21. Cast
21
CAST
Tomas struggles in the chair, his wrists bound tight. I glance toward the door at the sound of quiet footsteps. The scent of vanilla and hesitant breath tells me it’s Willow.
She’s calm, unwavering, but there’s a flicker of a darker visage in her eyes. Tomas hasn’t noticed her yet, too focused on avoiding my gaze.
“Tomas,” I say coldly. “You’ve been seen with a young girl. You know who I’m talking about.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide, panic flickering. He knows exactly who I mean.
I place a hand on Willow’s shoulder, guiding her forward. “She’s going to help you understand what happens when men like you cross the line.”
Willow observes, learning. She needs to grasp the balance between pain and fear. I speak softly to her. “Break him. Make him confess.”
She nods. Approval stirs in my chest. She’s starting to understand.
“Tell her, Tomas,” I demand. “Tell her why you thought it was okay to lay your hands on someone who couldn’t even legally drink yet.”
Tomas swallows hard. “I—I didn’t know,” he stammers. “She was just… a pretty girl. I didn’t mean?—”
“You didn’t know?” I step closer. “Didn’t know you’re a predator? That you prey on young girls? You’ve done it so long you don’t even see the monster in the mirror.”
His face crumbles. The realization crashes over him.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “I thought… I was just having fun.”
“That’s the problem with men like you,” I murmur, leaning in. “You never stop to see the damage you cause.”
His eyes shift to Willow. The fear in them deepens. He tries to explain, to beg, but it’s useless. He’s caught.
Willow steps closer, silent, studying him. I give her space. She’s no longer just observing—she’s becoming part of this.
“Tell her everything,” I say.
Tomas stammers, voice thick with fear. “I—I never meant to hurt anyone?—”
“Enough.” My voice slices through the air. “You’re a predator. And now you’ll face the consequences.”
Willow doesn’t flinch. She reaches for the thin, gleaming blade.
Tomas jerks against the restraints. “Please…”
Willow approaches Tomas, unmoved. “You wanted to play with little girls,” she says quietly. “Now a woman will play with you.”
The blade glides through his shirt, drawing a thin line of blood. His breath hitches, body tensing. I lean against the wall, watching. The training has begun.
I watch her carefully, my gaze intense. She’s doing it. She’s tapping into a sinister presence within herself, and it’s exactly what I wanted to see. Tomas is no longer the one in control of the situation. She is.
She cuts again, deeper this time, and Tomas gasps, his body shuddering as the pain sinks in. He’s no longer begging for mercy. He’s pleading for his life, but Willow doesn’t stop. She’s focused, driven by a deportment I can’t name yet, but I know it’s taking her to the place she needs to be.
“You see, Tomas,” she continues, her voice quiet, but lethal, “sometimes people like you don’t deserve mercy. Sometimes... the only way to truly stop you is to end it.”
Her words hang in the air, and Tomas’s head drops, defeated. He knows it’s coming. He’s too far gone to save himself now.
I step forward, placing a hand on her shoulder, my voice low as I speak to her for the first time since she began. “Now, Tomas, what was the name of the girl you were with?”
Willow looks at me, her eyes cold, and there's the faintest flicker of pride, like she knows she’s crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. There's a presence in her now—something dangerous, something unspoken. It’s clear she’s no longer the novice who entered this room. She’s in control, and Tomas knows it too. He can see the transformation in her eyes, and it terrifies him.
Tomas's body slumps further into the chair, the fight draining from him. His breath is shallow, his muscles weak. His glazed eyes shift between Willow and me, his lips trembling. He knows his time is almost up.
“It’s time, Tomas,” I say softly, stepping back. “You’re going to tell us who you’ve been working with. Who is the mole? Who have you been feeding information to?”
I watch him carefully, knowing his confession is coming. Willow stays quiet, her gaze sharp, her presence as commanding as mine.
"It’s Ricardo’s daughter," he gasps, his words stumbling out. “The 16-year-old, Valentina.”
Willow doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show a flicker of surprise. I can see she’s already processing the information, weighing its implications. The girl—Ricardo’s daughter—has been working him, slowly making him comfortable enough for him to feed her information. That explains how she has stayed one step ahead of the cartel and me.
“Well done,” I say, my voice low but laced with satisfaction. “Now we know. Thank you, Tomas.”
The words sound like an afterthought, but they’re enough. Willow steps forward, her face devoid of emotion as she meets Tomas’s gaze one last time. Her hand tightens on the handle of the blade in her grasp, and I feel a thrill of anticipation building in the air between us. This is where we end it.
Willow’s movements are deliberate, controlled. She doesn’t hesitate. Tomas’s eyes dart from the blade to her, his desperation palpable now. “No… please,” he croaks, his voice breaking. “I... I told you everything. Please... just let me go...”
“Isn’t that exactly what those little girls said to you?” She snarls.
Tomas' eyes widen like he knows what's happening next.
Without another word, Willow leans in, pressing the blade against Tomas’s throat with precision, her grip steady as she makes the final cut. It’s quick. Clean. Final.
Tomas’s life spills out in an instant, and I feel the shift in the room as he dies. The silence after his last breath is almost serene, as if the world itself acknowledges the justice that has been delivered.
Willow stands there for a moment, watching him, her chest rising and falling slowly, the calm aftermath settling over her. Her face is unreadable, but I know what I see in her eyes. She’s not the same person who walked in here.
I walk over to her, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “You did well,” I tell her, my voice low, but laced with approval. “You did exactly what was needed.” The words carry weight, but they’re also a reward, a subtle acknowledgment that she has earned my respect.
Willow doesn’t smile back, but there’s a glint in her eyes. She’s no longer questioning herself. She’s become something else.
Something darker.
And I’m proud of her.
She looks at me then, her eyes locking onto mine with a fire I hadn’t seen before. There’s a conviction there now—something more than just a pupil looking to learn. There’s a sinister vibe. And I don’t need to ask her to confirm it. I can feel it in the way she stands, in the tension that’s simmering between us.
I reach up, brushing a strand of her hair back from her face, letting my fingers linger just a moment too long on her skin. The air feels thick now, charged with a different kind of energy, a kind that makes my pulse quicken.
“You didn’t flinch. You didn’t hesitate. You did it,” I murmur, my voice now soft but filled with a pride that only comes with seeing someone rise to the occasion.
Her breath hitches slightly, and I notice how her lips part ever so slightly, like she’s trying to contain the raw and unspoken transformation. It pulls me in, closer.
I step into her space, my hand moving from her cheek to the back of her neck. Her eyes flicker down to my lips, and I see the hesitation, the question in her gaze. She knows what I’m offering, and for a moment, I let the silence stretch between us.
I lean in slowly, my lips brushing against her ear, my voice a soft whisper. “You’ve become a prodigy, Willow. And I’m proud of you. You’re mine now.”
The words hang in the air between us, thick with meaning. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t stop me. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her eyes closing as she brings her face closer to mine.
The kiss comes unexpectedly, but it’s what I want. Her lips are soft, but the moment they meet mine, everything shifts. I feel her body tense, her breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t push me away. Instead, she gives in, letting the kiss deepen as her hands find their way to my chest, pulling me closer.
“My murderous Carina,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Her eyes flutter open, and I see the hunger in them, the need that matches my own. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. The way she looks at me is enough.
I move my hands to her waist, pulling her closer until our bodies are pressed together. She’s warm, her body fitting perfectly against mine. I can feel her heart racing, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice low and rough with desire.
She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. “Yes.”
I take her hand, leading her further into the room, towards the center where the cold, lifeless body of Tomas lies slump in his chair. The sight of him doesn’t faze her. If anything, it seems to fuel her desire, her need.
I push her gently against the wall, my hands roaming over her body, exploring every curve, every inch of her. She gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders as she arches into my touch.
“You’re as dark as I am, Carina,” I growl, my mouth moving to her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. She moans softly, her hands tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer. “You’re going to fuck me right next to your fresh kill, baby?”
“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.
I can’t wait any longer. My hands move to the waistband of her pants, fumbling with the button before sliding them down her legs. She steps out of them, her bare skin glowing in the dim light of the basement.
I kneel in front of her, my hands running up her thighs, feeling the softness of her skin. She shivers under my touch, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.
“I want you to feel this,” I murmur, my mouth moving closer to her core. She lets out a soft cry as my tongue finds her, tasting her, savoring the sweetness of her arousal.
“Cast,” she moans, her hands gripping my hair as I devour her. Her hips move against my mouth, her body seeking more, needing more.
“You're my little killer,” I say as I pull back slightly, looking up at her. “Say it,” I demand, my voice rough with desire.
“I’m your little killer,” she whimpers, her eyes dark with need.
I stand, pulling her into my arms as I back her towards the cold, hard surface of the table. She doesn’t resist, her body following mine, her hands gripping my shoulders as I lift her onto the edge.
I step between her legs, my hands moving to her hips as I position myself at her entrance. She’s wet, ready for me, and I can feel her trembling with anticipation.
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice low and husky.
“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes locked on mine.
I push into her, slowly, letting her feel every inch of me as I fill her. She gasps, her head falling back as she arches into me, her body welcoming mine.
“God, Willow,” I groan, my hands gripping her hips as I begin to move. She’s tight, so tight, and the way she feels around me is almost too much.
“Cast,” she moans, her hands tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer, her lips finding mine in a desperate, hungry kiss.
I lose myself in her, in the way she feels, the way she moves. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever needed. And as we move together, as our bodies become one, I know that she’s mine, completely and utterly mine.
“I’m yours,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion.
“Fuck, Carina,” I growl, my thrusts becoming harder, faster. “You belong to me,” I say, my voice a growl that echoes in the stillness of the basement. “Every part of you. Your body. Your mind. Your soul.”
She nods, her lips parting slightly as she exhales. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling but unwavering. “Yes, please.”
She cries out, her body clenching around mine as she reaches her peak. I follow her, my own release crashing over me as I bury myself deep inside her.
We stay like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high. I pull back slightly, looking down at her, seeing the satisfaction, the contentment in her eyes.
“Killer,” I whisper, my voice filled with possessiveness.
“Killer,” she replies, her voice soft but filled with conviction.
I press my forehead against hers one last time, grounding us in this moment before the outside world claws its way back in. Then, the sound of my phone vibrating against the side table snaps the silence.
I exhale sharply, frustration simmering beneath my skin as I pull away from her. I don’t want to leave this moment, I don't want to step back into business when she’s laying here, blood on her hands, looking like she was made for me.
But I have no choice.
I step away, moving toward the side table cluttered with the instruments of torture I’d laid out earlier. The scent of iron is thick, the tools still glistening with Tomas’s blood. I pick up the phone, wiping my fingers on a cloth before answering.
“What?” I say, my voice sharp, impatient.
On the other end, Matteo doesn’t waste time. “We found Ricardo’s daughter.”