Epilogue
Paris
Six months later.
Someone is killing top agency heads—the men and women who supervised deadly assassins. But who could be that suicidal to even dare?
I sat in my high-tech living room, surrounded by the cold elegance of my wealth.
The glow from the wall of cameras cast a dim light over the space. It had been three days since the first of those cameras started acting up, flickering in and out as if something—or someone—was playing with them.
I frowned at the wall.
My top security officer assured me it was just a glitch, something they were working on.
But glitches don’t happen in my world, not without a reason.
They better get this fixed by the morning, or I will end their lives.
I didn’t enjoy this sense of unease.
I checked the room.
Two of my bodyguards stood like statues by the expansive windows. Their eyes scanned the cityscape below.
Another two guards positioned themselves by the private elevator door, ready to respond to any threat that should come.
Sighing, I adjusted my wide-rimmed glasses, leaned back into the plush leather of my chair, and focused on the report in my hands.
Who could be doing this?
It was the latest assessment from my personal investigator, detailing the scene at the home of the most recent dead agency head.
The man had been a friend, or as close to a friend as one could be in this line of work.
Xavior didn’t deserve this.
The report was brutal in its clarity.
No sugarcoating.
No euphemisms.
Just the stark reality of what had happened.
Xavior and his team had been slaughtered in a way that spoke of precision, yet with a ferocity that was almost animalistic.
Primal.
His body had been found in the study, slumped over his desk, his throat slit so deeply that the blade had severed his spine.
His men, a group of highly trained operatives, had been taken out one by one. Some had been shot, the bullets expertly placed to cause maximum damage with minimal noise.
Others had their necks broken, their bodies crumpled in unnatural positions as if they had been caught by surprise.
Good god. This was a massacre.
There were no signs of a struggle, no alarms triggered. It was as if death had walked in silently and snuffed out their lives before they could even react.
Those facts sent chilling shivers down my spine, though I would never admit it.
This wasn’t the work of a lone wolf.
No, it couldn’t be.
One person, no matter how skilled, couldn’t have executed such a flawless takedown.
It had to be a team—a well-coordinated, highly efficient team.
At least six people. Anything less would be impossible.
I reached for my glass of pink gin, the three additional splashes of champagne creating a subtle effervescence that tickled my tongue as I sipped.
My mind churned, contemplating how I could find this team, or even if they could be found at all.
They were ghosts, shadows that moved unseen, leaving nothing but death in their wake. And they’d been causing trouble all month, killing agency heads over and over.
They may be darkness, but every shadow has a source of light that cast it.
I just had to find that light, no matter how faint.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and I turned my head slightly as one of my men entered the room.
He looked at me. “Sir, Indra has arrived and is waiting in your office.”
I pushed the report’s horrors away and smiled.
Indra.
A hint of lust curled in my gut and tightened my chest.
I set the report aside. “Very well.”
Heat thrummed through my veins.
“Hold all calls and make sure no one disturbs me for two hours.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard turned and exited, I took another sip of my drink.
Indra was exactly what I needed right now to calm my nerves.
Orgasms were great stress relievers.
I stood, adjusted my glasses once more, and made my way toward the bookshelf that dominated the far wall of my living room. Its rows of leather-bound volumes concealed more than just knowledge.
My fingers traced the spines until they landed on the one I was looking for—a worn, crimson volume titled The Art of War.
I pulled it slightly, and with a soft click, the entire section of the bookcase slid open, revealing a hidden elevator behind it.
My bodyguards remained at their posts, well aware that this was a journey I would take alone.
This elevator led to my sanctuary—a place even my most trusted men were forbidden to enter.
I stepped into the elevator.
The doors closed smoothly behind me.
On the outside, the bookcase would return to its original position, leaving no trace of the secret passage.
As the elevator ascended, my thoughts drifted to Indra.
I hope she remains quiet. Why must she moan so much?
I frowned.
She was a decent new lover, skilled enough to satisfy my dark urges, but she could never replace Onyx.
No one could.
My heart ached.
I blinked wishing I could push thoughts of her away.
Why is she still in my head?
I could still remember Onyx’s dark brown skin, soft as silk, and the way it felt beneath my fingers during our most passionate moments.
The memory of her in that nun outfit—a twisted irony that suited our equally twisted relationship—played vividly in my mind.
She had worn it with such grace, her movements slow and deliberate, always teasing me with every step.
Indra was still working on that part.
How I wish Onyx. . .no. . .do not think of her. There’s no need. She’s dead.
But beneath Onyx’s grace was a defiance that I could never truly tame. Eventually, Onyx had rejected me, spurning the power and protection I offered.
She betrayed me in that act of defiance, choosing her own path over the one I laid out for her.
Not an ounce of appreciation for all that I had given her.
It had stung, far more than I’d ever let on.
But that was over now.
Onyx’s burnt and battered body, along with Havoc’s, was resting at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean—a watery grave where they could trouble me no more.
Two problems neatly solved.
A smile curled on my lips at the thought.
I won like I always do, and this team of whoever will lose too.
The elevator slowed to a stop.
The doors slid open, revealing the seductive view of Indra.
Hmmm. Finally, she is learning.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight.
She stood with her back to me, wearing the same kind of nun outfit that Onyx had once worn.
The dress was floor-length, clinging to her curves before flaring out at the bottom. The fabric was a deep, rich black that absorbed the dim light of the room, making her seem like a shadow given form.
Her hands were on the desk just like I had always ordered her to do, but I couldn’t see them from where I stood.
Yes. She has learned to do it exactly how I like it. Thank God. It only took six months.
I’d almost killed her because of it.
The headdress shrouded her in mystery. That dark veil flowed down her back, leaving only the barest hint of her profile visible.
She was an icon of forbidden desire.
The very presence of a secret temptation I could never resist.
More tantalizing heat surged through me.
My cock began to harden.
I stepped off the elevator, reached out, and pressed a button on the wall beside the elevator, locking the doors so that no one could interrupt us until the end.
This was where only my lover and I had access.
No distractions.
No intrusions—just the two of us, alone with our desires.
“Good job, Indra.”
She didn’t turn around, not yet.
Her stiff silence was part of the game. She was to build the tension within me until it was almost unbearable.
My pulse quickened.
This was going to be a night to remember.
I stepped forward.
Slow and deliberate.
My desire grew with every inch I closed between us.
My breath hitched.
There was something about the sight of a woman in a nun’s outfit that awakened something deep and twisted inside me, something rooted in a past I could never fully escape.
It was more than just a fetish—it was an obsession, a fixation that had clung to me since childhood.
I could still remember Sister Anthony vividly, the stern-faced nun who had taken it upon herself to discipline me in the private boarding school where I had been basically raised.
I had been a difficult child, rebellious and wild, and she had known exactly how to break me.
Her methods were harsh, but effective.
She would pull me into her cold, dimly lit office that reeked of incense and age. Her cruel eyes were always sharp as daggers, promising pain.
The ritual was always the same.
She would order me to drop my pants and underwear.
And that voice was cold and commanding.
My hands would tremble as I obeyed, my heart pounding in my chest as she took out the large, thick paddle.
And I would go to her desk and bend over.
I could still remember the sound of it striking my bare skin.
But it wasn’t just the pain that stuck with me; it was what came afterward.
When she was done, she would put the paddle aside, and her demeanor would soften just a little bit.
With a haunting smile, she would kneel down in front of me, her hands gentle as she would reach for my penis and tuck it inside my underwear as if she were putting away a delicate toy.
That moment—that act of control and care—had imprinted itself on my mind, entwining pain with pleasure in a way I could never unravel.
No matter how many years passed, no matter how much power I accumulated, I could never shake the memory of those moments, the way she had owned me so completely.
Now, as I approached Indra, those memories flooded back, fueling my desire.
She stood there, silent and obedient, embodying the same contradiction that had haunted me for so long.
I could see it in the way she held herself, in the way she allowed me to approach without a word, knowing exactly what I wanted, what I needed.
Unlike the days with Sister Anthony, I was the one in control now.
By the time I reached Indra, I was hard as a rock. My cock strained against the fabric of my pants.
I stopped just two feet behind Indra, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body.
Yes. Very good. Just how I like it. Silent and stiff.
My breath came out in ragged gasps.
Oh. I’m going to fuck you good, and you’re not going to make a sound.
My hands moved on their own, undoing the button on my pants.
Heated desire surged through me like a drug.
I reached down and pulled my cock free.
And right as I stepped forward to lower myself and grab the hem of her dress, a cold, unyielding pressure was suddenly at the back of my head.
What?
I’d been in the assassin world long enough to understand that the pressure was the unmistakable touch of a gun barrel.
I froze, every muscle in my body tensing, my mind racing to make sense of what was happening.
Who would fucking dare?
And then, a deep voice cut through the silence. “Good evening, Paris. You look quite dashing as usual.”
No!
My blood turned to ice.
That voice.
It was impossible.
No!
My mind screamed in denial even as my lips whispered the words that I dreaded to speak. “No. It can't be. Y-you're dead.”
“Dead?” Havoc laughed behind me and pressed the gun’s point harder into the back of my head. “Now that’s not a nice way to greet your good friend.”
Then, Indra began to turn around and. . .it wasn’t her.
No!
My heart pounded in fear.
When she faced me, the breath caught in my throat.
I trembled. “O-onyx, you’re alive.”
She stood there, and locked those dark eyes onto me.
As I looked at her, I was consumed by a sickening combination of horror and arousal. It was insane. I was completely turned on, my body betraying me in the worst possible way, even as my mind screamed that this couldn’t be real.
“N-no,” I whispered. “N-no, this isn’t possible. You’re supposed to be dead.”
Onyx’s lips curled into a smile that was anything but kind. “Oh, Paris. Did you really think you could get rid of us that easily?”
My legs trembled, and the shame of my arousal only deepened my humiliation.
Pre-cum spurted out of my cock, and I had never been more terrified.
She gestured to the nun outfit. “Do you like it?”
I shouldn’t have responded, but I couldn’t help it. “G-god yes.”
Havoc chuckled. “She does look quite enticing. Doesn’t she?”
Onyx licked her lips.
My cock jerked.
Havoc moved the gun from the back of my head.
Then, Onyx left the desk, came close to me, and raised her finger to my face. Slowly. . .seductively. . .she traced a line down my cheek. “It's time to pay for your sins, Paris.”
“What?”
Fast, Havoc slammed the gun’s handle into the back of my head.
“Ahh!” Excruciating pain exploded in my head as I began to lose consciousness.
Sometime later, I found myself bound by thick rope to the very chair where I had once sat in control of my world.
Now, that world had flipped upside down, and I was powerless, at the mercy of two people I had once thought dead.
The rope bit into my wrists, and every time I shifted, the coarse fibers dug deeper into my skin.
My mind raced, struggling to grasp how this could be happening.
I had planned everything so carefully, eliminated every threat—or so I had believed.
Onyx and Havoc stood before me, the perfect picture of confidence and control.
How could they have survived the yacht explosion? They were out in the middle of nowhere? They should have drowned or been eaten by sharks!!
I looked at them. “Y-you two will never make it out alive. My place is g-guarded.”
Havoc pointed to the right side of the office.
No. . .
A pile of dead bodies rested in the corner. It must have been ten of my guards all sliced and dead.
In fact. . .it reminded me of the reports I’d read earlier.
I turned to them. “You are the team that has been killing top agency heads.”
Havoc winked at me. “I told you he was smart, Onyx.”
I thought it had been six people, but. . .Onyx and Havoc were damn sure more lethal than even ten deadly assassins.
It was part of the reason our world had agreed with my killing them.
And now they were back.
I shivered. “How. . .did you survive?”
Chuckling, Onyx left us and went over to where she’d been standing early.
Havoc remained. “Hope saved us.”
Onyx laughed again and leaned against the desk. “And a wealthy man’s estate lawyer who brought along a sympathetic helicopter pilot who enjoyed breathing.”
Havoc grinned. “Unfortunately for the lawyer, he didn’t breathe for long. He died in a massive island fire. Paris, have you ever watched an island burn to the ground from a helicopter? It’s an amazing sight.”
I blinked, confused and desperate for answers. “I don’t understand. What does that even mean?”
“It means that you are going to be tortured for a very long time.” Havoc winked at me and then glanced at Onyx.
The way he looked at Onyx sent a jolt of something sickening through me. Havoc went to her.
Hold on. . .
There was a familiarity in their movements, a closeness I hadn’t anticipated.
“Mmm.” He reached out, gently adjusting the collar of the nun outfit she wore, the same one that had driven me to madness just moments before. “Poor Paris, I can understand why you had her dress up in this nun outfit.”
I blinked.
Havoc’s voice went low. “This is truly distracting me.”
Onyx rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “Would you stay on the mission at hand?”
Havoc ignored her comment and let his hand slide down her waist, gripping her hips as he pulled her closer. “How can I, when all I want to do is dirty you. . .sister?”
No. It can’t be.
To my utter shame, the scene before me—Havoc’s hands on her, the way they interacted with such ease—stirred something wicked within me.
I was horrified by my own body’s reaction, but I couldn’t deny it. My arousal returned, burning through my confusion and fear, leaving me feeling more helpless than ever.
“You became lovers?” My words barely passed through the tightness in my throat. “How?”
Still passionately holding her, Havoc turned to look at me. “It’s amazing what near-death experiences can do to two people. When you have nothing left but each other, well. . .things happen.”
Onyx smirked. “You thought you could kill us, Paris, and you almost did. But instead, you gave us something else—each other.”
My stomach twisted in disgust.
I would have rather they just kill me than hear that Havoc had Onyx’s heart.
Nothing could be crueler than that fact.
I glared. “Just kill me now.”
Their bond cut through me like a knife. They had survived, and they had done it together. The thought of them as lovers, of their bodies entwined in the very passion I had once shared with Onyx, was more than I could ever bear.
“Please.” I tried to look away, but couldn’t. “Kill me.”
“Oh don’t worry, Paris.” Havoc slipped his hand down her dress and began to pull it up. “We’ll kill you afterwards.”
“A-afterwards?”
“After I fuck her hard in this nun outfit, right on your desk.”
“No! No! Please, just kill me!!”
My pleas fell on deaf ears, drowned by the raw, guttural laughter that spilled from Havoc's lips.
A sickening smile framed his face as he hiked up her dress.
Every instinct screamed at me to look away — but I couldn’t.
The cruel smile never left Onyx’s face as Havoc touched her. There was a perverse sense of power in her gaze, a thrill in knowing she had my undivided attention and was reveling in my discomfort.
“Stop it! Do not touch her like that!” I struggled against the ropes that bound me to the chair.
But he continued, and soon he not only had her pussy exposed on my desk but he had torn the top of her dress, revealing her full breasts.
Blasphemy!
I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them unable to help myself.
And my cock. . .it was so hard. . .yearning to be inside of her.
He was taking her right in front of me.
Slowly, he unzipped and dropped his pants to his knees.
His hard erect length sprang forth to join the cruel spectacle.
“No. This is wrong. So wrong.”
Chuckling, Onyx's eyes flashed with desire. “Baby, he’s not liking the show.”
“Too bad, wildcat. Did you tell him that there are no refunds?”
“I forgot.”
He pushed a hand through her dreadlocks and then he was deep inside of her.
God no!
My cock jerked.
His mouth claimed hers in a brutal kiss, just as he thrust into her over and over.
Against my will, more pre-cum spilled from my cock.
Onyx cried out in pleasure.
“No. No.” Tears streamed down my face, falling on my rope-bitten wrists.
I had never felt so helpless, so enraged, yet so excited and horny. It was a sickening, humiliating cocktail of emotions that left me feverish.
“No. . .please God no. Don’t do this,” I whimpered, closing my eyes again, trying to block out every sound.
The obscene picture they painted was etched behind my eyelids.
Against all my will, I opened my eyes only to see Havoc's hands sliding over Onyx's exposed flesh, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.
Oh God no. This is wrong.
The worst part was the searing heat that flared up within me.
The craving to be a part of their obscene display of passion.
I wanted to fuck her so bad.
And, I knew this was wrong. I shouldn't have felt this way. But my flesh betrayed me, as did my mind when it started imagining scenarios of me being the one thrusting into her instead.
Stop it.
I felt a raw growl rip from my throat and tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. I felt trapped in a torturous loop—the more I tried to divert my attention and suppress the yearning, the stronger these unholy thoughts came back.
“P-please stop,” I begged again, but it only seemed to fuel their enjoyment further. “Kill me. Just kill me.”
Their laughter and moans was a punch in the gut—cruel and haunting.
I had lost.
As Havoc continued to fuck her hard and Onyx moaned in delirious pleasure, there was only one thought that remained, a single, bitter truth that gnawed at my soul.
I want them to kill me.
I welcomed it now, craved it like a man dying of thirst, craves water. It was the only escape left to me, the only release from the agony that twisted my insides. I had imagined death many times in my life—planned it for others, dealt it with precision—but I had never thought to be on the receiving end.
Not like this.
Not as a broken, humiliated shell of a man.