Chapter 7 #2
“This is about so much more than just you. This isn’t about money or power.
It’s about destruction—destroying every last person who deserves it.
” I reach out and brush one of her long braids away from her face, pushing it back over her shoulder.
The tips of my finger graze her brow as I do, a performance of tenderness.
“You’ve been taken by a dead man. Which means as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you’re as good as dead too. ”
Chantal’s so horrified, she doesn’t utter a peep. No more words of defiance or shrieks about who her daddy is.
She simply stares at me as if on the verge of more tears.
Good. She better get used to it. Her cushiony pampered life is no more.
Things’ll only get harder and harder from here on out.
I straighten up and turn to address Aleksei, one of the few guys who’s identity is obvious even when masked. He’s so much larger than everybody else it’s no wonder.
“Take her to my chambers,” I say. “I’ll be up shortly.”
Aleksei nods and steps forward, gripping Chantal by the arm and hauling her unceremoniously to her feet. She doesn’t fight him, basically limp in his hold as she lets herself be dragged toward the staircase like a marionette being pulled by its strings.
I point at Petrit, a wiry Albanian who’s been with me since Ronan and the clan ended Dren. “Clean this up. I don’t want to see so much as a speck when I come back down here.”
He nods and immediately starts barking orders at the others.
I spare one last glance at Dermott’s body cooling on the hardwood floor, his masked face now a gruesome mess of blood, shattered bone, and brain gunk.
He was a fine enough enforcer initially, but he proved to be too incompetent today. I had to make an example out of him.
His death serves a dual purpose—showing the men who’s in charge and what I’ll tolerate and tormenting my fragile little brat of a captive.
I bet that was the first murder she’s ever seen; I bet she’s never been covered in blood or innards before.
That doesn’t even scratch the surface of what’s to come.
I tuck the pistol back into the waistband of my pants and head for the stairs.
My room’s probably one of the nicer ones on the estate, located in the east wing on the third floor. While it’s certainly not five-star accommodations, it’s livable.
When I stride into the room, Chantal’s already waiting for me.
Aleksei hovers by the window, his brawny arms crossed over his chest and one good eye peering at the grounds below.
“I’ve got it now.”
He gives a short nod then sees himself out of the room. The door snicks shut, leaving us alone together for the first time since I visited her.
She looks… pitiful.
Blood smeared on her face and on that now-ratty, slinky dress of hers, she really looks like she’s been through it.
Unfortunately for her, she’s about to be put through the ringer some more.
I shove both hands into my pants pockets and say, “Take your dress off.”
Her head snaps in my direction, brows knitting close. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. That rag you’re wearing is filthy. Take it off.”
When she stares at me with large, dark eyes and a horrified dip to her mouth, I release a cold laugh.
“I won’t ask again, Miss Banks.”
“And I’m not stripping naked for some psychopath who just blew a man’s brains out!”
“That so?” My fingers curl around the handle of the knife in my pocket, and I pull it out with a dramatic flick, the blade coming into view.
“Well, you’ve got two options. You take that dress off yourself like a good little captive, or I fucking cut it off you.
And I promise you won’t enjoy that nearly as much as I will. ”
Her hands fly up to cover her face. “This can’t be happening to me.”
“The sooner you accept it is, the sooner you make the suffering slightly less traumatic for yourself.”
Her hands drop from her face, and her expression hardens, chasing away the fear and disbelief and despair.
The same stubborn sense of defiance returns as her nostrils flare and her chest heaves from the deep, desperate breaths she’s taken.
“Fine,” she grinds out. “You want the privilege of seeing me naked? Take a good long look, you sick asshole.”
Her fingers clumsily fumble for the zipper on the side of the ratty, bloodied dress. As confident and unfazed as she’s acting, she’s nervous.
…she’s still fucking terrified out of her mind.
She’s just trying to play it off now. Doing her best to project confidence she probably normally feels under any other circumstance.
It’s not a stretch to say Chantal Banks has a healthy dose of self-esteem. The girl very obviously thinks highly of herself.
But given the situation, even she’s a little off her game. She guides the zipper lower as the fabric slips down her body and sinks to the ground with a soft rasp.
A prolonged silence follows.
I remain where I am, clutching the pocketknife, and she stands proudly, not trying to cover herself. Not shrinking or hunching her shoulders to indicate any shame at all.
It’s a night-and-day difference from my wife—or ex-wife would be more accurate.
Cara’s slim enough at times her ribs and other bones poke out—she’s been waifish as long as I’ve known her—and if I’m honest about it, I always wished she’d pack on a good twenty or thirty pounds.
Grabbing onto her at times felt like fucking an emaciated corpse (it didn’t help that she was as motionless as one too).
But what was even worse was she was so damn insecure.
We were married for years, and she still rarely changed in front of me. Sex was more functional and routine than carnal and passionate; more so to produce heirs and continue my bloodline than because we craved each other.
I wonder if my darling ex is less of a frigid bitch with the man she’s fucking now.
Eddie told me all about it before his life was taken. My wife isn’t just my ex because I died; she’s my ex because when I was sentenced to eight years at Sing Sing, she decided it was the perfect time to file for divorce.
It was finally her chance to get rid of me and be with the asshole she really wanted—Sean Murphy, one of Ronan’s buttonmen.
When I died, she put on a good show. Cried and screamed, but that didn’t stop her from fucking her new boy toy.
Yet as Chantal Banks stands before me naked as sin, Cara’s the last thing on my mind.
I’m much too distracted by the thick curves on display. All the smooth skin and softness that you can only get from a woman.
After almost a year spent in Sing Sing, it sends an immediate rush of blood to my cock.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a woman, and this will be as much of a test of my restraint as it’ll be a punishment for her.
Chantal’s nothing but natural curves.
She’s got full breasts that hang heavy, with dark nipples and large areolas. Wide hips that match the thick thighs they’re attached to. A stomach that’s soft and round and attractive; it’s a belly meant for grabbing hold of.
Her entire body is that way, so many curves it makes my hands ache to grip them.
Right down to her mons pubis, where a layer of flesh hints at how juicy and fat her cunt must be.
I bite down on my jaw, teeth grinding together, and force myself to remain composed in the face of the naked woman a few feet away.
This was about torturing her. Making her uncomfortable. Slowly breaking her psychologically.
“Bathroom,” I say, jerking my chin toward the door on the far side of the room. “Now.”
She turns on her bare heel and marches toward it as if she’s wearing another designer gown and not butt-ass naked and vulnerable.
“Finally,” she says loudly. “A bathroom that doesn’t look like it belongs in a condemned building. Maybe this nightmare has a silver lining after all. Do I get room service too, or is that asking too much?”
The mouth on this girl. Even now, even covered in blood and with a dead man’s gray matter drying in her hair, she can’t help running it.
I stalk after her into the bathroom and take hold of her upper arm, guiding her toward the clawfoot tub that dominates the space.
She stumbles slightly at the contact, obviously startled by my touch.
But she doesn’t fight me as I help her step over the porcelain edge and lower herself into the empty basin.
I twist the faucet and let the lukewarm water start to fill the tub.
“You don’t want to find out what happens if you move,” I say.
Chantal merely blinks at me and says nothing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the girl is enjoying this. Some part of her is relieved to finally be taking a bath.
Striding out of the bathroom, I open the door to the bedroom and call for Sorcha to bring some supplies. She dutifully returns a moment later clutching things like a change of clothes, a towel, and a loofah.
Chantal’s still waiting for me when I return, the tub practically full. She hardly flinches as I crouch beside the tub and squirt some soap onto the loofah.
I run the sponge along her back, going shoulder to shoulder, then down her spine. I’m slow about it, taking my time and letting the soap suds bubble on her dark skin.
Her eyes close, facial features relaxing. Her guard’s coming down.
Just what I anticipated.
“How are you alive?” she asks.
“I refused to die,” I answer, running the loofah under the running faucet. “I’m not dead ’til everybody else is. Then I die.”
“Why are you doing this?” she presses. The blood and grime have already washed away, diluting the clear water with a tinge of red. “Ronan’s your brother. Simone is... I mean, she wouldn’t want you to—”
“Be quiet,” I snap. “Don’t speak on things you don’t understand.”
She flinches at the harsh tone. Makes no difference to me as I return the loofah to her chest and allow more soapy suds to trickle across her large tits.
“M-maybe I can help,” she offers after a few seconds. “Simone’s my bestie. Ronan and I… we’re cool with each other. If you just let me talk to him, I’m sure I can negotiate something on your behalf. Money, property, whatever you want. I’m very persuasive when I need to be.”
She’s lying.
An obvious fucking lie at that.
What she doesn’t know is I’ve spent countless hours surveilling my brother and the rest of the family. I know all about everybody’s dynamics and what’s going on inside Callahan House.
Chantal is in no way close with—or even very amicable to—Ronan, and even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. That’s what she still doesn’t get.
But I’ve got to admit, she’s good at easing tensions. The lie rolled off her tongue smooth as butter, her expression open and earnest.
I can tell she’s spent a lifetime talking people up. Telling them what they need to hear to advance her own self-interest.
“You should know you can’t charm me,” I say matter-of-factly, dragging the loofah slowly across her thigh. “I’m not to be manipulated. Whatever tricks work on the men in your life—your father, your boyfriends, that Wall Street sugar daddy who sold you out—they won’t work on me.”
“I wasn’t trying to manipulate—”
“Yes you were.” I meet her eyes over the side of the tub, holding her gaze. “You’ve been trying since the moment you woke up here. Making friends with Sorcha. Looking for weaknesses. Gathering information. Don’t think I haven’t picked up on it. You’ve got no secrets from me.”
That shuts her up for a moment, though the gears are obviously turning in her head. Probably searching for a new angle.
I dip the loofah into the water and let it trail along the inside of her thigh. She sucks in a breath, going still in the tub. I lean even closer, slowing down the loofah even more. The sponge skims across her mahogany skin so lightly, yet that doesn’t make it any less evocative.
Any less tense.
“Let me explain something to you,” I say calmly. “I’m a dead man. I’ve got an empire to burn. A family to destroy. You happen to be the perfect pawn for my purposes.”
She’s barely breathing, still holding in the breath she drew earlier.
Meanwhile, the loofah drags closer toward the apex of her thighs. It travels toward her most intimate place as she’s so shocked she’s rendered motionless.
Her warm, juicy cunt is mine should I want to take it.
Every part of her belongs to me now.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” I continue, using the loofah to draw a circle along the inside of her thigh.
“First, I’m gonna use you to ruin your father.
All those dirty little secrets he thinks he’s got buried so deep no one will ever find them?
I’m gonna dig every last one of them up and expose him for everybody to see.
His political career will be nothing by the time I’m through with him.
“Then I’m gonna use you to stretch the Callahan Clan thin.
They’re looking for you right now, did you know that?
Simone’s running around like a fucking headless chicken.
Ronan’s pulling every string he can get his hands on, hoping he can return his wife’s best friend to her.
They’re so distracted they won’t see what else I have planned coming. ”
“And… and when it’s over?” she stammers. “When you’ve gotten what you want?”
“When it’s over, I’ll find you a nice new home with the Bratva.
They’re always in the market for pretty girls to add to their collection.
” I take the loofah away just as I’m inches from her cunt.
Then I rise from the spot near the tub, stepping back to admire the shock flicker across her face.
“You’ll fetch a good price. Senator’s daughter.
Art world connections. Exotic looks and a thick, sexy body.
The Raguzins’ll be very interested. That’s assuming you make it out of this place in one piece. ”
She stares up at me from the bathwater with a fresh dose of tears shining in her eyes. But for once, Chantal Banks has absolutely nothing to say.
Nothing to offer except stunned and horrified silence.
I caress her cheek as a final parting gesture and say, “Just remember, Miss Banks. Your situation can always be worse. It will be getting worse.”
I turn and stride out of the room, aware she’s watching me as I go.
In the hall, I direct Sorcha to go in and get her toweled off and changed. Then I walk away thinking about how I’m only getting started.