Chapter 4 Wicked Theatrics
Wicked Theatrics
Mikko
The unusual encounter with the woman set his teeth on edge. Even as Cristiano led them deeper into Bubblegum’s basement, her words resonated in his mind.
Have fun finding a new target, Mikko.
While he’d initially been confused when she’d called him by name, it was now obvious she’d been lying. He was a notable figure in Portland society. Albeit against his will. A day didn’t pass when someone didn’t recognize him. If he could remain as a recluse—Cristiano’s words, of course—Mikko would.
He’d seen the way women flocked to him and Cristiano, drawn in by the former’s money and status, and the latter for his easy-going smile. Mikko had been naive before, but not anymore.
“No such thing as coincidences, Mikko,” his father’s voice echoed in his head. His whole life had prepared him for moments like this; he wouldn’t let an attractive woman derail him. Until proven innocent, she was guilty in Mikko’s eyes.
Regardless, his brain was preoccupied, mind mentally tracing the edge of her shadowed silhouette.
Her tattoos had been on full display, tempting him to reach out and touch them as she’d done to him.
Soft lines depicted flora and fauna across her arms; anything ranging from flowers to ferns carved into her skin, perfectly complimenting her body.
And how could he have forgotten about the line of text running down her spine as she walked away.
He had no idea what it said, but he’d find out.
Something dark tugged at his stomach.
Lust? Curiosity? Cristiano is definitely right, I do need to get out more. Dip my dick into something—or someone.
He killed the thought before it got out of hand, annoyance already coating his tongue at the fact he had business to attend to in the club and none of it included watching her from the darkened booths lining the corners of Bubblegum’s main lounge and dance floor.
Instead, Mikko was shackled to the ruse of his job. The empire his father had built decades ago was now left in his possession, its blackness seeping onto his already dirty hands.
Corporations weren’t built on good people and virtuous standards anymore. Instead, they were created by those who were strong enough to evade the rules.
By blood, money…
And fear.
Acquiring land to grow his territory and meeting with clients was the tip of the iceberg. Below the surface of the icy water—under the rot and decay of an illustrious surface image—laid an expansive network of immoral exchanges.
It was what made Alek successful. And what kept Mikko in power over many of those within the city still to this day.
So, this new interaction stirred something unique inside him. Pursuing a random stranger was stupid and dangerous, and Mikko knew he needed to stop thinking with the wrong goddamn head. No one else would do this; they’d leave it as it was—a harmless crossing of paths.
But Mikko wasn’t like everyone else. And it’d been a long time since he’d been approached so callously by a woman. It excited him. It became a new fixation for his brain to ruminate on. Just when his everyday life became monotonous, this new woman tempted him with an escape.
Wickedness slithered from his deepest parts, encouraging him to do unthinkable things.
“I had our men secure Ivan before we got here.” Cristiano’s relaxed voice startled Mikko from his brief reverie. “We should be all set to…interrogate when we get down there.”
A smirk was evident in his friend’s tone.
Before Mikko could respond, Cristiano stepped ahead, determined to open the ebony door before them at the foot of the steps. It was the second one he’d rushed ahead to get, and it made Mikko’s eyebrows scrunch in annoyance.
“Do I look incapable of opening my own doors?” Mikko eyed his friend.
Cristiano shook his head playfully, thoroughly aware of all the ways to taunt Mikko. “After you, princess.”
Once Alek had passed, many people Mikko thought he could count on showed their true colors.
People despised him for his role within the business and wanted to take over what he’d inherited.
They thought he was too young, not passionate enough for the job—himself included, truthfully—and wanted him gone.
Many of the scars he bore were a testament to the hatred of those he used to call family.
“No, boss, I just don’t want you to waste all your energy,” Cristiano supplied cheerfully, “You’ve got a human punching bag waitin’ on ya, after all.”
“You already know how I feel about you calling me that,” Mikko scolded.
That earned him a laugh. “That’s why I do it…boss.”
Dodging the swat Mikko aimed at Cristiano’s shoulder, he let the metal door snick shut behind them.
Ahead laid a mundane hall, charcoal walls made everything feel claustrophobic.
Perhaps that was the intent since Ivan had always craved power and instilling hierarchy into people as soon as they stepped below the public realm.
Where the name Bubblegum came from then, Mikko would never know…
Doors lined each side of the corridor, individual rooms laying beyond which usually hosted gambling sessions, small meetings, and private events. It appeared Ivan enjoyed his pastimes more than his wallet could maintain.
And tonight, the soundproofed rooms would serve Mikko’s purpose. Using them against Ivan felt like an amusing twist of fate, one that made Mikko smile. Ivan had gone on without consequence for too long. Hell, the article he’d read had been icing on the fucking cake.
A familiar feeling of undeniable restlessness settled into his bones as he came to a stop in front of the room holding the man in question. Usually, Mikko didn’t feel this off kilter, but his sips of vodka and entire three finger poured glass of tequila lit something inside of him.
His reserved mask was slipping.
A guard stood by the door, one of Mikko’s men, waiting.
His arms were loosely clasped in front of his belt in a casual but alert stance.
With a single nod, the man swung the door open for Mikko and Cristiano.
As they crossed the threshold into the room, Mikko found himself nailing the coffin shut over his curiosity, firmly affixing his mask right where it needed to be; it was time to begin.
One harsh overhead light illuminated the space, and Mikko squinted as he approached the center of the small room. The usual furniture had been moved aside to line the perimeter of this non-porous hellscape; the table was pushed up against the far wall, its chairs accompanying it.
All but one.
Ivan’s form was tied to the single chair, a piece of duct tape covering his mouth. Mikko fought the twitch tugging at his mouth at the sight—Cristiano liked his theatrics and played into stereotypical tropes when he could.
Two more men stood in the room, magnifying the cramped feeling Mikko was experiencing. How Ivan held groups of men down in these rooms without grinding his teeth into dust, he wasn’t sure.
Looking him over, Mikko noticed the swelling present on Ivan’s face along with deep lacerations. Cristiano had made sure their men weren’t gentle about restraining Ivan when they’d brought him down here.
Anger that Mikko usually kept on a tight leash lashed at his mind and his muscles, commanding him to let it out in the only way he preferred.
While Alek’s teachings may not have aligned with Mikko’s ethics, he still knew how to play this game.
A true predator learned all the different methods of extracting information—violence needed or not.
Straining against it, he let it build inside him all while maintaining a stoic facade. He was in control. Of his body. Of Ivan. And of his urges. It was imperative since all other aspects of his life were steeped in impotency—
The feeling of soft fingertips grazing along his arm, exploring higher, interrupted his ritualistic preparations. Her face popped into his head unannounced, again, silky onyx hair framing her beautiful face.
A different kind of anger, one composed of spearing shards of ice cut through his gut at the intrusive thought. He’d told himself on the walk down that he would stop thinking of her, that he’d stop letting her erratic behavior plague his thoughts. He was above this.
But despite his best efforts, his brain had other ideas.
Disregarding the walls he’d erected in his mind to keep her out, she’d somehow crept through the small mental cracks.
Years of discipline slipped through his fingers, shattered by one thought—one person.
That was why he stayed away from women; they either used him or distracted him.
“It’s refreshing to see these rooms used for something other than your activities,” Mikko started, revealing nothing of his warring thoughts. He made sure to take note of the room, before letting his gaze linger on Ivan’s battered form.
“Remind me why I gave you a piece of my empire when I have others who’d kill for your position?” Mikko stood outside the ring of light. “Or should I keep you down here for a few weeks so we can both watch what your absence attracts in these bloody waters?”
Ivan’s mouth wiggled under the duct tape, a smart response most likely on his lips.
“You’re disposable, Ivan. Replaceable, even. A fact you certainly know by now, so what happened?” Mikko stepped closer. “Did the title get to you? The money?”
Ivan mumbled something unintelligible, face reddening in frustration as Mikko smiled coldly at his squirming. “No need to struggle so, it’s a simple yes or no question.”
The bound man nodded his head enthusiastically.
Taking his eyes off of Ivan for a moment, he inclined his head to the rest of his men in the room.
If he was truly his father’s son, the men would’ve been dismissed for Mikko to handle Ivan on his own, but nights like this, he hated getting his hands dirty all alone.
Instead, this was a gesture of solidarity.