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“Since when do we take orders from a fucking whore?” He snaps, looking from her to me.
My heart stops with his words. No one ever gets to fucking call her that. In our home, she is my fucking whore, my slut, my toy, but in the outside world, she is my fucking everything, my equal. She has just as much power as I do.
“You have a fucking filthy tongue,” I whisper as I slowly stand up and reach to my left side, removing my knife from the holster.
The kid’s eyes widen as I nod at my men. They quickly get up and hold him in place. I calmly walk over to him and nod again. Ty goes to the coffee table, grabs a metal spoon, walks over to my side, and hands me the spoon.
“You know what happens when someone has a filthy tongue, kid?” I ask with a smile.
His eyes stay on me as his breathing continues to increase. “What?” He asks, his tone shaky and irritated.
“They lose the right to speak,” I whisper, tightening my grip on the knife.
“What the fuck you gonna do?” The kid asks. His boldness will fucking cost him. He should have submitted and begged for forgiveness, but now, even if he does those things, he will not live.
“Do you know what happens when someone looks at something that doesn’t belong to them?” I ask, my tone is dark and low.
He shakes his head as his breathing gets more rapid.
“They lose the right to see, and you, my dumbass friend, have done both,” I whisper.
“Christian,” he says my name as if it means something. If he does, it doesn’t mean shit.
I nod at my men as they drag him out of the room. He starts to scream and struggle, but he is no match for my men. I turn around and walk behind Nicole, leaning down and grabbing her hand. She gets up without saying a word as the rest of the men around the table do the same.
It doesn’t take us long to get outside. The sidewalk is crowded with people as they go about their day. My men drag the kid out into the middle of the street. I release Nicole’s hand and tighten my grip on the knife as my men force the kid to his knees and lift his head, showing his eyes. I stop in front of him.
“No one calls her a whore but me. No one disrespects my queen,” I confirm in a soft but firm voice.
Before he can respond, I am already pushing the spoon into his right eye. My muscles flex as the spoon digs in, forcing his eye to be removed from the socket. I watch the eye dangle and move on to the next eye, doing the same thing. Blood is already going down his face as the next eye dangles.
I nod and watch Ty and another one of my men open the kid’s mouth and pull out his tongue. I lift the knife and start to slice. The blade is sharp enough to cut through the tough tongue muscle. I step back, feeling Nicole grab my shirt and pull me back. She rests her face against my back as she wraps her arms around my waist, holding me tightly to her front. I drop the spoon and put my knife back where it belongs.
I rest my hands on her arms as I look around at the crowd of people who are staring at the kid who is screaming through his own blood.
“Anyone else want to call her a whore?” I scream.
No one responds. Everyone shakes their head and starts to walk away as if they saw nothing.
Everyone now knows what happens when they call Nicole Armani a whore. They will pay with their fucking life.
40
Nicole
Christian has been quiet since he killed the man in the middle of the street hours ago. The meeting continued, and I learned about how he does things. He is ruthless to those who wrong him but fair and respectful to those who follow the rules. Christian and the rest of the men let the kid bleed out on the street. The crowd moved on, and he was left dying alone in the middle of the street.
It should be a fucking red flag, right? My mind should be telling me to fucking run from him, my mind should be telling me to put as much distance between Christian and me as I can, but it is saying no such thing. If anything, I am more drawn to him now than I was before. He says what he means, follows through with his actions, and is not afraid of anything or anyone.
Slowly, I remove my clothes and leave a trail through the room to the bathroom. His clothes leave a similar trail, the water running. It was sexy as fuck to see him covered in blood. I never thought blood would turn me on, but I am starting to figure out that Christian is going to open my eyes to a lot of things I never knew were possible.
I force myself to stop at the doorway. I look into the open black and red marble shower. Christian is standing underneath the water, washing away the blood from his tanned, tattooed, scarred skin. I look over his back, seeing the scars his father inflicted on him, the scars that make us look the same. We are both damaged and haunted by our past and trauma, and somehow, we have both survived. I am here because of Christian. I am here because he saved me, and he continues to save me every moment of every fucking day I am with him.
Nothing I have done or said has scared him away. In fact, it has made him hold me tighter, fuck me. It has allowed me to see him, the real him, the him that no one else can see or have. The word grateful doesn’t even fucking come close when I think of him.
I take a deep, shaky breath as he lifts his head, allowing the water to wash over his face as he keeps his hands firmly planted on the tile wall. I slowly make my way across the room and into the shower. I lower my head as I walk underneath his arms and stand directly in front of him, my back against the wall. He lowers his head and opens his eyes.
His eyes are filled with rage and madness but also love and passion. I am not the only one that is fighting the war within. I am not the only one fighting against voices that want to drown me.
