CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TONY MARINO
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I’m ready for my bride. Twenty years ago, I was married to a woman who died giving birth to our son. He died several hours later.
I was devastated.
In some ways I’ve hated her for it since. Like she did it to escape me. Die, that is. Death was her only escape.
The fucking bitch.
Stella Voss won’t get that chance. I’m not interested in an heir anymore. Once dead, I won’t care what happens to my money and legacy. This world is turning to shit in a handbasket, anyway.
While I remain on earth, what I do want is full control and pleasure. Victor’s beautiful young daughter is going to give all that to me and more.
Voss has always been a stupid fucker trying to play games with those on the fringe of the business world where the law is gray. Or ignored completely. I knew he didn’t have it in him to see through my setup. So I shook his hand and let it play out.
I get bored.
It’s fun to see someone roll around in the shit they make. Especially if it means I can then kick them around.
It’s a long game, watching it all fall to pieces and the stress levels increase. Pretty sure he’s put on thirty pounds and is now on meds to keep him from having a heart attack.
Hope not.
If Stella’s security team figures out what I’m up to and whisks her away, I won’t have anyone to kill. Eh, I guess the mother will do.
I step into the room I’ve had set up for Stella, stopping just inside the door and sliding my hands into my pockets. The things I plan to do to her on the four-poster bed, which is nicely made up in black silk linens, make my dick hard already.
I’ve been fantasizing about it for weeks.
Silver handcuffs hang delicately from each post, matching the thin but strong bars on the window. I’m not a monster; she can open them an inch or two for fresh air.
No one will hear her scream.
The sedatives I will feed to her each day will tamp down her desire or ability to fight.
I don’t want her too docile.
I want to see her pain and suffering and watch her fight and bleed.
I slowly walk over to the cabinet sitting along a wall and pull open the top drawer. Nicely displayed are a multitude of vibrators, dildos, and sex beads.
The next draw contains leather whips.
Another reveals a range of lingerie I’ll expect her to dress in.
I did say Stella would be naked, but—I lift one of the barely-there pieces—she still essentially will be.
Nipples on display. No crotch, so she can sit on my lap while I eat dinner in the evenings with my cock impaled inside her enslaved cunt.
She’ll have nothing to complain about. I’m an excellent lover. I’ll allow her to orgasm and ensure she’s happy enough to comply and pleasure me.
Feisty is arousing.
A feral bitch, not so much.
Once we’re married, there will be a few loose ends to sort out: her father and the bodyguard.
Victor Voss and Declan Sloan.
Both are dead men walking.