Page 8 of Filthy Little Fix

"Is this what turns you on, huh?" I snarl. The heel of my boot crushes down. Nyx whimpers in a choked sob ripping fromhis throat, transforming suddenly into a fragile thing against the raw pressure I exert. His sweat, slick and glistening under the sickly yellow lights, beads on his brow, fighting to contain the agony, and each muscle in his trembling frame strains.

Luca shifts beside me. I don't look at him, but I can feel his stare. He's seen a lot of fucked-up things, butthis? This is new.

Nyx is shaking now, tremors racking his whole body, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. He's a mess.Broken. I feel it. This is what I needed. This is something he can't turn into pleasure.

I lift my foot.

The silence that follows is broken only by Nyx's ragged breathing. He stays hunched, trembling, his face still hanging down. I wait for the collapse, for the true breakdown, for the sobs that never came before. I wait for him to finallybeg.

Instead, a soft sound slips from his lips.

My eyes snap down. That obscene outline, pressinghardernow against the denim.It's impossible. His cheeks are flushed crimson, even from this angle, and a sheen of sweat gleams on his exposed neck. He's panting, almosthumming, and then he slowly,soslowly, straightens up.

His eyes, still a startling mix of gray and blue, fix on mine.

A deep, almostreverentawe.

And thatthing... itpulses.

"I'll tell you," he whispers, his voice hoarse, ragged, yet filled with a raw, desperate eagerness that makes my blood run cold. He shifts on his knees, a movement that seems designed toofferhimself, toplease. "I'll tell you everything."

My triumph shatters.

Luca makes a choking sound beside me, and I feel his bewilderment.

This isn't broken. This isn'tnormal. This is... an entirely new kind offucked up. And suddenly, the rage I felt is replaced bysomething else. A crawlingunease. This is amonsterI can't understand. And he's looking at me like I'm hissalvation.

I force my voice out. "Tell me about the Malakovs. Every single detail."

Nyx doesn't flinch away. He leans into it. "The Malakovs again?" His voice is strained, but still holds that low, taunting hum. "I didn't lie to you, mister. I've worked for them once. It was a one-time gig that paid well. Like anyone else who pays. But I don't workforthem. I work for whoever signs the check."

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. "You were theonly onein all my family's history capable of breaching my systems. Theonly onewho could leak my family's information. And you're telling me you're just a fuckingfreelancer? That you don't work for themnow?"

"Yes, mister," Nyx says, his eyes fixed on mine, like a faithful dog. "I just... do the job. If you want, I can do a job foryou."

I stare at him. This is...nothing. A ghost. A tool. No loyalty, no master. Just a void I can't punish, can'tthreaten, thatwantswhat I'm doing to him.

I clench my hands into fists, useless. If he's not working for the Malakovs, then who thefuckis behind this?

The rage builds again. It's a different kind, colder, because this target, thisproblem, is shapeless.

My gaze drops to Nyx's lap one last time. The denim is pulled taut, the fabric stretched almost to breaking point over that insistent bulge. His face, still flushed crimson, is tipped up, a ghost of a smile playing on his swollen lips. He's panting, silent, but his eyes are screaming.Please.

Fuck this.

"Luca. Let's go." My voice is flat, devoid of any emotion I can fake. I turn on my heel, stalking towards the door, the chill of the warehouse suddenly not cold enough to cool the burning disgust and confusion in my gut. If I stay one more second inthis room, I will do something I regret. I know it too well—the uncontrollable rage istoo familiar.

I won't allow myself to turn this man into an unrecognizable mass of meat no matter how much he presses.

"Where are you going?" Nyx's voice sounds hoarse and reedy. I don't look back. I can't.

Luca hesitates for a second, then quickly follows, leaving the hacker kneeling there, still bound.

Stillhard.

My men are scattered,some at the large table, others leaning against the walls, trying to look busy but all stealing glances at me. Luca is beside me, his usual stone face a shade lighter with... what? Confusion? Disgust? They'd heard enough through the thin walls, enough of the sounds and the lack of screams, enough of Luca's clipped report. The details didn't need to be spelled out.

"So," Marco, one of my capos, a bulky man with a permanent scowl, clears his throat. He's always the one to state the obvious. "The kid's... a weird one."