Chapter Ten #3
I hold out my hand. He looks at it, head shaking on repeat.
“I gotta get outta here,” he mumbles, standing on wobbly legs.
He nearly topples over again, and like an instinct, I grab him by the waist. Steadying him puts our bodies almost flush, and up close, his looks make me so dizzy, I could fall down.
I’m good at overpowering such things, but still… My thoughts are floating away from me.
Beautiful pet…
Mine.
“Relax, or you won’t get far regardless,” I hum, buzzing from the warmth coming off him in waves.
The hard planes of his body beneath my fingertips. And of course, the fear in his ocean eyes. It’s intoxicating.
The mound of his throat dips. “I gotta leave…”
He breaks our eye contact, attempting to squirm out of my hold. But I will not be releasing him.
Taking his chin in my fingers, I tip it so that I can see those eyes again. They’re glittering with so very much potential, it’s getting me high.
“Young man…” I tell him, though he’s likely no more than ten years younger than me. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
You. Are. Mine.
He seems frozen, just swallowing visibly. I’m drunk on the way he’s staring at me. The way he could be trying to fight me off. Attacking me, beating me with his bare hands, the way he did to my dealers… But he isn’t. And it’s enthralling.
The way he’s already obeying, and I haven’t even commanded him yet.
“I know what you did after all. I’m the only one who does.” My words lay the groundwork for this plan that’s taking shape in my mind. “If you’d like to keep it that way, then I suggest you start by telling me your name.”
Unblinking, he whispers, “John… John Chevelle.”
A bolt of lightning zaps me in the gut. I have to fight not to purr.
“Good boy,” I croon, with a brush of my thumb over his quivering bottom lip. “I’m Manuel Blanco. The Ivory… And you work for me now.”
“Wh-what…?” He gasps, dark lashes fluttering at my face. Despite us being about the same height, he’s looking up at me. Like he’s still on the ground.
On his knees before me. Where he belongs.
Fuck me…
“I have a job for you, Jonathan,” I trill to him, a soft rumble.
My coaxing tone. It’s not always genuine, but right now I think it most definitely is.
I want this.
This is mine.
Mine mine mine.
My head tilts as I assess my new toy. My new pet. A project that I see glimmering bright and exquisite. This possession that’s been dropped at my feet like kismet.
I so rarely give in to impulses…
“Can I call you Jonathan?” I go on speaking to him like he’s already mine. Because he is. “I think you’ll like this job, Jonathan… I feel as though you’ll be perfect for it.”
“I d-don’t…” He stops his shivering words and clears his throat, fighting to regain control. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain everything, don’t worry.” I show him a wolfish smile that can’t be helped, looking him up and down again. “But first, let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”
Now for our first test…
Stepping back, I release him and turn, waltzing toward the side entrance of the warehouse. I don’t hear anything at first, so I peek over my shoulder. He’s not running away—good sign—though he’s not moving either. Just standing still, blinking at the carcasses on the ground.
“Jonathan,” I call softly, and his face snaps back up, wide eyes meeting mine once more. “Come.”
He blinks twice. Then he follows me.
I’m grinning to myself as I stride to the door. Good boy.
Opening it with my code, I step inside and hold it for my new pet, who comes in after me. I flick on one set of lights, going for the wash station across the room. I can hear the heavy footfalls of his boots behind me, and it zips more chills up my spine.
Dios, está perfecto.
I cannot believe how splendidly this is working out. How fantastically this entire thing is taking shape in my mind.
Tugging my phone out of my pocket, I place a quick call to Kent.
“Sir?”
“I have two. At the warehouse in Red Hook. Outside by the dumpsters.” I stop in front of the sink. “Heads up, it’s a mess.”
“You got it,” Kent replies. “Anything else?”
“I’ll need some clothes.” My eyes glide over the broad frame fluttering nearby. “Large. And shoes. What are you, a twelve?” I ask Jonathan, glancing at his blood-stained boots.
He gawks for only a moment before rumbling, “Thirteen.”
My tongue slides over my lower lip. You sure are… “Thirteen,” I tell Kent. “Nice stuff, please. Only the best for my new friend.”
I wink at him, and he looks completely out of his element.
“Very good, sir.”
Hanging up with Kent, I continue to observe Jonathan Chevelle. His look is very enticing. Despite his size, and all that muscle, he doesn’t present like some dumb ogre. He seems quietly studious, contemplative, directly contradicting his actions out there.
He didn’t simply snap and kill those men, I can tell. This was premeditated. He put a lot of thought into it, which means only one thing…
Venganza.
I have to recognize that, in scouting talent for the prison, I hadn’t planned on taking on soldiers with baggage. After all, I’m not paying them to think.
But then, maybe it’s like Fabian was saying…
Motivation could be key here. Especially as it pertains to the leader of my army.
Desperate for information, I shoot a text to Kent.
Me: Get me everything you can find on Jonathan Chevelle.
“Do you, um… own this place?” He asks, tone curious, yet dripping with nerves.
I’m sure part of him still thinks he’s going to jail, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek at the irony.
I glance at him and nod.
“Is this… where you want me to work?” He goes on, fishing. “Because I should tell you, I do have another job—”
“There will be plenty of time to discuss the details, Jonathan.” I grip the edge of the large sink. “First thing’s first…”
He looks confused for only a moment before he catches on, coming over to me in tentative steps.
Turning on the water, I run my fingers beneath it until the temperature is warm enough.
Jonathan is still shifting with a few feet between us, so I reach over and grab him by the wrist, yanking him closer.
A small grunt flees his lips, but he doesn’t pull out of my grip. In fact, he shivers at my touch. I can see it.
Getting up close, I stand partially behind him, the scent of him—masculine, woodsy, with some dirt and sweat—mixed with overwhelming copper tightens between my ribcage. It’s heady, mouthwatering.
Pheromones and debauchery.
With his hands in mine, I bring them under the water, and it isn’t until I do that I notice the brass knuckles on his right hand. So caked with blood, I couldn’t even see them.
Sliding them off his fingers earns me a soft sound from within his chest. I swallow at the same time that I witness him doing it, running my thumb over the brass beneath the flow of water. Watching the blood rinse away.
I drop the weapon in the sink, returning to washing his hands. He hums, and my eyes spring to his face. “Does this hurt?”
God, when has my voice ever been so soft??
He’s focused on the way I’m rubbing his right hand, gently, but with just enough pressure. I’m no doctor, but I’ve been around the block, and I know what broken bones feel like.
“Not… much,” he grunts, blue eyes sliding up to meet mine.
They’re deep, almost endless, framed by dark lashes. The tattoos, and a piercing in his eyebrow give edge to how pretty he is. Like the way he’s fighting off the pain, though it’s there. He just doesn’t want me to see it.
I like that.
I don’t believe his hand is broken, but it could be fractured. “I’ll have someone check it,” I murmur while washing away deep red from his skin.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles, tone reserved. “I just want to know—”
“They got what they deserved,” I interrupt.
It was supposed to be a question, but it didn’t come out that way. Because I already know the answer.
I don’t know why he killed Jose and Diego, but based on what I overheard him saying before he pummeled Jose’s face into nothing, and the overall vibe I’m getting, I’m confident this was one of those revenge killings I’m so very familiar with.
“More or less,” he rumbles, a reverberation I can feel with how close we are.
It gives me more chills, as does the glint I spot on that last word… From the stud in his tongue.
Jesus fucking Christ…
“Dead is pretty definitive, Jonathan,” I croon, gruffly and distressed over it. Though not quite enough to stop myself from taunting him for more. “Are you saying, if you could, you would kill them again…?”
My eyes lift to his as my thumbs slide, tenderly, over his knuckles and down his fingers, the blood of his victims becoming nothing more than pink water swirling down the sink’s drain.
The answer to my question is living in those irises. It’s familiar…
I saw it once before… A long time ago.
A similar mass of fear and fury, and need.
“Over and over again,” he breathes.
My breathing shallows.
You, my pet, are sheer debased perfection.
“Why are you here?” He asks me softly. I’m focusing on washing his hands, but this time when I look up, his blue eyes are scanning my face.
“Those men you killed… They work for me. Worked, lo siento.” I can’t help the small chuckle that flutters in the back of my throat.
He looks like he has so many things he wants to say, so many questions he wants to ask. I like it… The mystery, on both sides.
He’s a tantalizing character, this John Chevelle.
I think he will make an exceptional guard dog.
“You’re not… mad?” He sounds skeptical.
It makes me want to laugh, which is such a bizarre reaction. As are all of these other reactions I’m having to him, and his presence.
I’ve known for quite some time that I’m unfulfilled. Deep down, in the hollow cavity of my chest, I always have been.
In my bones, I ache for more than I’ve ever gotten.
“Maybe a little,” I purr, meeting his turbulent gaze once more. “But I’m sure you can make it up to me.”