Page 15 of Filthy Little Fix
The palm of my hand throbs, begging to connect with his skin. Hitting this aberration is giving him exactly what he wants. But thearroganceof thinking he can tell me what to do, that he candemandsomething from me, and the sickening way he looks at me…
The dry crack echoes through the warehouse. Loud. My satisfaction of unleashing all the hatred he stirred in me directly onto his face lasts only a few seconds—the time it takes to see the red mark staining his skin, his head snapped to the side with the force of the slap, and the sting in my own palm.
Because, immediately after, comes the moan. A moan of complete pleasure, drawn out, low. And the bulge in his stained pants appears again, a damned rise slowly lifting.
He slowly turns his face back to me. He leans towards me, looks at me with heavy breaths and a face red not just from the mark of my hand, but from heat. He looks at me completelysubmissive.
"Thank you, mister," he whispers, and the sound was more intimate and more provocative than anything he had ever said. His tongue moistens his swollen lips. He wants more. He is waiting,desiring, for me to do more.
My hands, almost on their own, shoot out to grab his cheeks with a force that would make anyone scream.This son of a bitch. Nyx's lips part under the pressure of my fingers, and he lets out another moan.
"This," I snarl, "was not a reward. This was areminderof who's in charge. You play with me again, and it won't just be a slap."
He bites his lower lip in a gesture that only serves to further fuel my fury. This bastard acts as if I'm flirting with him.
I release him with a shove that sends him stumbling back against the wall. He doesn't complain. Hegrunts. He watches me, his eyes heavy with desire and his breath still heaving.
I turn my back on him and leave, slamming the room door hard enough to make the metal tremble. Outside, Luca checks the radios with the guards, indifferent to the show that just happened. Good.
I walk through the warehouse, ignoring the murmur of my men. The dim light, the smell of metal and dirt—everything seems normal. Butnothingis normal. The sound of that moan is still in my ears, the feel of his skin under my thumb, the sight of that fuckingbulge. My blood pulses with an intensity that irritates me. It's not for him. Itcannotbe for him.
That aberration had fucked me over. Not with a weapon, not with a hack, but with a goddamnslap. He led me exactly where he wanted just to satisfy a sick fetish. The son of a bitch laughed in silence.
I stop in a darker corner, away from prying eyes. I unclench my fist and look at the palm of my hand. The sting is gone, replaced by a residual tingling. It's the same heavy hand that crushes throats and breaks bones for necessity. And now, it burns with Nyx'spleasure.
My mind drags me back to the moment. The immediate flush of red on his pale skin. And that sound. That low, drawn-outmoan. It was wrong. Disgusting. And it had echoed in my chest in a way no woman's gasp ever had.
The way he'd leaned into my hand, even after the impact. And the way he'd looked at me, submissive, completely exposed, his lips swollen, begging for more. The bulge.Goddamn it.I try to push the image away, but it burns behind my eyelids. His body's response to my violence. It was a need. And that knowledge, that heneedsthis from me, is a venom. It makes my own body respond in ways I hate.
I can't let him forget who's in charge. I can't letmyselfforget the fucking threat he represents.
He is a parasite. A problem. A stain on my operation that I don't know how to clean. And the idea of keeping him close, even if it's just to crush him, issickening.
Bile rises in my throat.I need a clear mind to deal with thetruethreat—the rat in my organization, the one feeding information to the Malakovs from under my roof. But that bastard,Nyx, has infiltrated me like a disease. Any strategic thought is contaminated by the image of his swollen lips and those obscene eyes.
I spot Luca near the heavy metal gate, speaking softly into a radio. He's a symbol of brute force and unquestioning loyalty—a simple man, without mind games or perversions. Just action.
I walk towards him, my boots thudding against the concrete. Luca straightens, snapping to attention the moment he sees me.
"Sir," he greets.
"The hacker," I say. I force myself to keep my voice flat, devoid of the rage that still simmers beneath my skin. I need to sound decisive. Controlled. "He's a problem."
Luca nods. "A big problem." He pauses, looking into nothing. Definitely replaying the disturbing memories of a hostage gettinghardfrom taking a punch. "But he was useful. Found that vulnerability faster than Sal's whole team. Could be an asset."
It's true. He's skilled. Sal, one of the best in the business, looked like a child learning to code next to him. But asset or not, I can't fuckingbreathenear him.
"He's a distraction," I say. "He's driving meinsane. I can't afford that right now, not with a traitor in our midst. Get rid of him."
Luca hesitates, but nods. He pulls his pistol from the holster hidden by his jacket and disengages the safety, checking the bullets and sighing, as if he's about to do something he doesn't want to.
"To the head?" he says.
Only then do I realize how my words sounded.
It's a sorrowful honor that Luca doesn't hesitate to pull the trigger on my command. A testament to the influence exerted by my family, and, at times, a burden all Volkovs were forced to carry. Just not in this case.
I can't allow myself to kill Nyx with my own hands—worseif he's going tomoanuntil his last breath. Since I took over my father, our executions have become clean and without unnecessary sadism if no information had to be extracted by force. Nyx is so sick he mustdesirea bullet to the head.
