Chapter 37
The basement of Paradise Club was soundproofed for entirely different purposes, but tonight it served my darker talents perfectly.
Juarez's man hung from the ceiling hooks we normally used for suspension play, his feet barely touching the ground. His face was a mess. There was one eye swollen shut, a split lip oozing blood down his stubbled chin, and a purpling bruise spreading across his cheekbone, where Elin had introduced his face to the wall. That didn’t include the broken fingers, arm, and his dislocated shoulder.
Fuck, my Goddess could fight. It was making me hard just thinking about it.
I circled him slowly, letting the anticipation build as his eyes followed my movements.
"You know who I am?" I kept my voice conversational, almost friendly.
He spat blood onto the concrete floor. "The Owl’s Talon," he muttered, his accent thickening with pain. "Azzaro's attack dog."
I smiled, selecting a thin blade from the array I'd laid out on the steel table. "That's right. And you're in my house now."
Behind me, before we had gotten started, Harley had taken to leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression bored. Only those who knew him well would recognize the dangerous glint in his eyes. We'd worked together long enough that he knew when to speak and when to let me handle the questioning.
"Your boss sent you here for a reason," I continued, testing the knife's edge against my thumb. "I want to know why."
The man's eyes followed the blade, but his face remained defiant. "Fuck you."
I nodded as if considering his response. Then, with practiced precision, I drove the knife into his thigh, twisting slightly as I withdrew it. His scream echoed off the walls, ending in a choked groan.
"Let's try again." I wiped the blade clean, ruby red essence spreading onto the pristine white cloth sending a thrill through my veins. "Why is Juarez targeting Elin Perkins?"
He panted, sweat mingling with the blood on his face. "She's leverage," he admitted finally. "Against you."
"Elaborate." I selected a different knife, this one serrated.
"Juarez . . . knows she matters . . . to you." His words came in pained bursts. A door opened behind me, and I tilted my head, listening before recognizing Elin’s footsteps.
Why is she down here?
Each step was constant and with confidence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her walk over and sit on the table with my knives. Turning slightly toward her, I lifted an eyebrow in question.
“I’ll just be here. The package is safe for now.
” She picked up one of the knives and flipped it over and over in her hand, catching it by the handle each time.
The way she held her shoulders and body was all dominance.
My Goddess was present. There was a chilling smile on her lips. “Let me know if you need anything.”
The wicked gleam that matched her smile had me hard in a second. She wasn’t fucking around anymore. My Goddess was pissed and was playing the game with me. To the heavens, I loved this woman and couldn’t wait to prove to her how fucking much.
“Thank you, Goddess.” Turning my full attention to the sack of shit in front of me, I encouraged him to keep talking with a slow sawing motion above his knee. “Continue.”
Air hissed between his teeth as his eyes flicked to where she was behind me. “Eyes on me, fucker.”
"Says . . . if he controls her . . . he controls you."
I kept my expression neutral despite the rage building inside me. "Come on, use your words. Tell me everything."
"He wants . . . to break the alliance. Your sister . . . is just the beginning."
As I had suspected, Juarez was making a power play. Not just for territory or business, but for control of the Azzaro family itself, starting with Rhea then targeting Elin to manipulate me. The question was whether my father was complicit or simply blind to Juarez's true intentions.
"What's the plan for Elin?" I pressed, bringing the serrated blade to his cheek.
His eyes widened. "Please . . . I just follow orders."
"Then follow mine." I dragged the serrated knife across his cheek, sawing slowly through the layers of skin until I hit the muscle beneath.
His scream caught in his throat as I twisted the blade, carving a ragged line that wept crimson down his jaw and neck.
The metallic scent of fresh blood filled my nostrils as I leaned in closer, watching his eyes roll back in agony. "Tell me."
"Abduction," he blurted.
I let the silence stretch between us, twisting the blade so it caught the light. When he didn't speak, I drove the knife into his thigh, the steel parting flesh with a wet sound that sent heat rushing through my veins.
"Tonight," he finally screamed, voice breaking as I yanked the blade free. Blood spurted in rhythmic pulses. "During peak hours. We stage it—make it look like some jealous client of hers. Then take her to the Oakland warehouse, ship her out as a bride to somewhere overseas."
My stomach clenched with rage. I sliced a shallow line across his chest, savoring his whimper. "Manpower?"
"Six men. Two teams." Harley pushed off the wall, our eyes meeting. The fury I saw there mirrored the inferno burning inside me. "When?"
"Midnight." Blood bubbled between his teeth, pink froth spilling down his chin. "Christ, I swear that's all."
"One last thing." I grabbed his jaw, fingers digging into the wound I'd carved earlier. His terror smelled like copper and piss. "My father. Does he know?"
A flicker crossed his face—barely perceptible but enough. My heart turned to ice. "Don Azzaro authorized it," he whispered. "Said the Perkins woman was . . . compromising your judgment. That she needed to be . . . eliminated."
Cold fury washed through me. My own father had sanctioned the attack on Elin. Had authorized Juarez to abduct and likely kill the woman I loved, all to ensure my compliance, my loyalty to the family business.
Fuck him.
In that moment, the last thread of loyalty I felt toward my father snapped, clean and irreversible.
I stepped back, regarding the hanging man dispassionately. "Thank you for your cooperation."
Relief flooded his features. "You'll let me go?"
I nodded to Harley. "I'm afraid not."
"Wait." Elin's voice sliced through the air. Harley froze mid-step. She slid off the table, palm already extended. "Give me the knife, Azzaro."
The look in her eyes stopped any protest I might have made. I placed the serrated blade in her waiting hand, watching as her fingers curled around the handle with practiced ease.
"You've been very helpful," she told the man, her voice eerily calm as she approached him. "But we can't have loose ends."
"Wait—" His plea died as she drove the blade into his abdomen with such force that the blade slammed against the chair on the other side.
She twisted, yanked it free, then plunged it in again.
And again. Each strike precise yet brutal—the same economical movements I'd seen Joel use years ago.
Blood sprayed across her face, her chest, but she didn't stop, even when the man had long stopped twitching.
Her arm rose and fell in a rhythm of pure hatred, her breath coming in sharp pants.
"Elin." I wrapped my arms around her from behind, stilling her next blow. "He's gone, Goddess. It's done."
She struggled against me for a moment then went limp, the knife clattering to the floor. I nodded to Harley over her shoulder. "Dispose of him. Gather the team. We need to move fast."
Harley nodded, his expression grim. "And your father?"
Don Azzaro had crossed so far beyond the line from which there was no return. He'd threatened not just my autonomy or my position, but had moved against destroying everything I’d ever cared about. First it had been Joel, then Rhea, and now Elin.
"My father has made his allegiance clear," I said, turning Elin so I could look at her in my arms. Her breath was ragged but slowing. I held her, and after a moment, her gaze met mine. The ravenousness that had been there dissipated, and I swallowed at how quickly she returned. “Goddess?”
A small smile covered her face. “Pretty Boy.”
I cradled Elin’s cheeks in my hands. Her skin was spotted with blood, none of it hers, streaking down her jaw and speckling her neck.
My fingers trembled as they brushed against her, pressing half-moons into the warm wetness.
I searched her features for cracks, for any sign she might break under the weight of what she’d done.
Instead, I found that familiar, cold clarity I'd come to crave from my domme, my Goddess, and the truth hit me: it was precisely that clarity that had first drawn me to her.
I swallowed hard. My voice came out gravel-rough as I asked, “Are you okay? That was—” I faltered, unable to name the brutality we’d just witnessed, let alone why she’d carried it out with such unerring precision.
“I won’t let my father touch you.” The words felt raw, childish—yet they were the only ones that mattered.
For a heartbeat, her eyes softened. She was still working on calming the adrenaline spiking beneath her skin, but she covered my hands with hers and squeezed.
“I needed to burn off the rage,” she said, half sarcastically, half flippant, but also with no apology.
Just a statement of fact. “He was going to die anyway.” Her half-smile was almost playful if you could ignore the blood framing it. “Scary thought, huh?”
I almost laughed. “Terrifying,” I admitted, stroking her cheek with my thumb more for my own steadiness than hers. I drew her closer until our foreheads met and our breaths mingled. “But we have the rough outline of a plan.”
She blinked in confusion, her lashes spattered with dark drops. “We do?”