Page 14 of Filthy Little Fix
Nyx is leaning against the wall, eyes closed and legs crossed. Exactly as when I left. He looks like he's sleeping, but I know he's not.
I bring a sealed bottle of water. He's been here all day, and we haven't given him anything.
He opens his eyes the second my shadow covers him. Those blue-gray eyes, filled with insatiable curiosity. Devoid of theobscenity of pleasure, yetstillobscene. He's testing my limits. Always.
"You're useful, at least," I say against my own will. It's not a compliment.
I kneel beside him, resting one knee on the dusty floor. I unscrew the bottle cap and tilt it towards his mouth, gripping his cheeks firmly to hold his head in place.
"Drink."
He looks at me with surprise for the first time. It's almost humanizing to know he can still be surprised after everything. Without a word, he stares at the bottleneck, and I tilt the bottle—one gulp. Two. Some water spills from the corner of his mouth, wetting his chin in a thin trickle.
I wipe the drop away with my thumb. The abruptness isn't entirely rage—violence, at this point, is part of me, and his pale skin flushes with the pain, reddening rapidly under the exaggerated pressure.
He then looks at me. His eyes narrow, flicking to my mouth, and heat rises up my neck.
Fuck. He'senjoyingthis. He'salwaysenjoying this.
I pull my hand back as if I've touched a parasite. Because that's what happened. This game of his is irritating. And effective.
Nyx wets his lips. "It's surprising, mister. For a man like you, who seems to want to break me every second, this courtesy is unexpected."
Courtesy? It's just water. Nothing more. But thewayhe said it, as if he was reading me... it's something I hate. And, at the same time, respect.
"It's not courtesy," I reply. "You rendered a service. I reciprocate. That's how it works."
It's about owing nothing to anyone. Not even to him.
He tilts his head, and a genuine smile—disarming in its simplicity—spreads across his face. Like anyone else's. Any normal person, far from the shit of the underworld; anyone who wouldn't deserve to be where he is.
"So, youarea man of principles, after all," he says. It's bizarre to see fondness in the way he looks at me, and it's the only thing that reminds me I'm not dealing with a civilian, but with a lunatic. "It's true I helped you. Youoweme."
That cracks and breaks any semblance of normalcy. The son of a bitch. Theaudacity.
My hands clench into fists. I am a man of my word. A man of principles, however fucked up my business may be. I pay for all services rendered, but that he woulddemandit with that tone of voice…
"What do you think you deserve?" I snarl. He makes me doubt my own values. It's true he's not a Malakov, and that he's not directly involved in the current Volkov disaster. But hehas beenbefore. Helping us now would, at most, make us even, and the greatest reward he could want would be to remain functional,breathing, and not slowly wasting away from dehydration.
But, of course, Nyx has other plans.
"You're actually going to ask me?" he says with a hateful smirk.
The smile, once genuine, distorts into something that was pure Nyx—provocative, perverse, and frankly terrifying. I know what's coming. He won't ask for food, or a bed. He won't ask for fucking freedom. He'll ask for something sick, something that satisfies the ugliness that is his mind.
"I want something unpleasant, mister."
I wait. Almost nervous.
"Give me a slap," Nyx says. He looks at me with downcast eyes, lips parted, cheeks gaining color. "Across the face. Hard."
Sick.
My body freezes. Fuck. It's obvious whatjust thinkingabout it is doing to him, reverting to his revolting obscenity. The demand is an insult. And a temptation. Because Iwantto wipe that fucking smirk off his face. Iwantto smash his head, Iwantto make him choke on his own blood and regret turning an operation like this into a fucking circus.
I search for a trace of fear, of hesitation,anythingthat wasn't that disturbing devotion. Nothing. Onlyanticipation.
Turning him into a punching bag would only make this somethingotherthanpart of the job.It would only make him fucking moan.
