Desire
I ease the winches, shifting the ceiling carriages flush against the frame, and lower Aurora onto the panoramic window to give her muscles a break.
I’m not about to let her go this early, but I’m willing to give her a rest as a reward.
I lost my mind when she licked my scar. No one has ever dared to do that.
Aurora lets out a quiet, shuddering breath, trembling in the chains as her heated skin meets the glass. Her bare breasts flatten against the cold surface, and goosebumps race across her body at the sudden temperature change.
No girl has ever gotten under my skin like this in my entire fucking life or turned me on to such primal frenzy.
Over in Africa, while I was rotting for days in sweltering ambushes, drowning in mud, heat, and the stench of other people’s blood, she was my only obsession.
My fevered brain maniacally played through every detail of what I would do to her.
I dreamed up all kinds of things for us while waiting for targets for hours, gripping my rifle.
So these steel chains she’s hanging in are a light prelude.
Absolutely harmless. The real descent is still ahead.
Before I killed Alistair, I’d fucked hundreds of girls and tried just about everything in bed, including rough and irreversible things.
I have my father to thank for that. He wanted to forge me into a perfect weapon, the best killer, and he couldn’t have cared less how that bloody meat grinder would affect my perception of the world and people.
And no, I’m not judging the old man. He turned me into a monster only because I asked him to.
He was actually pretty favorable to my idea of building the Kingdom.
I genuinely believe that becoming a bloodthirsty predator and ruling my own empire is a thousand times better than sitting around in a cozy office under the family’s wing.
But now my girl will have to wait a little. My gaze catches some strange movement on the dance floor. Steve and Isaac have disappeared somewhere—I don’t see them in their usual spots. I need to go check what the hell is going on.
I gather my clothes from the floor, get dressed, and throw one last look at Aurora.
Her eyes are closed, her breathing quiet, but her thighs have tensed almost imperceptibly.
My broken princess clearly sensed that I was leaving, but she didn’t make a sound.
Didn’t ask where I was going. Didn’t beg me to free her, even for a while.
She just went into energy-saving mode, hanging in her restraints.
A good princess. Of course, I know perfectly well that she feels safe as long as she’s bound by my chains. That’s what I love about her.
I want to take her for myself. I’ll hurt her, I’ll lock her in steel, and she’ll come on my cock. And I’m ready to listen for hours as she screams my name.
I descend into the pulsing heart of the club.
The bass pounds against my eardrums, the air thick with expensive alcohol, sweat, and cheap lust. Flocks of girls in leather chokers swirl around.
The system is brutally simple: collars with individual patterns mean the girl belongs to one specific man from my entourage.
The gray chokers, on the other hand, are expendable—community property.
We make those stupid bitches think they’re special to us, chosen.
It’s absurdly easy to pull the strings of human weakness.
Just let some influential figure whisper about inaccessible elitism, and they’ll get mad, happily diving headfirst into this filth.
My subjects know their job well, and the gray-collars are already taking part in our private orgies.
If you voluntarily put on a collar, consider yourself under contract.
You knew what you were signing up for, and stepping into the territory of predators was your choice.
No one’s going to handle you with kid gloves, play romance games, or ask for permission.
We’ll just pump you full of grade-A drugs, and you’ll gladly spread your legs yourself.
Personally, I have no use for these naive, trusting bitches—I have my own perfect princess spread out upstairs, and she’ll soon be wearing a solid gold collar.
For my men, this stuff fuels their blood.
They’re like hungry dogs, and because of all these whores, they can barely wait for the main event—the Princess Initiation.
Pushing through the crowd, I pick out the first of my men I see.
“Where are Steve and Isaac?” I throw out, shouting over the pounding music.
“Boss, they’re outside,” the guy answers. “Those assholes from Asgard showed up. Our guys went to deal with it.”
“Asgard,” I growl low. “Fucking vikings.”
I change course sharply and head to my office. With a familiar motion, I pull a gun from the safe, slot the magazine in with a satisfying click, tuck it into the back of my waistband, and step out into the night air.
According to my captains, while I was shedding blood in Africa, these Asgard thugs got too cocky and started believing their own hype. I genuinely thought they’d cool their heels and shut up once they heard Daddy was back home, but it looks like these idiots only understand a bullet hole.
By the main entrance, Steve, Isaac, and five more of my guys stand in a tight wall, facing seven hulking fuckers in leather jackets. These steroid apes with their dumb faces only bring a crooked, predatory smirk to my lips.
I step out of the shadows, hands shoved in my pockets.
“Steve, what the hell are you doing out of the club?” I ask, loose and cheerful, playing the role of a guy who’s already pretty drunk.
“The uninvited guests won’t leave, boss,” Steve says, eyes fixed on the enemy. “They can’t understand the event is private tonight.”
“Oh, come on, why you gotta be so greedy?” Chides, one of those Asgard bastards, smirks. “You’ve hoarded all the hottest bitches for your kingdom. There’s way more of them than there are of you. Share the wealth.”
Isaac narrows his eyes. “You don’t have your own bitches, so you came begging for ours? That sounds fucking pathetic. Or maybe your dick doesn’t even work anymore from all that doping?”
Chides puffs up, flexing his overmuscled arms under his jacket. “What did you say, you royal bastard?”
I let out a quiet, mocking laugh and step toward Chides. Despite the fact this hunk of meat clearly never leaves the gym, he’s not even as broad as I am in the shoulders, and he’s a good half a head shorter.
“That was a mistake, insulting my man,” I say, deceptively soft, towering over him. “But I’m in a good mood tonight. So I’ll give you a chance to make it right. Get down on your knees right now and lick my shoe soles.”
“What did you say?!” he roars, turning crimson.
I’m done talking. With a subtle, practiced motion, I pull the gun from my waistband and slam the heavy steel grip into his face. Bone crunches under the weight, and Chides crumples to the asphalt, spitting blood.
“Lick the sole before I send you to Valhalla myself, you viking gooner.” I drive the toe of my shoe into his gut, making him double over.
Then I quickly shift the gun’s barrel to the remaining six Asgardians.
“Hands in the air, fucker! So your Odin can see them from the sky! Any of you want to say something about my men, you smartasses?”
Their fake bravado vanishes instantly. Chides’s entourage throw their hands up, shaking their stupid heads.
I drop my gaze back to the whimpering bastard.
“Why aren’t you licking yet, fucker? Need help?
” I press the sole of my light-colored loafer into his shattered nose with cruel satisfaction.
The expensive leather is immediately stained bright red.
Wrinkling my nose, I step back and tell his gang to “Get the fuck off my territory. And take your ape with you.”
The Asgardians frantically grab a limp Chides under the arms and drag him away.
Steve snorts. “Now those bitches are gonna run crying to fucking Thor.”
“I don’t give a shit.” I tuck the gun back behind my back.
The head of their wannabe Asgard is a guy named Terence Dublemare.
And if that idiot can’t keep his chain apes in line, I’m ready to teach him a lesson on his own hide.
Tonight, these pieces of shit dared to distract me from my girl, and the thought of it makes me lose my fucking mind.
No one dares steal my time when she’s hanging up there, bound by my chains.
I turn and head back into the club at a brisk pace. My obedient girl has been waiting too long for me. And after violence, I always have a hard-on.