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Elaine.
I wanted Elaine. I imagined my little blonde Constantine toy, trussed up in chains as she took my fury. I imagined her self-hurt thighs being nothing compared to the unleashing of my torment as I drew pretty lace patterns on her flesh with my whip and crop.
I kept on stretching and slapping the girl on my lap, soaking in the view of her pale blonde hair around my fingers. Yes, she was hurting, but yes, she was liking it. My pretty bitch Elaine would like it, too – masochistic little fuck doll with beautiful, scared eyes.
I flicked the serving girl’s clit as she squirmed, panting, driving her wild until she was moaning. Then I stopped. I was done with her pleasure.
I forced her to her knees, my hand still twisted in her hair as I unbuckled my belt, craving the release before hurting her a damn sight more.
But no.
The eyes staring up at me didn’t belong to Elaine Constantine.
The tremble of her lip wasn’t Constantine fear.
My cock was straining but didn’t want the woman at my feet. My mouth was watering, but it wasn’t for the girl ready to give me hers.
I pushed her away from me, leaving her as a gasping heap on the floor without giving a fuck for any shards of glass lying down there. She winced with just the one piece slicing her finger. Lucky for her.
“More mineral water,” I barked, and she squirmed for a few seconds, gathering her breath.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Sorry for dropping your drink, Mr. Morelli, sir.”
She didn’t challenge me. Nobody here ever would.
The smashed glass around my feet reminded me of the crash of mugs on the floor in that shithole of an apartment when Elaine lost her grip. I could smell it. Smell her. Taste her.
Fuck, it was her, her, her. Always her, her, her, slamming through my filthy skull.
I downed the mineral water when it arrived, struggling to focus on the bodies in the room around me. Surely, they’d have to do. I tried to concentrate on the cracks of whips and the wails of pain around them. I tried to stare at the submissives bound up in chains and feel even a shiver of desire to see them writhing in agony in my hands.
But no. No, no, fucking no.
There was only one blonde bitch I wanted in chains in front of me. There was only one woman’s wails I wanted to hear.
I was a man who always took what I wanted from life, whenever I wanted it. I knew nothing but my own success, no matter what the cost. I climbed any mountain, no matter how steep or how tough, no matter how fucked up the mountain climb could be.
I wanted to climb Elaine Constantine and tear her apart on the descent.
I wanted to own her. Hurt her. Destroy her.
That precious woman belonged to me. I needed to see her again. Soon.
I didn’t even wait to see Clark before I up and left Violent Delights for the night. I was on the cell to Trenton before I was even out through the door and onto the sidewalk.
“What, boss?” he asked, and I told him.
“I need two keys, and I need them right now.”
“What kind of locks?”
“An outer apartment door and an inner apartment door.”
“No problem. Where?”
“Meet me downtown, at the backstreet apartment block at the rear of Gaol Street, under the shitty overhead light.”
“Downtown? You serious?”
“Just fucking get there,” I said.
“On my way, boss.”
My chauffeur was waiting outside the club, but I didn’t want to arrive at that dive in a car that didn’t belong there. I summoned a cab, getting far too accustomed to the cheap, stinking leather as we headed to the shitty side of town.
Trenton was already waiting when I got there. I slammed the cab door shut behind me, and my manager of the underworld didn’t wait for my approach, just met me on the sidewalk.
“What the hell are you doing here in this dive, Lucian? Just let me know who owes what, and I’ll chase it down.”
“This isn’t about money,” I said, “I just want those two keys.”
He looked at me blankly. “Why the fuck would you want keys for this shithole?”
My stare must have been bristling with malice to mask my humiliated shame. “Why the fuck would you dare to question my business? Just get me the fucking keys.”
He came to his senses, backing down with a sure, sorry, yeah, before stepping right up to the main door.
Trenton had many useful skills, picking locks was something he majored in. And when you’ve been picking locks for decades, you tend to amass a neat collection of skeleton keys. Trenton had bunches of the things.
“Looks like a sixteen,” he said before pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. He selected one, slid it in the lock and the door was open. Just like that. Once inside, he worked the key free from the ring and dropped it in my palm.
