Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
REMI
B y late afternoon, after hours of being locked away in his office, Domino emerged without a word, grabbed two helmets from the closet, and dragged me toward the elevator. The doors closed with a quiet hiss, and as we descended rapidly, my ears popped from the sudden shift in pressure.
The underground parking garage was brightly illuminated and cavernous, the concrete walls swallowed every sound. Rows of exotic, high-performance cars gleamed beneath the fluorescent glow—machines engineered for power, speed, and control. My gaze darted between them, taking in every sharp angle and polished surface, overwhelmed by the sheer display of wealth and dominance.
A sharp whistle cut through my thoughts. I turned on my heel and found him standing next to his sleek, black motorcycle. She was a beast, all angles and aggression, exuding danger even at a standstill.
“I meant to ask you when you brought me here,” I murmured, stepping closer. “What is she?”
Domino’s grin flashed—quick, predatory, gone almost as soon as it appeared. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Ninja H2R.”
“They’re not road legal...” My words trailed off as he quirked a brow, the silent challenge hanging between us.
“And that’s why she’s so much fun.” He tossed me a helmet, his amusement palpable. “Let me get on first, then I’ll help you with your helmet.”
“Why?” I frowned. Putting on a helmet wasn’t difficult.
“Because your visor is blacked out. You won’t see where I’m taking you. No one goes there unless I take them.”
A pit formed in my stomach. Dread licked up my spine, cold and insidious.
“Remi,” he said, his voice quieter now, steady and commanding. “Look at me.”
I blinked up at him. The garage blurred at the edges, the world narrowing to the space between us. His fingers curled under my chin, tipping my head back, his touch searing despite its tenderness.
“Trust me.”
He was a killer. A weapon forged from flesh and bone. My brain screamed at me to remember that, to understand what he was capable of. But maybe I was broken—wired wrong—because without hesitation, I whispered, “Yes.”
I swung my leg over the bike, settling behind him. He took the helmet from my hands and secured it, talking me through the communication system. His voice was smooth and unhurried, but beneath it was something coiled tight, waiting to be unleashed. The engine roared to life beneath us, vibrations rattling through my bones, setting my teeth on edge.
Then we moved. Faster than I was ready for.
The city blurred past in streaks of neon sound and darkness. Domino weaved through traffic like the laws of physics didn’t apply to him, like he was playing a game only he knew the rules to. I lost track of the turns, of the passage of time. I couldn’t tell which way was up, where I was, or why I was here.
It felt like I’d been plucked from obscurity and handed to the devil, and instead of running, I clung to him.
There was something intoxicating about him, the way darkness clung to his skin like a second shadow. He was a man who commanded his demons rather than feared them, leashing them only so he could set them free when he chose. I had seen him kill, had watched the way he moved—precise, unhurried, merciless. Blood-slicked golden skin haunted my dreams, seeped into my veins, and poisoned me in the most delicious way.
He had unlocked something in me. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight anymore.
Then suddenly, we dropped, like we’d fallen off the edge of the world. My stomach lurched, and the air turned thick, damp and cold. The engine cut off, leaving behind only the echo of our arrival. Domino pulled my helmet off, and the darkness swallowed us whole.
The massive space was ominous, the walls seemed to stretch endlessly beyond the reach of dim, flickering bulbs. The scent of damp earth and rusted metal filled my nose. Something about it felt… alive. I exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest.
Domino turned to me, his face half-shadowed, unreadable. “Come.”
I followed without question. The passage narrowed as we walked, the sound of our footsteps swallowed by the oppressive quiet. Eventually, the walls opened up again, and I stepped into a room that sent searing ice crawling through my veins.
A man sat bound to a chair in the center of the space, naked, his body mottled with bruises and smeared with blood. His head hung low, strands of damp hair clinging to his face, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. The scent of copper was thick in the air, mingling with sweat and fear.
The world tilted. I should have recoiled. Should have felt horror clawing at my throat. But all I felt was a pull—deep, insatiable, undeniable. Domino stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and the man whimpered, barely audible.
“This,” he murmured, tilting his head as if admiring a piece of art. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
I swallowed, my pulse hammering.
His eyes found mine, burning with something dark, something wicked. “I see you, Remi,” he whispered.
And God help me—I wanted everything he had to offer. I felt like a snake shedding my skin and growing into a new one.
“There’s a selection of tools on the bench over there; select what you want then come back to me, piccolo agnello.”
Domino circled him like a predator, his steps slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. He was patient. This wasn’t about rage—not yet. It was about control. He tipped the man’s head back, his face was swollen, one eye forced shut, his lip split wide open.
I quickly grabbed a small butterfly blade from the wide selection of blood stained instruments and stood beside Domino. My fingers tingled, and the knife in my grip felt like an extension of my hand rather than an object.
“You thought you could take from me, didn’t you, Calloway?” Domino’s voice was smooth, dark silk stretched over steel. “Thought I’d let it slide. It was only a small indiscretion, wasn’t it?”
Calloway made a choked noise, his head lolling forward. Sweat slicked his brow, strands of dirty hair sticking to his face.
“Six of my men are rotting in a cage because you paid off the police and gave them the details of my shipment.” Domino crouched in front of him, gripping his jaw and forcing him to look up. His fingers dug into Calloway’s cheeks, making his already battered flesh strain. “I wonder… Do you have any idea what that cost you?”
The man wheezed, a pathetic, broken sound. His body vibrated with fear, even though he refused to rise to Domino’s taunting words, his lips stayed sealed shut like steel doors.
Domino chuckled, dark and quiet. “You will. No one is coming to save you. You’re expendable to the Gallos…”
Then, he looked at me. The room shrank, the edges of the world narrowing until there was nothing but the weight of his gaze. The question in his eyes was silent but deafening.
Are you ready?
I wasn’t sure if I had ever been more ready for anything in my life. I stepped forward. The knife in my hand caught the dim light, the steel glinting, hungry. My heart hammered, a wild rhythm that wasn’t fear but anticipation.
I had watched him kill before. Had dreamed of the way blood stained his skin, how his strength carved through flesh with precision and ease. But this was different. This was real.
This was mine.
I pressed the flat of the blade against Calloway’s cheek, just beneath his swollen eye. His skin twitched. He was shaking. “Tell me,” I murmured, tilting my head, watching him closely, “when you paid them off, did you think it would end here?”
Calloway swallowed thickly.
“You thought their money would protect you?” Domino added, amusement lacing his tone.
I turned the blade, the tip biting into flesh in a long, slow drag. The skin split open in a thin red line, beading with blood.
Calloway hissed through his teeth, his body jerking, but he had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
Domino’s hand settled over mine, warm and solid. Not guiding me. Not controlling me. Just there. A tether. A silent promise. “Deeper,” he murmured against my ear, his voice barely above a whisper.
Instinctively, I obeyed. The knife sank further, gliding through layers of skin, parting flesh like silk. The copper scent of blood bloomed in the air, hot and thick.
Calloway screamed.
I gasped, shuddering, the sound slithering down my spine like a caress.
Domino exhaled slowly, his grip tightening ever so slightly over my hand. “See?” he said. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Unable to speak, I nodded, and a bloodthirsty grin lifted my lips. I watched as blood spilled from the wound, sliding in slow rivulets down Calloway’s cheek.
Something inside me disintegrated, and all the air in the room seemed to rush into my lungs at once. I wanted more.
Domino pulled back, moving around to stand behind Calloway, hands settling on the back of the chair. “You’ve got a choice, Calloway,” he said, voice light, almost casual. “We can do this quickly. Or we can take our time.”
Calloway gasped, his breaths coming in rapid, uneven bursts.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want,” he choked out. “Just—just stop?—”
Domino sighed and shook his head. “That’s not how this works.”
I dragged the blade lower, tracing his jawline, down the column of his throat, close to his artery. The intoxicating way he trembled beneath the sharp blade. The way the flap of flesh folded over itself the further I cut. His blood was warm on my fingers, slick and staining, anointing me in crimson.
Domino leaned down, his mouth close to Calloway’s ear. “This isn’t about information. It’s too late for that.”
Calloway’s entire body sagged. He finally understood he wasn’t leaving this room.
Domino straightened and reached into his pocket, pulling out his own knife. Longer, heavier. A weapon he had wielded a hundred times before. He flipped it easily in his palm, watching me.
“Your turn,” I whispered.
He smirked. Without hesitation, he drove the blade into Calloway’s thigh. A raw, guttural scream tore through the room, reverberating off the walls, vibrating through my bones. I swayed on my feet, pulse thrumming.
Domino twisted the knife, slow, methodical, and Calloway thrashed, the chair rattling against the concrete floor.
The sight of it was intoxicating. The way Domino moved, lethal and precise, he wielded pain like an artist wielded a brush.
My breath was shallow, my fingers twitching, itching for more.
He pulled the blade free, blood spilling over Calloway’s leg in thick rivulets, pooling beneath him, flooding out across the floor.
“Remi.” He held out the blood-slicked knife to me.
An offering.
A baptism.
My hand curled around the handle, fingers tightening, the weight of the blade grounding me in the moment. Crimson shimmered like rubies beneath the low light, pooling at the tip, sliding in slow, viscous ribbons onto the concrete floor.
Domino stood beside me, still as death, a silent sentinel in the periphery of my vision. He didn’t speak—he didn’t have to. The approval in his gaze, the slight incline of his head, the almost imperceptible parting of his lips as he watched— that was enough.
I wrenched the blade back, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, and drove it into Calloway’s gut. His flesh gave way, parting beneath the steel with a sickening wetness. His body jerked, his breath shattering into a scream, but there was no escape, no reprieve.
I pulled the knife free. A warm gush followed. I quickly sank it back in. Again and again.
The resistance of muscle and sinew, the way his body spasmed beneath each thrust—it was intoxicating. The wet slide of blood over my fingers, the way it painted my skin in chaotic strokes of red, felt like an artist’s blessing.
Calloway’s screams dwindled, breaking into pitiful whimpers. His head lolled forward, his breaths coming in ragged, desperate bursts. But it wasn’t enough.
I wanted more. I gripped his jaw, forcing his face upward, making him look at me. His eyes, glassy and unfocused, flickered between terror and resignation. The light in them flickered, on the verge of extinguishing completely.
A slow smile curled at the edges of my lips.
I dragged the blade up his chest, carving through skin, pressing just deep enough for the wound to weep, for his nerves to flare one last time before—silence.
The last sound left him in a shaky exhale. His head rolled to the side, his body going slack. The only movement now was the slow drip of blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the floor, into my shoes, into my very soul.
Power surged through me, crackling through every nerve ending, flooding my veins with something more potent than adrenaline, more consuming than lust.
I was flying. Breathless. Weightless. I staggered back, my body thrumming, my mind blissed out in the rush—the high .
Domino caught me. Strong hands, firm and steady, anchored me even as I soared. I turned, chest heaving, and met his gaze. He was watching me like he had known. Like he had seen this part of me long before I’d accepted it existed.
He smiled. Not a smirk. Not a sneer.
A smile.
Pride.
Approval.
I swallowed hard, my fingers still trembling around the knife, and let my head drop against his shoulder. His hand came up, his knuckles brushing my cheek, smearing blood across my skin in a lover’s caress.
“You feel it now, don’t you?” he murmured, voice low, reverent.
I exhaled, slow and shaky. And I nodded.
The knife slipped from my fingers, clattering to the blood-slick floor. My chest heaved, lungs burning, every nerve in my body alive with something wild and untamed. Power thrummed in my veins, hotter than anything I’d ever felt. I had never been this high. Never been this weightless, this untethered from anything but the raw, aching need coursing through me.
And then there was him. My anchor. My devil in human form.
Domino stood before me, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, his green eyes nearly black with hunger. His gaze devoured me, flickering from the blood smeared across my arms to the crimson dripping from my fingers.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something feral. “Dripping in blood and fucking beautiful.”
A shudder wracked through me, not from fear but from the way his voice wrapped around me like chains, pulling me deeper into him. He reached for me, dragging his fingers through the blood streaking my cheek. His pupils blew wide as he brought them to his lips, tongue flicking out, tasting the violence still humming between us.
My breath hitched. My cock throbbed. I was shaking from undiluted need.
“Domino,” I rasped, not knowing if it was a question or a plea.
He didn’t give me time to figure it out. His mouth crashed into mine, crushing, devouring, his teeth scraping over my lower lip before biting down hard enough to make me whimper.
My hands fisted into his hair, yanking him closer as his grip bruised into my sides. The air between us was thick with blood, sweat, and something more potent—something dangerous. Dark and delicious.
He yanked my hoodie off, then my shirt, dragging his mouth down my throat, biting at my pulse point, sucking until I knew there’d be a mark. I barely noticed when my jeans hit the floor, only aware of the way he was stripping himself just as fast, his sweatpants falling away to reveal the thick, hard length of him, slick, precum spilling from his slit.
“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice dark and commanding.
I obeyed without hesitation, my blood-drenched fingers gripping Calloway’s shoulders. His skin was wet beneath my touch, the air cold against my feverish skin.
Domino pressed against me from behind, his cock sliding against the cleft of my ass. His breath was ragged at my ear. “You look so fucking good like this,” he groaned. “So ready for me. So hungry for it.”
A whimper slipped past my lips as his fingers sank into the globes of my ass and spread me open. He dragged his finger lower, circling my entrance, taunting me, and softening the tight ring of muscle before pushing inside. The intrusion was unlike anything I’d ever felt before—ice cold pain warred with the fiery lust roaring in my veins. I groaned as he pushed in further, stretching where no one had ever stretched me before. When the pain subsided, I arched my back and pressed my hips into him, desperate for more.
“Fuck, Remi,” he growled, voice shaking with restraint. “You’re so fucking tight. You’re going to feel so good wrapped around my cock as I pound into you.”
“Oh, fuck.”
He pulled his finger out and pushed in two, stretching me further. His other hand gripped my hip so hard I knew there’d be bruises. Marked. Owned. Claimed. He twisted his fingers, brushing against something inside me that made my knees buckle as pleasure coursed through me, drowning me.
“That’s it,” he gritted out. “You like that, huh? You like being split open for me?”
I moaned, pushing back against his hand, fucking myself on his fingers. Chasing the pressure, the stretch, the way he was unraveling me piece by piece.
He pulled his fingers out abruptly, and before I could whine at the loss, I felt the weight of his cock pressing against me. His hand ran down my back, making me shudder. The sound of his hand working up and down his shaft echoing in the room, the blunt head of his cock nudging against my loosened hole on every upward stroke.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me you want it.”
I swallowed, my voice wrecked with nerves and anticipation. “I want it.”
“Louder.”
“I want it, Domino. Fuck me. Please. ”
A low growl vibrated against my back. “Good fucking boy.”
Praise swelled in me, goosebumps prickled across my skin as waves of heat crested in my chest. Then he was slamming inside me, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. A cry tore from my throat, my body clenching around him as pleasure and pain blurred into one. He didn’t give me time to adjust—he pulled back and slammed into me again, and again, each thrust rough, merciless, a punishment and a reward all at once.
The more it hurt, the higher I floated.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers digging into my hips, nails cutting into my skin. “You’re taking my cock so fucking well. Look at you. So tight, so perfect for me.”
I gasped, arching into him, my whole body trembling as he fucked me hard enough to make the chair creak beneath me.
“You love this, don’t you?” His voice was a growl in my ear, filthy and possessive. “You love being used like this. My perfect little killer, soaking up every second of it.”
“Yes,” I choked out, fingers slipping on slick skin. My grip tightened so hard that my knuckles ached.
He slammed into me harder, his breath ragged. “Mine,” he snarled. “Every fucking inch of you. Mine.”
The pleasure built fast, curling deep in my stomach, turning into something blinding. I was drowning in it, in him, in the way his cock was hitting every spot inside me that had me unraveling.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.
I obeyed, slipping my hand between my legs, stroking myself in time with his thrusts. The sensation was too much, overwhelming, pleasure bleeding into pain, and it sent me spiraling over the edge.
One more pump and I came with a wrecked cry, my body locking up as I clenched around him. Domino cursed, his rhythm stuttering before he slammed into me a final time, coming deep inside me, filling me with his cum and marking my insides like he did my skin.
His breath was hot against my skin. “Fuck, piccolo agnello. You love the bite of pain, don’t you?”
I moaned as he licked and sucked at my bloody sweat slicked skin. Marking me where anyone could see with his mouth and his teeth. “Yes,” I hissed.
“Your body is my favorite playground.” His hand ran across my trembling skin, down my chest to my abs. Fingertips teasing along my softening length before they wrapped around my cum drenched hand. He brought it up to his lips and sucked my fingers clean, the vibrations of his moan traveling through every fiber of my being.
We stayed like that for a long moment—his arms locked around me, his chest flush against my back. Tangled and trembling, we were wrapped in the heat of sweat and blood, bound by something dark, something unbreakable.
It felt a lot like love, but I knew that was an illusion. This was something infinitely more powerful. It was primal, dangerous. It didn’t just consume—it possessed.
And on my tongue, it tasted like obsession.
Once we’d got our breathing back under control, he turned my face toward him, his lips brushing over mine in a slow, filthy kiss.
“Perfect,” he whispered. “You’re fucking perfect.”