twenty-one
-Ares-
I leave Brynn to her work. I know she’ll get what we need, and I’m not particularly fond of seeing what’s going to happen next…
I need to get a few of my men here to keep things under control, but first, I need to check the security of this place and whatever cameras they might have. I get the feeling that his secretary knows how things work around here best.
Then I walk back to the main lobby and to the reception desk, where Ashford’s assistant is all alone behind the counter. “Let’s have a chat,” I gesture to her to enter one of the free rooms. I’m not sure who’s listening here, and I need this to be kept between us.
My tone must’ve been rougher than intended because she shrinks back in her chair, her manicured fingers gripping the edge of the desk.
Seeing she doesn’t seem to follow basic instructions, and that her eyes dart to the phone on her desk, I place my palm on the flat surface between us, leaning forward just enough to invade her personal space without touching her—yet.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to continue this conversation in a different room. I don’t like all eyes on me. If things go smoothly, life will go on as normal. But if they don’t...” I let her fill the blanks.
Her throat works as she swallows. “Mr. Ashford—”
“Is occupied,” I finish for her, gesturing toward the room. And it seems she finally gets it. Her survival instinct kicks in, and she does as she’s told.
I follow her into the room and close the door behind us. Her face turns pale at the sound, but I can also catch a hint of something else. Is that?… arousal? Her blushed cheeks tell me that it could be possible. I’m definitely not going down that path, my little curse is the only one who gets me.
“This is going to play out in your favor if you keep your mouth shut. Mr. Ashford will be occupied for some time. You will direct any inquiries to me. You will not call security. You will not text anyone. And you will not whisper a word about what you’re going to see.”
A tear slides down her cheek, smudging her mascara. “He’ll kill me if I—”
“No,” I step closer to her, dropping my voice to that level that doesn’t need any other explanation.
“He can’t kill you if I kill you first. And trust me, I will.
And it’s not gonna be quick or easy.” She takes a step backward, but my gaze lingers on her.
“Don’t even think of double-crossing me.
In a few moments, I’ll own every digital system in this building.
The cameras, the phone, and the fucking computers.
My men are making that happen, so if you attempt to alert anyone, I’ll know before you finish the word help.
” I give her a second to process what I’m saying because she seems a little lost. “Understood?” I ask, making sure she knows what she has to do.
She nods frantically, because at this point, she’ll do anything to get out of this alive.
“Perfect. The club continues operating as normal. If anyone asks for Ashford, he’s in a private session and cannot be disturbed. Next thing you do, you call me.” I give her my card, and she grabs it, her hands shaking. “Now smile and get back to fucking work.”
She forces her lips into a grotesque approximation of a smile. Terror still plastered across her face.
In my millennia of existence, I’ve grown to know people pretty well.
She’s not gonna say a word. If she does, 404 will handle it and cut the connection before she gets to say anything.
“Now, you’re going to get a call from one of my men, and you’ll tell him everything you know about how this place runs. ”
She nods again, and I show her the door, which she uses to get behind her desk as soon as possible.
I walk back through the black silk curtain, and as I approach the room where Ashford is, I can hear Brynn’s voice echoing through the door. "On your knees," she commands, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Both of you."
I smile despite myself. My little curse has a talent for this kind of work.
"But—" Ashford's protest is cut short by what sounds like the click of a safety being disengaged.
"I said knees," Brynn repeats, colder now. "Now strip him already. Slowly."
Fabric rustles, followed by Ashford's panicked voice. "This is insane! I don't swing that way!"
"I’m not saying you need to enjoy it. Quite the opposite. The girls you kept here certainly didn’t," Brynn responds, her voice sharp enough to cut. "But that didn't stop you, did it?"
More rustling, then Ashford's voice rises to a pitched sound. "Stop! You can't do this!"
"I'm not doing anything," Brynn says, and I can hear the amusement in her voice even if I don’t have my eyes on her yet.
Fabric tears, followed by Ashford's voice cracking. "Please—you can't—"
"I repeat, I'm not doing anything," Brynn says with deadly calm. "I'm just watching. Like you did with all those girls."
I slip inside the room without drawing attention to myself.
We have two different stars today, and the scene before me confirms it.
Ashford is bent over a desk with his pants around his ankles.
Behind him, the other guy trembles, sweat beading on his forehead as he positions himself right at Ashford’s clenching hole.
Brynn sits in a leather chair, gun resting casually on her thigh, eyes glittering with cold satisfaction, while the other girl sits on a small sofa, mirroring the same satisfaction in her gaze.
My little curse doesn't acknowledge my presence, just leans forward. "Now fuck him," she instructs. "Hard enough that he feels it tomorrow. And the day after."
"I can't—I've never—" The guy’s voice breaks, his hands shaking as they grip Ashford's hips.
"Figure it out," Brynn says, pointing her gun at his kneecap. "Or I redesign your leg."
The guy thrusts forward his semi-erect limb, horror etched on his face, but not even close to the one on Ashford’s. He screams, his face contorting, tears streaming down his cheeks as the larger guy enters him, in an attempt to save his own life.
"Who's above you?" Brynn demands, leaning closer to them. "Who gives the orders?"
Ashford still says nothing, the faint sound of bodies slapping together dominating the room.
"Harder," Brynn orders the guy, whose face is a mix of revulsion and terror. "Make him feel what those girls felt, or I swear I’ll make you switch."
“I can’t get it hard enough,” the man pumping into Ashford whines like the little bitch he really is, still moving his hips like his life depends on it. And guess what? It does.
“Then I’ll keep you both here until you make it happen. I don’t care if it takes until tonight, tomorrow morning, or two fucking days.” Brynn threatens, and I can see the large guy closing his eyes, probably imagining his fucked up version of a proper sex scene.
“Ashford...” she asks again, punctuating his name.
More grunting, more gasping, but no real word about what we want.
Soon, Ashford’s groans grow louder, his slumped dick hitting against the desk as the guy behind him pumps faster and faster, a prisoner now to his fantasy. Well, I’ll be damned.
Ashford looks like he’s going to faint any second, screams of pain barely muffled, but his words still defy us. "I won't tell you anything."
"Really?" Brynn sounds almost amused. "Well then, let's try something else." A pause, then: "You, I didn’t get your name.”
“Ray,” the man behind Ashford answers through gritted teeth, without even opening his eyes.
“Okay, Ray. Grab his cock."
"What?" Both men's voices unite in horror.
"You heard me," Brynn says. "Help him relax. Stroke him while you fuck him. I want him to enjoy this. You seem to be." She can’t hold back a chuckle as the young woman beside her looks like she’s ready to grab the popcorn. “Consider it my gift. Neither of you cared about bringing satisfaction to the women you abused. But I’m feeling generous today. Call me your guardian angel,” Brynn’s eyes move to me to catch the pride in my gaze.
She’s as twisted as I suspected, and I live for every second of it.
“Now, grab his dick before I decide to shoot both of your junks off. And you’d better pray I get it on first try. ”
Ray definitely wants to live, so he grabs Ashford’s cock, pushing the saggy skin back in a single expert move.
"No!" Ashford's voice breaks with genuine terror. "Don't touch me there!” He tries to get away, but Ray plants a large hand on his back, holding him in place as he fucks harder into him, one arm wrapped around Ashford, fingers locked on his small limp cock.
The image is hard to watch, and I’ve seen a lot of twisted things in my existence.
But I’m starting to consider keeping this guy, Ray, around.
He’s definitely the most efficient torture tool to use on any enemy.
Because it’s then that Ashford realizes he has no way out, and that eventually he’s going to come at the hands of his friend, who surprisingly, looks like he’s going to finish soon.
“Fuck, I'll tell you! I'll tell you, okay! It's Senator James McAllister! It's fucking McAllister!" he groans as Raymond speeds up, trapping him completely against the desk and his body.
I go still, the name, the last one I’d hoped to hear.
McAllister is also one of the Valiants, a regular at Kharon for the past five years.
He’s the one who kept an eye on me and was asking too many questions as I was trying to get Brynn out.
A nosy, self-centered motherfucker with enough connections to make this a hundred times more complicated than I suspected.
"Interesting," Brynn says, amused. "You endured being fucked against your will, but the threat of a man giving you a handjob is what broke you.
" Her laugh is cold, almost deranged. "You men are all the same.
Truth time, Ashford. Tell me everything about McAllister's involvement, or I'll have him stroke you until you come like the hypocritical piece of shit you are. "