Chapter 7 – Althea
ALTHEA
The monitors this evening are all wearing black, and their faces are painted as skeletons.
If it weren’t for the uniformity and the fact that their shirts all say Dungeon Monitor , I might have thought they were a group of four friends looking to share their playmate for the night.
The image of being strapped to a bed while four muscular shirtless men in face paint take turns ravishing my body sends another set of tremors through me. The idea has merit.
Too bad you’re not into sharing.
Yeah, there is that. But a girl can fantasize.
“See something you like over there, Little Devil?” A deep, masterful voice, dripping with desire, speaks low in my ear from behind. “Perhaps I could be of assistance if you’d like to share your thoughts?”
“I would, but a girl needs to keep some fantasies to herself. You know? For those lonely nights at home,” I tease, turning my head slightly and raising a challenging brow. I can barely make out the side of his face covered in face paint.
“Hmm. So, the horns aren’t just part of the costume.
You truly are a devil.” His breath whispers across my neck and my body goes on full alert.
His finger lightly rubs along the red satin ribbon tied at my neck holding my dress up.
If he were to tug it just right, the entire dress would fall to the floor, exposing the other outfit I’m wearing underneath.
Part of me hopes he does. This room is filled with all sorts of ways to put my special harness to use.
Thought you weren’t into exhibitionism?
Hmm. Maybe.
If his skills in the bedroom are as seductive as his voice, this could turn out to be one hell of a night after all.
“Are you looking to fall into temptation?” I ask, turning to see the face of my admirer.
I’m shocked to find a man dressed all in black with similar face paint to the dungeon monitors.
Though his makeup is more intense. His jawline is sharper, giving him more of a reaper feel than just a skeleton.
The intensity in his olive-colored eyes and the way they seem to glow in the dim lighting is both thrilling and mesmerizing.
His fingers trace a lazy path along my collarbone. His eyes narrow as they follow. “Hmm. Definitely the tattoo,” he murmurs to himself.
I’m about to ask what he’s talking about, but when his eyes meet mine again, the only words that come out are, “Who are you?”
“Most people would refer to me as Death.” He skims his finger under my bracelet, playing with the charm.
No.
It was a setup.
Hex must’ve known he was here. They planned this.
Why?
“I see.” I say, fighting to keep the irritation out of my voice. After all, I don’t know if they’re both in on this little joke or if it’s just Hex.
My admirer studies me. “You’re upset. Do you fear Death, Miss Drakos?” There’s something about the way he says my name that sends a thrill up my spine.
Did Hex tell him my name? But why would he set me up? Alarm bells should be going off at that realization, yet I don’t feel afraid. I feel … intrigued.
My eyes make their way down, taking in every inch of Death’s appearance. Black shirt hugging his every muscle from his chest to his abs and biceps. Black cargo pants that fit snug on his waist and thighs, held up by a thick, black leather belt.
I wonder if he knows what to do with that belt or if it’s just a pretty accessory.
Even if this is a prank, I’m almost certain this man can give me what I’m looking for tonight. It’s only one night. What can it hurt?
“I don’t fear anyone. Especially Death .” I reply, issuing my own challenge.
Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got, tall, dark, and mysterious. Take the bait.
If they’re going to set me up and play matchmaker, at least I should get a good, hard fuck for my time. And my money. Although I don’t think the measly twenty-five dollars I paid Hex for his consultation seems hardly enough.
“I wouldn’t want you to fear me. Only what I will do to you,” he says.
Then, leaning in closely, he whispers, “I’m going to own every single one of your screams of pleasure as you beg for my mercy.
And even after your voice is hoarse and your throat is raw, I still won’t stop.
” His smile is sinister and full of promise.
“Who are you?” I ask, slightly taken aback by his boldness, yet unable to stop my body’s reaction to his threat.
He chuckles. “My name is Enzo.”
There’s something about him. It’s not just the costume.
He looks dangerous, alluring, and deceptively relaxed, yet there’s something else.
An underlying darkness that calls to my own.
It’s almost as if there’s an invisible tether pulling us together.
It’s strange. Everything in me is screaming this is a bad idea, but I can’t bring myself to walk away.
I don’t want to.
My hormones take a backseat for a moment and allow my head to finally catch up to what he’s just said, and I suddenly understand why he seems so dangerous. Because he actually is.
He’s Enzo Venatti.
“Venatti.” It’s not a question. It’s a realization. One I’ve just spoken out loud. He nods, confirming my suspicions, watching me closely. Too closely. Like I’m prey.
I knew the Venatti ran this city. I knew the Venatti family owned this club. But I wasn’t expecting to meet him . Most people who meet Enzo Venatti face-to-face don’t live to talk about it. It’s why people refer to him as Death. Because if you see him coming for you, death is in your future.
His appraisal of me is so intense. The way his eyes slide over my every inch, so thorough, it almost feels like he’s touching me everywhere, but his finger hasn’t moved any further south than my collarbone.
He doesn’t want me to fear him but promises to check off every one of my boxes for the evening.
It’s not the ideal plan, but maybe I can use this little hookup to my advantage.
Maybe I can get some information from him when he’s naked and vulnerable.
Some men can overshare after they’ve been thoroughly fucked and worn out.
Maybe he’s one of those men.
And maybe I can kill two birds with one stone. Get information and get myself satiated.
My body heats with arousal. My heart’s racing in my chest. This man has the power to break me in the most delicious way possible. I would relish the pain he could inflict, but how close to the line would he go? Would he cross it?
Death isn’t his costume. It’s his job.