Page 5 of Enslaved

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MY EYES NEVER LEFT her picture tucked carefully amongst the financial reports in my hand, as I made my threat. “Give us control of your company, or I’ll sink it.”

“I started that company in my basement twenty years ago,” the man stammered, with a sweat-covered brow.

“It’ll end there too…if you don’t give me control. Your debt to profit ratio has been off for years. One phone call. One phone call is all it will take to put you in jail.” I plucked the glossy eight by ten photos of him leaving his mistress’ apartment from my folder, then dropped the financial audit of his company with all of the discrepancies highlighted. “I’m guessing you stole from the company to pay for her penthouse?”

“Fucking bastard,” he breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Flipping the file shut, I stood towering over him. “I’ll give you five minutes to make your decision. I’m sure you’ve heard of my reputation and know what I’m capable of. I won’t stop with shredding the company you built from scratch. I’ll evict your children from the beds they sleep in, wipe out your savings account…hell, I’ll fuck your wife—just because,I can.”

“Do it. What do I care? She sucks in bed.”

“Nah, I bet your bald, fat, face just couldn’t get her wet.” With one hand on the door, I fired my parting shot, “your mistress fucks like a dream though.”

He reared back as if my words slapped him in the face. He lunged for me, tripping over the feet of the rolling office chair, falling flat on his face.

“Four minutes.”

“You’re the devil.”

“So, I’ve been told,” I smirked leaving him on the floor. Entering my private office, I shut the door and walked to the bank of windows overlooking London. My palms rested on the cold glass as I looked at the city below. I’m half-British, half-Greek and was educated in the best private schools’ money could buy. I’m in the prime of my life but can’t feel a damn thing.

My mother said I was damaged and mourned the loss of a son still living, but my father…he used my condition to his advantage. I’m a trained soldier, but my battlefield is a boardroom. The pathetic man who I just left at my feet; my latest casualty.

Opening the file, my eyes roamed over her face.

It’s almost time.

Christ, I’m fawning over her photograph,again.Something only lovesick fools do.

I’m no lovesick fool.

But I am sick.

Depraved.

All I feel is the pleasure of the flesh, and I want my pound. I’m a façade. Everything about me is. My lips curved into a sardonic smile. My eyes twinkle when I force a laugh, faking emotions that I don’t feel. I’ve forged relationships; bonds that others think are real.

They’re not.

I had learned at an early age how to blend in. How to exist in a world driven by emotions, thoughts…feelings.

The only thing I can feel is physical pain and pleasure. I push myself in the gym, and just as hard at work. I pick apart companies, selling them off in pieces; dismantling lives—breaking them apart. It’s the only thing I’m good at. My lack of emotions is a gift in disguise if you work in the profession I do—mergers and acquisitions. I’m the best in the world at what I do. My ruthlessness knows no bounds and it terrifies my conquests and keeps competitors from trying to interfere in my deals. Part of the reason why I couldn’t come wrap this deal up sooner, is because the CEO of the last company I tore apart was found hanging from his necktie.

I should’ve felt something. Anything.

But, as always, where my soul should be was nothing but a barren wasteland.

My finger traced over her face. “I’ll have you soon, my beauty. Just wait. You’ll see how good it will be—to be, my little-caged bird. Fly now when you can—I’m coming for you. There’ll be no escape from the things we’ll share. I’ll be so deep in you—you'll be the one to get lost as I make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name,” I vowed, uttering the words in a silky caress only I could hear.

Picking up the satellite phone on the desk, I dialed George. He’s loyal as hell to me. Not only do I pay him the salary of a CEO to make sure he stays discreet, but he was my father’s butler for years.

Where one might say I have no heart, no soul because I was born that way—my father gave away his. He craved money…an empire to be his legacy long after he was gone. He groomed me, used my condition to make ruthless business decisions other men would find difficult. My family’s impeccable bloodline dates back to Ancient Rome where men fought lions and conquered empires.

My ancestors fled to Greece when their great city fell. Centuries later my father, Roman Devillo, married a fair English rose. Their marriage was fiery passion, screaming matches, flying vases, and crashing hearts. It made me grateful that I am the way I am—unable to ever be caught in the hell called love.

I was born in Greece but schooled outside of London. My dueling accents making my origin hard to place, but my looks are from my father.

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