Blood Debt

“Shut up and fuck me, Dante,” I snarled, nipping at his jaw, his throat, anywhere I could reach.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His hips bucked, his cock slamming into me in one brutal thrust. I cried out, my head falling back against the rough bark, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood.

He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping forward with brutal force, each thrust driving me higher up the tree, the rough bark scraping my spine raw. It was primal, animalistic, all teeth and tongues and the wet, filthy slap of flesh against flesh. He fucked me like he hated me, like he wanted to break me apart from the inside out.

And I took it. I took every brutal thrust, every bite of pain, and I gave it back to him, my hips meeting his with equal ferocity, my teeth sinking into the corded muscle of his shoulder to muffle my cries.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hand fisting in my hair again, yanking my head back so he could stare into my eyes. “You feel like goddamn heaven, Lena. So hot, so tight. Like you were made for me.”

I wanted to snarl at him, to tell him I wasn’t made for anybody, least of all a monster like him. But then he shifted his angle, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me, and the only sound I could make was a desperate, keening wail as my orgasm crashed over me, sudden and violent.

He followed me over the edge a moment later, his cock swelling and pulsing inside me as he spilled himself deep, his hips grinding against mine as he rode out his pleasure.

We stayed like that for long moments afterward, our breathing ragged, our bodies slick with sweat and blood in the cool mountain air. Then, slowly, he pulled out of me, tucking himself back into his pants as I slid down the tree trunk, my legs shaky and weak.

He didn’t speak as he bent to grab my jeans and panties, tossing them to me with a careless flick of his wrist. I pulled them on, my fingers trembling, my mind reeling with the aftermath of what we’d just done.

The dynamic between us had shifted, irrevocably altered. We’d crossed a line, stepped into a new, dangerous territory. I could feel it in the way his eyes tracked my every movement, hot and possessive. In the way my body still throbbed with the echo of his possession.

He’d taken me. Brutally, violently. But in doing so, he’d given me a weapon. A way to get under his skin, to turn his own dark desire against him.

I didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know if I’d survive the fallout of this thing we’d unleashed. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Dante Moretti wasn’t done with me. And I wasn’t done with him. Not by a long shot.

The days that followed were a blur of tension and twisted desire. We didn’t speak of that night in the woods, but it hung between us, a living thing, pulsing with dark energy. Dante watched me with a new intensity, his gaze hot and possessive whenever it landed on me. And I…I let him. I stoked the flames of his obsession, using my body, my defiance, to keep him off balance, to draw him deeper into my web.

I became the model captive, docile and compliant on the surface, even as my mind worked furiously behind the scenes. I let him touch me, kiss me, fuck me, and I gave as good as I got, meeting his passion with a dark ferocity of my own. I played my role to perfection, biding my time, waiting for the moment to strike.

It came on a day when Dante was called away to deal with some family business. He left me locked in the cabin, with a warning to behave myself. “Don’t do anything stupid, Lena,” he’d growled, his hand fisting in my hair as he kissed me hard. “I’ll know if you do.”

I’d smiled sweetly, my lips swollen from his kiss. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Dante. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

I waited until I was sure he was gone, until the sounds of his car engine had faded into the distance. Then I moved, my heart pounding with a heady mix of fear and anticipation. I’d spent weeks studying the layout of the compound from my limited vantage point, mapping it in my mind, noting the patterns of the guards, the security measures in place.

Dante’s office was my target. It was in the main house, a place I’d only glimpsed from afar. But I’d seen him coming and going enough times to know the route, to know when the patrols were lax and security was light.

I used the knothole escape route again, slipping out into the cool mountain air. I kept to the shadows, moving with a stealth born of desperation and necessity. It took me almost an hour to reach the main house, my body pressed against the rough stone walls as I sidled up to a ground-floor window.

It was unlocked, just as I’d hoped. A careless mistake, one I was more than happy to exploit. I slipped inside, my senses on high alert as I navigated the darkened corridors, following the mental map I’d constructed.

Dante’s office was on the second floor, a corner room with a view of the sprawling estate. The door was locked, but I’d come prepared. A hairpin, filched from my own hair, served as a makeshift lockpick. It took me a few tense minutes of fiddling, my ears straining for any sound of approach, but finally, the lock clicked open.

I slipped inside, closing the door softly behind me. The office was spacious, dominated by a heavy wooden desk and shelves lined with books and files. I moved straight to the desk, my fingers itching to rifle through the drawers, to uncover the secrets Dante kept hidden away.

I didn’t know what I was looking for, exactly. Something, anything, that would give me answers about Mikey. About what had really happened to him, what the Morettis had done.

I found it in the bottom drawer, tucked away in a plain manila folder. Photographs, glossy and stark, each one a brutal punch to the gut. Mikey, bloody and broken, his face almost unrecognizable. Mikey, tied to a chair, his eyes wide and terrified above a gag. Mikey, lying motionless in a pool of dark crimson, his chest still, his eyes empty and staring.

A sob tore from my throat, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. I sank to my knees, the photos spilling across the rug, a grotesque mosaic of my brother’s final moments. Nausea churned in my gut, bile rising in my throat. I’d known, deep down, that Mikey was gone. That the Morettis had killed him. But seeing it, seeing the brutal reality of it…

Rage, white-hot and blinding, surged through me. It burned away the grief, the pain, leaving only a cold, hard need for vengeance. Dante had done this. Dante, with his cruel smiles and his possessive touches, his brutal fucks and his twisted obsession. He’d taken Mikey from me, and now, he’d pay.

I didn’t remember leaving the office, didn’t remember retracing my steps back to the cabin. The next thing I knew, I was standing in the center of the small space, the photos of Mikey clutched in my trembling hands, my mind a whirlwind of fury and determination.

Dante returned a few hours later, striding into the cabin with his usual arrogant swagger. He stopped short when he saw me, his eyes narrowing as he took in the photos scattered at my feet, the look on my face.

“Lena—” he started, but I cut him off, my voice a low, venomous hiss.

“You son of a bitch. You murdering, sadistic bastard. You killed him. You killed Mikey.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes, a hint of…guilt? Regret? “He crossed us, Lena. He stole from us. He knew the price.”

“He was a kid!” I screamed, the photos crumpling in my fist. “A stupid, reckless kid who didn’t know any better! And you…you tortured him. You murdered him in cold blood.”

Dante took a step toward me, his hand outstretched. “Lena, it wasn’t like that. Let me explain.”

“Don’t you dare!” I snarled, backing away. “Don’t you fucking touch me. Not ever again.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with anger. “You’re being irrational. You don’t understand how these things work.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” I said, my voice dripping with icy fury. “I understand that you’re a monster. A cold-blooded killer. And I understand that I’m going to make you pay for what you did to Mikey.”