Chapter 27
The Predator
Her hand was bleeding. I’d never killed a policeman before, but I guess it was going to change.
The fear on my little bird’s face could only make my blood roar with excitement.
It had been a while since I had felt this way.
If it were someone else, I’d be ninety-nine percent sure I would’ve thrown her out of the window, for there was very little patience I could spend.
Such was the state of my cock that had, once again, crossed the impulse control red line.
Her tear-stained red face was more exciting than any woman I have ever fucked.
And the reason was nothing more than making her cum on my fingers unwillingly.
I stripped her of control she never had to begin with.
It was the first time I felt such blasphemous monotony shattered by the sight of someone’s tears. The way she pressed herself against the car window as if it could somehow save her from me was enticing beyond measure.
I could see her mind racing, trying to find a way out, but there was none.
I had given her a choice, but it was a choice rigged in my favour. What’s more thrilling than watching a person break, to see them surrender and choose exactly what I want them to? Like I said, I never force women, but I love hearing them beg. And my little bird was no exception.
She’d have to beg if she wanted to keep my interest and not divert it to her family.
I wasn’t a gentleman. And the only reason I thrust my fingers into her cunt was to dominate her.
I wasn’t planning on letting her finish.
I was a certified non-giver, and I preferred fucking with my cock than my fingers or mouth; it was safe to say she was the first woman I fingered.
And it was horrifying how much I enjoyed it.
The thrill only heightened when I felt her hymen with my fingers.
I was pretty convinced I never indulged with virgins, just because they were a hassle, a nuisance and screamers. I hated the screams; they were too much for my sensitive ears. But her…. I’d hear her scream for hours and hours, and still wouldn’t get enough.
And my fingers twitched.
It was interesting; she was evoking something primal inside me. Something I had never craved before her.
My vision blurred with the images of my little bird spread under me as blood smeared all over her thighs when I tore deep into her cunt.
I pulled out another cigar, hoping to keep my fingers busy and not wrap them around her throat.
Her body reminded me of one of the canvases in my father’s workshop, and I suddenly wanted to be an artist, painting my twisted desires onto her flesh. Every touch, every thrust would be a stroke of my masterpiece. She would be my masterpiece.
Her whimpers and gasps… oh, how much I’d love to hear them.
I sucked in the smoke like I’d suck her soul soon. My little bird was still clueless. This was what she was made for.
To be mine, to be broken and remade in my image.
She’d soon beg me to take her, to own her.
Her eyes flickered around, and I almost laughed.
She jerked as Kyle stopped the car, her face was red, like her swollen lips she mercilessly bit, and the blood I’d extort out of her virgin cunt. Even her neck turned redder, hotter, and the need to bleed them too intensified. I knew red would look marvellous on her.
Maybe I should just find that out.
It wouldn’t be hard to pin her down and fuck her. She’d scream and cry definitely, but it’d be worth it.
Maybe right now?
I focused on the cigar.
It would be a hassle. That’s what I said to convince myself. I wanted her submission, to see her out of control, and not so goody-two-shoes.
My little bird stiffened as she stared out the window at the building, one of the many I owned.
Her eyes dilated as she whipped her head toward me.
She was contemplating running. I could see the wheels running in her head clearly.
I tried to ignore her. I’d let her have this little illusion for now.
She could run, but let’s see how far her legs would take her.
Two steps? Three? Maybe she’d manage ten, then what? I’d have to break her legs. It’d be a shame.
“We’re here, sir,” Kyle said from the driver’s seat, and the fucker glared at me through the mirror as I gave two fucks about what he thought.
“Kill the officer tomorrow,” I said in Russian, and Kyle gave me a look.
“You’re getting impulsive again.”
“Don’t care. She’s hurt. Kill him and make sure his fingers are chopped.”
I stepped out of the car. She didn’t. So, I motioned Kyle to go get her.
I would’ve loved to do it myself, but it’d be a shame if I let the facade slip I put on for two years. Though there were occasional moments I purposely let her have doubts, but those were just for my amusement. Nothing more, nothing less.
I chose my pawns, not otherwise.
She was trembling; that told me exactly how much power I held over her.
I kept my arm draped over her shoulders, pulling her flush against my side. I wanted her to feel her. I wanted her to know that there was no escaping me.
She sensed the predator stalking beside her.
I wouldn’t lie; I relished her fear; it was a rare delicacy that I could almost taste on the back of my tongue.
I wanted the terror in her eyes.
We approached the elevator; I glanced around, feigning blindness, but my senses were keen, hyper-aware.
Kyle returned to my side. We strolled into the elevator, and my Ptichka froze. Kyle pressed the button for the elevator, and we waited. If the soft gasps wouldn’t count.
Her warmth seeped into me, mocking the cold emptiness that filled my soul.
The elevator doors slid open, and I guided her inside, my cane tapping out again.
The doors closed, sealing us in a perfect coffin I had prepared for her.
My plan for her was simple: to trap her.
And the lovelier it was to hear her screams echoing in my mansion, I couldn’t risk having her run away in the forest and get herself in danger.
Though she wouldn’t be able to run, but my penthouse was far better than that cold place and closer to her dorms too.
There was something peculiar about her that made me want to peel the layers she wore.
The elevator ascended, and my little bird sucked in a shaking breath. I let my lips widen into a grin.
Power was useful.
I embrace my demons. I let them out to play.
And they seemed to be infatuated with her for some reason.
She trembled beside me, yet she didn’t look away. That was the beauty of it. The irony of fear—it’d bind you to the very thing you want to escape from.
Strip away the veneer, and we were all just predators.
That’s what my father taught me. That’s what I grew up to.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. I grabbed her arm and realised how soft her skin was in my hand.
People like her were the reason I did what I did. They lived in their little bubbles, thinking the world was all rainbows and unicorns. Newsflash, Ptichka, it was not.
Dragging her down the hallway, her body grew heavy as she tried to dig her soles into the floor, and I rolled my eyes. As if I couldn’t just throw her over my shoulder.
She whimpered. The way my cock was throbbing was alarming at her sight.
Kyle pushed open the door to the penthouse. She resisted again, but that just got on my nerves, and shoved her inside.
Like I said, there was a method to my lunacy. And soon she would come to understand. In the end, they always do.
“I still don’t think—” I rolled my eyes. And removed the shades.
“I don’t care about what you think, Kyle. Suck it up, and do as you’re told. Your opinions are about as useful as nothing.”
I could almost see the gears turning in his head, struggling to come up with a retort that wouldn’t get him into deeper trouble.
Kyle and I shared a deep history. Something deeper than blood, but sometimes he loved getting on my nerves.
Something wrapped around my hand, and I realised my little bird was trying to yank herself from my grip, which only made me tighten my hold on her wrist.
She was a pitiful sight, and I loved it.
I looked down at her, taking in her appearance.
A thin sweater hung loosely on her frail frame, doing nothing to hide the tremors of fear coursing through her body.
Her pants were wrinkled and stained. Her tear-stained face was flushed, with red ears and neck.
Her hair was a tangled mess, wild and unkempt as if she’d been hit by a storm.
And maybe she had.
I grasped that I liked her this way. It was like seeing a beautiful painting in the process of being destroyed. There was a raw, unfiltered honesty to her in this state, stripped of any pretence.
She was a canvas of hopelessness, and I was the artist holding the brush.
Her eyes, wide with terror, darted around the place, looking for an escape that didn’t exist. She was trapped, and she knew it.
“Be still,” I yanked her close. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so,” I loved how soft her hair was as I tucked the strand behind her ear. “Play the part, sweetheart, and we both get through the night. Try to be clever again, and I’ll make sure you forget how.”
Ever since the first time, I knew she had that flame, this stubborn defiance that strangely intrigued me.
Trembling and terrified of me. And the fact that her fear only made my cock ache should have sickened me. There was something about her that made me want to tear her open and devour every beautiful whimper she owned.
I’d never desired anything this bad.
Her lips wobbled, and I chewed my inner cheek and watched her, pondering if letting her into my life was a bad idea. She’d not survive in my world. Sooner or later, she’d look at me the way everyone else eventually did.
Yet, it wouldn’t stop me from pushing her over the edge. To see just how deep her fear ran.
My eyes raked over her face, and her gaze lowered. No woman had ever made me this uncontrollable. Since I never let my inner self take the reins, but with her, I forget my purpose and everything with it, watching her tear-streaked cheeks. It was hallucinogenic.
The pulse in her throat skipped, and so did my common sense.
Nothing helped when her sweater was clinging to her skin. I could see the shape of her breasts, her erect nipples begging for my attention.
The way she looked, it drove me fucking wild.
“Do you know what you do to me, Ptichka?” I whispered.
“Leave me—”
She tried to pull away. My free hand trailed down her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise under my touch. I gripped her waist, pulling her to my chest.
She fucking bit her lips again, and I lost against all odds. Fisting her hair, I pulled her mouth to mine.
She froze. So did the better part of me. The darker half was far too pleased. The line blurred beneath my own hands. I hated myself for crossing it. The darker part didn’t care.
Everything about wanting her was wrong, but it felt more right than anything else.
I backed off just enough to breathe, staring at the raw, swollen crimson I’d forced onto her lips. That same old, holy defiance burned in her stare—and God help me, it only made me want to ruin her more.
Not enough. I want more.
I fisted my hand in her hair, dragging her back into a collision of teeth and breath. It wasn’t even a fraction of what I needed, so I broke her open, pushed my tongue into her mouth, feeling everything all at once.
Her brief shock gave me absolute possession, right before the storm in her broke loose. Her frantic fists were a pathetic, beautiful joke against my chest, but the tear of her teeth in my flesh turned my amusement into something dark and entirely starved.
I drank my own blood from her teeth, then pinned her neck to bite her back.
I drank down her gasp, invading the space she lost, thriving on the exact moment her terror tasted like surrender on my fucking tongue.
This was sickness. I didn’t just want her body; I wanted to hollow out her soul until she was nothing but a monument to my ruin.
Just when I thought I had her, she stomped on my foot. It took me off-guard, and she drove her knee between my legs. I doubled over, grunting and grinned as she scrambled out of my hold and pushed me back. I hardly budged, but it was enough for her to run to the door.
Before Kyle could run after her, I stopped him.
“Leave her,” I chuckled, wiping the smudge of my own blood across my chin. “The hunt is the best part.”
She wanted a hunt, forgetting that the only thing waiting at the end of her flight was the beast she’d unchained.