“Fucking bastard.” Priest grunts, “You’re gonna pay for that.” His fingers dig into my thigh, his other hand sliding up my chest, smearing the warm fluid over my breasts. “She’s only allowed to be covered in mine.”
Raze laughs as his cock still pulses, and my cheeks burn as the shame twists in my gut.
Priest’s fingers hit my clit just right, and I come hard, my body shaking as he thrusts into me, following my release with his own. His cock pulses one last time, and he collapses back, his arms wrapping around me, his fingers digging into my stomach.
“Fuck, little one.”
He slowly pulls his cock out of my ass. The sensation of the stretch disappearing is almost as overwhelming as it was to have him inside me.
Little one?He’s never called me that before.
His fingers gently rub the lube on the outside of my asshole again, before the soft press of the plug fills me again.
“What are you doing now?”
“I want my cum deep in you while I finish here. And if I didn’t plug you up, I’d be fucking you again. You’re an addiction. My filthy fucking addiction.”
My chest tightens at his words, but he’s already lifting me, setting me back on my feet. The plug inside my ass shifts, and I hate how much the fullness excites me.
I tug my leggings up, unable to look at him. I’m confused. Disgusted. Scared. Hurt.
If what he says is true, he’s been using me every night…drugging me. Taking advantage of me in my most vulnerable state…and I’m not sure if the thought scares me more, or that part of me that can’t help but feel excited by it.
The Devil’s Playground owner, Calvin, sits across from me, sweating through his silk collar, rattling off the list of suppliers and teams Sterling’s been using. He’s avoiding Sovereign connections. He thinks dealing with street-level trash will keep him invisible.
Those rats are loyal to nothing. Not power. Not ideology. Just price tags.
Sterling paid Calvin for the merc team that hit us at the warehouse. Arsen tracked the transfer, Sterling’s dirty money funneled through ghost accounts.
Calvin’s trembling, his fat fingers slick with sweat. I slide the list of names across the table. His eyes flick to it, then back to me, throat bobbing.
“I can’t…I can’t give you that information, Priest.” His voice shakes.
I don’t speak. Raze is beside me, legs stretched out, gun balanced lazily on the armrest. His thumb taps the barrel, thatsame rhythmic tick that makes men lose their minds before the bullet even leaves the chamber.
Calvin’s breath hitches. “Mr.?Carmichael… Priest… I?—”
Bang.
Raze doesn’t wait for my signal. The bullet takes Calvin’s hand clean through the middle. Bone, tendon, blood, it all splatters across the desk. His scream splits the air.
He stares at the ruin of his palm, shaking, blood spilling down his wrist.
“Please—” he gasps. “Please, I?—”
“Next one’s your skull,” Raze mutters.
Calvin starts sobbing. “I can’t—please, I can’t give it to you?—”
One second I’m in the chair, the next I’m on him—dragging him out of his, slamming his head into the edge of the table. The crack is dull, wet. He gurgles, tries to breathe through shattered teeth. I don’t stop.
I pound his skull over and over, until the table is painted red. Until there’s nothing left but meat and the twitch of a dying nerve.
Raze’s hand clamps on my shoulder, yanking me back. “Jesus Christ, Priest.”
I turn and drive my fist into his jaw, hard enough to make him stumble. Then I grab my knife and bury it into his thigh. He grunts, eyes flaring, half-laughing, half-furious.
“That’s for shooting your cum on my property, motherfucker. You so much as look at her again, I’ll slit your throat in your sleep. You touch her, I’ll make you choke on your own dick before I gut you.”
