16. Wraith
Chapter 16
Wraith
I should’ve seen it coming.
Silas Bane.
Mid-forties. Towering. All bulk and bloodlust.
Left half of his face melted in a fire—Rumor says someone torched him during a job gone wrong—and he made sure they died slower than he did.
Street name?
The Butcher.
Not because he worked in a meat processing plant—though he did—but because of what he does to people.
Hooks. Bone saws. Cleavers that didn’t stop at flesh.
He wasn’t just Voss’s brute.
He was the nightmare Voss unleashed when fear wasn’t enough—and obliteration was the goal.
I didn’t bait him with tech.
Bane didn’t give a shit about firewalls or servers.
He chased blood.
So when whispers started circling about someone carving through Voss’s network, leaving messages in crimson smears?—
I knew exactly who Voss would send to answer.
And I gave him a trail to follow.
A tip passed through a snitch’s trembling lips.
A location half-whispered like a confession:
The old slaughterhouse.
Bane took the bait.
Came running like the rabid dog he was.
And I followed.
Thought I’d be first to finish the job.
Thought I’d be the one to put him down.
Thought wrong.
The last scraps of sunlight slash through the grime-smeared windows, thick and ugly.
Amber light cuts across rusted metal. Blood-stained tile.
The slaughterhouse breathes around me—cold, stale, rotting.
I move deeper.
Boots silent.
Every step punches the stench of bleach and old iron higher into the air.
And then I see it.
Bane.
Hanging from a ceiling hook like a side of beef.
One massive shoulder pierced clean through.
Blood slicks down his torso, pooling at his feet in a slow, obscene drip.
His muscles twitch.
Not life—just death refusing to leave quietly.
His face is ruined .
Not the fire damage.
Her.
I stop walking.
The air tastes like iron and decay.
The floor glistens wet beneath the dying light.
She beat me to it.
And somehow…
It doesn’t even piss me off.
Shouldn’t be possible.
Should’ve been a fight.
Should’ve been fucking chaos.
I thought I was close behind him.
But this took time. Planning.
Beyond that—Bane’s built like a fucking battering ram.
Dead weight like that doesn’t just get hung up by accident.
Then I see it.
Chain rigged through a rusted pulley overhead.
Hook anchored low, leverage used against him.
Smart. Vicious. Efficient.
Sadistic creativity, meet industrial engineering.
I wonder if he was still alive when she hoisted him up there.
I crouch beside the blood slicking the floor, studying the setup with a sick sort of reverence.
Where are you, little demon?
I should’ve known.
Ask and you shall receive. Isn’t that how the saying goes?
The moment of admiration costs me.
Pain races through my spine—sharp, electric, brutal.
My body seizes. Limbs locking.
Vision stutters.
Motherfucker—
And then?—
Darkness.
The world comes back in shards.
Of light.
Of sound.
Of fucking pain.
My limbs feel wrong. Heavy.
My skull pulses with a thick, static hum.
Taser.
Industrial grade, if the burn crawling under my skin is anything to go by.
I breathe.
Sharp. Shallow. Tasting copper.
Must’ve bit my tongue.
Memory drags itself through my brain in broken images.
Bane—gutted and bleeding.
Blood on the floor.
A whisper behind me.
Fire in my veins?—
Then black.
My brain is sluggish. Like trying to move through molasses.
My fingers twitch first. Then my arms.
Tied.
Wrists and ankles.
Nylon cord biting deep.
Strapped to the arms and legs of a chair.
I blink.
Not dark—just moonlight slicing through the filth-caked windows, painting the slaughterhouse in silver and shadow.
The room smells somehow worse than before.
And something putrid.
Something...
I shift.
The chair groans, metal legs scraping a low warning across the concrete.
Jaw tight. Neck stiff.
I turn my head?—
Ah. That would explain it.
Bane.
Still dangling. Even more grotesque.
Shoulders torn open, ribcage slumping forward like his spine forgot how to hold him up.
Blood congeals in thick, black puddles beneath him.
The chains above groan, swaying like someone gave him a push just for fun.
A fucking meat chandelier.
I exhale slow through my nose.
Controlled. Calculating.
Next breath in, I catch a whiff of a scent I know all too well.
I turn my head again.
There she is.
Perched on a rusted table like she’s holding fucking court.
Legs swinging.
Boots dripping blood onto the floor.
Hands braced behind her like a queen lounging on a broken throne.
Her braid hangs over one shoulder, sticky with gore.
Blood spatters her cheeks.
Her grin bright. Unhinged. Glorious .
Fuck. Disturbingly beautiful.
“Rise and shine, Lover Boy,” she purrs.
My muscles lock.
Her voice slithers into the cracks.
“Hope you don’t mind the accommodations,” she adds, waving theatrically at the cords tying me down.
“You looked like you needed a teensie little nap.”
A growl rips from my chest.
Low. Rough. Pure animal.
Her eyes flash like she just won the fucking lottery.
“Ooooh. Someone’s grumpy,” she coos.
She hops down from the table?—
Boots hitting the floor with a thud that echoes through the vast, blood-slicked room.
The real game?
It starts now.
She hits the ground light.
Boots splashing through the thin sheen of blood like a child playing after the rain.
She stalks toward me.
Slow. Swinging her hips like she’s got all the time in the world to dismantle me.
“You were out foooorrrrreveeeerrr,” she drawls, dragging the word into a taunt.
“I was starting to think I hit the wrong voltage.”
Her grin is wide. Sharp. Dangerous.
I pull against the restraints.
The cords bite.
The chair groans.
Her boots tap closer.
Mocking. Measuring .
Then—with no warning?—
She drops into my lap.
A breath hisses between my teeth.
Her weight settles.
Soft curves draped over tense muscle and locked restraint.
She lounges back against me like I’m nothing but furniture.
One arm drapes around my neck.
The other toys with the collar of my vest, brushing the skin underneath.
Her ass shifts—grinds—just enough.
My cock twitches in response, a traitorous pulse I can’t fucking stop.
She feels it.
I know she does. Even more so when she giggles.
The sound somehow both innocent and terrifying.
“Oh, Lover Boy…”
Her lips skim the edge of my jaw, breath warming the fabric across my face.
“You get this excited for all your captors, or am I just special?”
I clench my jaw so hard it aches.
Stay silent.
Stay sane.
“Do try to keep it professional,” she mocks. “This is a slaughterhouse for crying out loud! Have you no shame? Is nothing sacred?”
I jerk against the cords.
She cackles.
A bright, manically delighted sound that echoes through the blood- soaked dark.
“You should’ve seen him,” she whispers, sliding her fingers over my chest like she’s petting a favorite dog.
She shifts to straddle me.
“Big bastard, wasn’t he? That Bane.”
She taps a playful rhythm against my ribs.
“Took a few good hits before he dropped. Made a real mess.”
Another tap. Harder.
“Right here’s where I think I broke the rib. His, not yours—at least not yet.”
I glare at her through the mask.
Rage burns a line straight through my spine.
But it’s not clean anger.
It’s filthy.
Twisted.
It’s need.
She leans in.
Voice low. Intimate.
“Then I flipped him. Got the hook under his shoulder. Used the pulley to haul his screaming ass up like fresh ham.”
Her hand slides lower. Between us
Squeezing my thigh. So fucking close.
“He bled like a stuck pig,” she says, smiling sweet as sugar. “Squeeled like one too.”
Another slow grind of her hips, the heat of her cunt against my cock.
I breathe rough through my nose, fighting for control.
“Which, I guess,” she muses, “was fitting.”
I want to snap her in half.
Throw her over that rusted table and fuck her into it.
Remind her who’s in control here .
She grinds again.
Like she heard my thoughts and called my bluff.
Slow. Torturous.
My body answers like it’s hers to command.
Fuck!
Her hand finds the edge of my mask.
“Let’s see the pretty part, shall we?”
She yanks it down, exposing my mouth.
Her fingers brush my lips—featherlight. Reverent.
“Bet this mouth has done terrible, terrible things,” she whispers.
Her pupils are blown wide.
Lust. Madness. Victory.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I nod, and I hate myself for it.
“I like terrible things.”
I growl.
Low. Threatening.
It only makes her fucking beam.
She slides off my lap—slow, taunting.
And that’s when I see it.
She’s not wearing her usual leather catsuit.
She’s wearing a fucking schoolgirl skirt.
Short. Black and grey plaid.
Short enough to be criminal in at least six countries.
Her fingers slide up and under it to hook into the waistband of her panties.
She turns—slow—looks over her shoulder at me.
And drags them down as she bends over.
Teasing. Smirking.
I’d like to say that I didn’t look. But that would be a lie.
I fucking look alright—and groan when I see how absolutely soaked her tight little cunt is.
They catch around one boot.
She lifts her foot—the one with black lace dangling from it—plants it against my chest.
Holding me still.
Holding me down.
Giving me the best goddamn view I could hope for.
Bare. Wet. Gleaming in the broken moonlight.
“Fuck,”
My cock throbs so hard it’s painful.
She says something—I don’t hear it.
Blood roars in my ears.
Then—
“Isn’t that right… Wraith?”
Everything inside me freezes.
Shock detonates behind my ribs.
How the fuck does she know my name?
Before I can react, she shoves.
The chair tips.
I hit the ground hard—metal slamming against concrete.
Stars explode behind my eyes.
“Oopsies,” she chirps.
I blink up at her.
Panting. Bound. Seething.
And somehow?—
It makes me even harder.
The chair rocks under me.
The cords dig deeper into my skin.
My skull throbs from the impact.
But it’s not pain that owns me now .
It’s her.
Laughing.
Bright and wicked, like she didn’t just flip the fucking world upside down.
Literally.
“Big, bad hacker. Ghost in the wires. Phantom in the dark…”
Her voice dances around the blood-soaked room, light and mocking.
“But you’re not the only one who knows how to dig, Lover Boy.
I strain against the cords, muscles bunching.
She circles me.
Slow.
Predatory.
“You really thought you could outmaneuver me?”
Her boots click against the cracked tiles.
Each step measured.
Each step closer to my fucking ruin.
“I’ll admit the message on the screens was a nice touch.”
She stops.
Right next to my head.
Her boots bracket my vision.
Bare legs gleam under the moonlight.
That obscene little skirt barely covers anything.
And between her thighs?—
Fuck.
Glinting. Wet. Smirking without a goddamn word.
“God, look at you,” she purrs .
She crouches.
One hand sliding down her thigh, fingers brushing dangerously close to the place I can’t tear my eyes from.
“You look like a starving man.”
A wicked little giggle tumbles from her lips.
“Lucky for you…”
She lowers herself.
Slow.
Teasing.
“I’m feeling generous.”
Her thighs cage my head.
Her heat smothers me.
Her scent wrecks.
She leans down.
Voice like silk and poison.
“Be a good boy,” she whispers.
“Give me my reward.”
Her thighs tighten.
The world narrows to nothing but her.
I’m still bound.
Still furious.
Still starving.
And when she presses herself down onto my mouth?—
I break.
My tongue lashes out, desperate.
Punishing.
Greedy.
I devour her like salvation.
Her breath stutters.
“Fuck, Wraith?—”
Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails biting into my scalp.
Her hips grind down, chasing the friction .
I suck her clit into my mouth.
Flick my tongue against it—fast, merciless.
Her body jolts.
A filthy little whimper tears from her throat.
“Mmm, that’s it…” she moans.
“That’s my good little lover boy.”
My jaw locks at the words.
But I don’t stop.
I double down.
Force her to ride it.
Force her to lose that smug fucking smile.
Her hips stutter.
Her thighs tremble around my head.
I press my tongue deeper.
Flatten it against her, then flick faster.
She’s panting now.
Broken, desperate sounds ripping from her chest.
“There… right there… oh my fucking?—”
She shatters.
Loud.
Unapologetic.
Writhing against my mouth like she’s never held herself back from anything.
I drink her in.
Lick her through it.
Refuse to let her go until she’s gasping, twitching, fucking ruined.
Her fingers loosen their grip in my hair.
She stays there—straddling my face, riding the aftershocks .
Breathing heavy.
Glowing.
She strokes my hair absently, like she’s petting a dog who did a neat little trick.
Then—
A breathless, cocky little laugh.
“Looks like I win this round.”
She doesn’t move for a second too long.
Still perched over my face.
Still breathing heavy.
And then?—
With one last slow grind of her hips, she rises.
Graceful. Smug.
No fucking rush at all.
My chest heaves.
I’m still on my back.
Still tied.
Still fucking hard enough to break something.
Like my goddamn zipper.
And she knows it.
She basks in it.
Just savors it.
The view.
A slow, predatory smile curls over her mouth as she looks down at me.
At what she did.
At what she owns now.
The ruin she made of me.
She leans in.
Pats my cheek.
Soft. Patronizing .
“Good boy,” she murmurs.
My jaw tightens.
My cock throbs.
Fuck.
She could breathe in that general direction I’d come in my pants like some teenaged boy.
She laughs under her breath, wicked and pleased.
I want to fucking tear her apart.
And then?—
Her gaze drops to her boot.
Those ruined panties are still looped around it.
She hooks them free with a lazy flick of her toe.
Peels them off.
Holds them up—grinning like a cat dangling a dead mouse.
And then?—
She drops them.
Right onto my fucking chest.
A damp, lacy brand.
Her scent punches straight through my system like a loaded gun.
“Here,” she says sweetly.
“A little reward. Something to remember me by.”
I glare up at her.
Hard. Silent.
She just giggles.
Sinful. Mocking.
Utterly fucking victorious.
“Mmm… I have faith you’ll get yourself out of your little… predicament,” she calls over her shoulder.
She steps over me.
Boots clicking softly against the floor sticky with blood.
“Eventually.”
Another grin.
Sharp as knives.
Beautiful as sin.
“Wouldn’t be any fun if I did all the work.”
She skips away. A trail of bloody print behind her.
Not a care in the world.
Hips swinging.
Head bobbing.
And as she disappears into the darkness, her voice echoes back?—
sweet, taunting, dripping with wicked glee:
“Oops, I did it again… I played with your heart… got lost in the game…”
I exhale.
Rough. Frustrated.
Still painfully hard.
My wrists strain against the cords.
The panties sit like a brand on my chest.
I need to get out of here.
But all I can think?—
The thing gnawing louder than the blood pounding in my ears?—
I still don’t know her fucking name.
I stare up at the ceiling.
Chains creaking in the rafters.
Blood cooling on the floor.
Replaying every filthy, humiliating second.
And I promise her.
A vow as brutal as it is inevitable:
Oh, little demon… you have no fucking idea what you’ve started.