracking up his ass. His skin twitches under my palms, trembling with need. I know he wants more. His cock is eager, straining toward me. Begging silently to be kissed or stroked.
I ignore it. Saving it for last.
Instead, I focus on his feet, unwrapping them gently and rinsing them with water. As I inspect them, I make sure not to press against the cuts lining his soles. They don’t seem to bother him. He only groans when I run my fingertip across them.
Of course he enjoys pain. Growing up, he had to harness it. He found a way to own it, to not let every cut and bruise and beating weaken him. Instead of crumbling, he became stronger.
My hands drift back up his legs and cup his ass once more. The place where my name resides.
My finger slides through his crack, pressing against his hole and making him gasp.
“Georgiy,” he moans, thrusting forward.
“Patience.”
“You’re on your knees in front of me. How can I be patient? I’m imagining all sorts of things.”
“I can see that, but you don’t have any power in this. You’re tied up.”
That reminder makes him groan once more, tugging on his restraints as I clean his ass and then move to his cock and balls. Stroking. Tugging. Making his eyes roll back in his head, his mouth opened in a loud pant.
“More. More.”
“No demanding. No words. Quiet.”
He shakes his head, but bites his lip to keep the words inside. It’s a hard, nearly impossible task as I continue to work him, lathering him up and rinsing him until his tip is leaking.