4. The Expansion #2
Gabriel is sitting on the bench, surrounded by orchids, his head bowed. He doesn't look up when I enter.
"I need to talk to you," I say.
"About what?"
"About the empire."
He laughs. "I don't care about the empire."
"You should. It's going to consume us all."
"Maybe." He finally looks up. His eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale. "But I don't have to be part of it."
"You don't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice."
I walk toward him. I stop in front of him, looking down at his face.
"I'm going to take over," I say. "I'm going to build something bigger. Something better. And if you try to stop me, I'll destroy you."
"Then destroy me."
"Gabriel..."
"I'm not going to fight you, Nathan. I'm not going to stop you. I'm just going to watch you destroy yourself."
He walks out.
I stand in the greenhouse, surrounded by orchids, and I feel the weight of everything pressing down on me.
I'm going to destroy myself. I already know that.
But I'm going to take them all with me.
I go back to my office.
The map is still on my desk, the pins and lines and careful notations. I stare at it for a long time.
I think about Monika. About the way she looked at me. About the way she said "I'll help you" like it was a promise and a threat.
I think about the boy in the cage. About the way he looked at me. About the way he didn't.
I think about my father. About the empire he built. About the empire I'm going to take from him.
I pick up the phone. I make a call.
"I need more product," I say. "More children. As many as you can get."
The voice on the other end doesn't hesitate. "How many?"
"As many as it takes."
I hang up. I stare at the map. I feel something shift in my chest.
I don't care. I don't care about anything.
Except her.
I go back to Monika's room.
She's sitting on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hair falling over her face. She doesn't look up when I enter.
"Nathan," she says. "You're obviously in the mood to pester me today. What do you want now?"
"I needed to see you."
"You saw me this morning. And last night."
"That's not enough."
I sit beside her. I reach out and touch her face. She doesn't pull away.
"I'm going to destroy everything," I say. "I'm going to destroy my father. I'm going to destroy my brother. And I'm going to destroy myself."
"I know."
"And I'm going to take you with me."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and final. The city lights from the window cut stripes of gold and shadow across the floor, across her face. Her eyes are brown, steady, unreadable. They don't flinch. They don't fill with the fear I'm offering her. They just hold mine.
"Okay," she says. The word is a stone dropping into a deep well. No splash. No echo.
I kiss her.
It's not a soft kiss. It's not a gentle kiss.
It's a bruising, desperate collision. It's the kiss of a man who has nothing left to lose, who is trying to devour the only thing that still tastes like life.
My hands fist in her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her mouth harder against mine.
She gasps, a small, sharp sound that I swallow whole.
She doesn't pull away. Her hands come up to my shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of my shirt, not to push, but to anchor.
I walk her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed.
She falls onto the mattress, a sprawl of limbs and dark hair against the pale sheets.
I follow her down, my body a cage over hers.
I don't bother with gentle. I grab the collar of her shirt and tear it open.
Buttons skitter across the floor like scattered teeth.
Her bra is black, simple. I hook a finger in the center and pull, the fabric giving way with a sharp rip. She arches her back, a silent offering.
My mouth is on her neck, my teeth scraping against the frantic pulse in her throat.
I want to mark her. I want to leave a physical brand, a testament to this moment, to this ruin we're about to create together.
I suck hard on the skin of her collarbone, and she moans, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through her entire body and straight into my bones.
"Tell me you want this," I growl against her skin.
"I want this," she breathes, her voice thick. "I want you."
I pull back just enough to yank her jeans and underwear down her legs in one rough motion.
They join the ruined shirt on the floor.
She is laid bare beneath me, all pale skin and dark, hungry eyes.
My cock is painfully hard, straining against my jeans.
I don't undress. Not yet. I want her to feel the rough denim, the cold metal of my belt buckle, the sheer force of my need.
I grab her by the hips, flipping her onto her stomach. She cries out, a sound of surprise that dissolves into a moan as I press her face into the pillow. My hand comes down on her ass, a sharp, loud crack that echoes in the quiet room. Her entire body jolts.
"Again," she whispers into the pillow. The word is muffled, but clear.
I bring my hand down again. Harder. A red handprint blooms on her pale skin. I lean over her, my lips at her ear. "Is this what you want?" I ask, my voice a low rumble. "You want it rough?"
"Yes," she pants. "Please, Nathan."
My name on her lips is a prayer and a curse.
I yank her head back by her hair, my fingers tangled in the dark strands, forcing her to arch her back.
My other hand is at my belt, the leather hissing as I pull it free.
The sound is loud, dangerous. I don't use it as a weapon, not yet. The threat is enough. The promise.
I unzip my jeans, the rasp of the metal teeth a countdown. I kick them off, my own urgency making me clumsy. I don't bother with a condom. There's no point. We're beyond consequences now. We're creating them.
I position myself behind her, my hands on her hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh.
I'm not gentle. I slam into her, a single, brutal stroke that makes her scream into the pillow.
Her back bows, her knuckles turning white where she grips the sheets.
I don't give her time to adjust. I set a punishing rhythm, each thrust a declaration.
A claim. I'm taking her, and in doing so, I'm taking all of it—the pain, the rage, the burning need for destruction.
My hand finds her hair again, a makeshift leash. I pull her head back, my lips brushing her ear. "Say my name," I command, my voice ragged. "Say it when you come."
Her body is a study in tension, every muscle coiled tight. I can feel her tightening around me, a flutter that becomes a vice. She's close. I reach around, my fingers finding her clit, slick and swollen. I rub hard, merciless circles as I fuck her.
"Nathan," she gasps, the name breaking on a sob. "Nathan. Nathan."
"Nathan."
The third time is a scream, raw and primal.
She comes apart beneath me, her body convulsing, clenching around my cock in waves that threaten to drag me under with her.
I watch her face in the dim light, watch the way she breaks, the way her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth falls open on a soundless cry.
And in that moment, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Alive.
It's a savage, brutal thing. It's a fire in my veins, a howl in my blood.
I come, too, my own climax a violent shudder.
I bury my face in her neck, my teeth sinking into her shoulder, tasting salt and skin.
I hold her like she's the only thing keeping me tethered to this world, my arms a prison, my body a tombstone.
I pour everything I have into her—all my hate, all my despair, all my desperate, broken love.
For a long moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing, the frantic pounding of our hearts.
I pull out slowly, reluctantly. She collapses onto the mattress, a boneless heap.
I stand there, looking down at her. The red handprint on her ass is already darkening to a bruise.
The marks on her neck are a necklace of violence.
She is beautiful. She is ruined. She is mine.
I find my jeans, pull them on. I don't look at her as I say the words. I say them to the window, to the waking city, to the ghost of the man I used to be.
"I love you," I say. "I don't know why. I don't know how. But I love you."
The silence that follows is heavy, but not empty. It's filled with the unspoken. The truth that she already knows. She doesn't say it back. She doesn't have to. The marks I've left on her body say enough.
I leave her room without looking back. The door clicks shut behind me, a quiet, final sound.
The city is waking up, the sun a sliver of molten gold rising over the jagged teeth of the skyline.
The streets below are filling with cars, with people, with the ordinary, oblivious machinery of life.
They have no idea what's about to happen.
They have no idea that a man and a woman just forged a pact in blood and sweat and silence.
I stand at the window of my own room, my reflection a stranger in the glass. My knuckles are bruised. My shoulder aches where her nails bit in. I can still smell her on my skin.
"I'm going to build something better," I say to the glass. To the city. To the world. "I'm going to build something that lasts."
The city doesn't answer. The sun keeps rising. And I keep standing there, a loaded gun in a room full of sleeping people, waiting for the first shot
But I know it's listening.