Page 61 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

The city looks different from the rooftops. Smaller. Easier.

I light a cigarette, letting the smoke curl through the early evening air as I watch the street below. Dunlay’s penthouse glows in the distance, tucked high above the rest, like he thinks altitude can save him.

Celeste is gone. After the dockyard, she went back to her place, her territory, where she could retreat and regroup on her terms. She didn’t ask me to follow. I watched her walk away, her steps steady, her head high.

And I let her go.

Because tonight isn’t about her.

I have my own work to finish. Dirty work.

Work she doesn’t need to see.

I can’t drag her into this. Not into the filth I intend to drown these people in.

I’m not built for peace.

The blade feels steady in my hand, cool against the leather glove stretched tightly over my palm as I weigh it. I always wear gloves on nights like this—not out of fear, but ritual. Clean hands, dirty work.

Tonight isn’t about messages.

It’s about removal.

I finish the cigarette, crushing it under my boot.

Then I move, dragging the hood of my jacket over my head to shield my face. The fabric casts my features in shadow, just another phantom slipping through the dark.

Every step is measured and precise. I slip through back halls, bypassing cameras I designed myself, soundless as falling ash. The city hums below, blind to what’s creeping toward it.

Dunlay’s guards are amateurs. Merely paid hands with soft eyes and slower reflexes.

The first one doesn’t even see me coming.

I slit his throat clean, catching his body as it crumples. No sound. Just the wet gurgle of failure.

Two more down in seconds, their deaths quick and forgettable.

The elevator ride feels almost mundane.

When the doors slide open, I step into luxury—glass walls, marble floors, a skyline bleeding gold and crimson.

Dunlay stands at the window, sipping from a crystal tumbler, oblivious.

“You missed the fireworks,” I say, my voice calm.

He spins, his face draining pale. “You—you can’t be here.”

I smile. “But I am.”

Dunlay stumbles back, his hand scrambling toward the edge of his desk, his fingers fumbling blindly for the silent alarm.

I watch him press it.

Nothing happens.

I made sure of it.

“They never learn,” I say, each step I take measured and calm, the blade glinting under the low light.

He presses back against his desk, his face draining of color, his breath sharp and ragged.

“What do you want? Money? Immunity? I can get you anything,” he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of panic.

“You can bleed,” I answer, no louder than a whisper.

My knife moves faster than his eyes can follow.

A precise, shallow slice across his cheek, just enough to bloom crimson.

He shrieks, clutching his face as blood trickles between his fingers.

“I didn’t want this! It wasn’t me! It was Rourke and the others. I was forced into it!” he babbles, his body trembling.

“You signed every approval. You watched the reports. You didn’t flinch,” I remind him, my voice flat and surgical.

I seize his collar, dragging him down into the leather chair behind his desk. My knee drives into his chest, pinning him there with brutal force.

“You smiled while they screamed,” I continue, leaning in close, my breath ghosting over his ear.

His face twists, tears streaking down as his hands paw weakly at my arms.

“Please,” he whimpers brokenly.

“No.”

I draw the blade across his throat with the certainty of a sentence being carried out, savoring the widening of his eyes as the blood spills in thick, dark streams.

I watch him die, not out of hate, but because it needs to be done.

Purpose sharpens every second of the moment.

When his body slumps, lifeless, I wipe my knife clean on the pristine white of his shirt.

One name erased.

Many more to follow.

I quietly move into the bathroom and clean the blood-stained glove without leaving a trace.

Then I leave the penthouse the same way I came.

Silent.

No alarms. No witnesses.

The city streets feel heavier now, the night thick with something almost electric.

I make my way to the next place.

Each step sharpens my intent.

The private club hasn’t changed since I last crossed its threshold. It’s a den of whispers, with velvet walls and darker deals.

She’s already watching when I enter, lounging in the corner, wrapped in silk and secrets.

“You look like hell, Kade,” she purrs, her eyes glittering.

“Busy day,” I reply, my voice dry.

Her lips curl into something wicked. “Come for me, or come for business?”

“Both,” I answer, my gaze holding hers.

Her name is Lorna Vex. An old friend with older debts.

She leads me upstairs without another word, her hips swaying, her heels clicking softly on polished wood.

Her room is the same—low lights, blood-red walls, and thick rugs that drown footsteps.

“Still chasing ghosts?” she asks, pouring a drink.

“Vescari,” I say, accepting the glass.

Her brow lifts.

“That snake’s still slithering around?”

“I need everything you have.”

She swirls her drink, watching me with sharp eyes. “You always want something,” she murmurs, sipping slowly.

“And you always enjoy giving it,” I counter.

She laughs, low and sultry. “I missed this,” she purrs, rising and stalking toward me.

Her hands slide up my chest before dropping one hand to unbuckle my belt with nimble fingers.

“But you’ll have to earn it, Kade.”

Her breath catches as I pull her closer, our mouths colliding in a kiss that burns hot and sharp. She tastes of whiskey and danger, her tongue sliding against mine with eager precision.

“I missed this,” she whispers again between kisses, tugging my belt free with practiced ease.

“Then you’ll take every bit of me tonight,” I growl.

I shove her back onto the velvet chaise, her silk dress slipping up her thighs to reveal smooth skin and the hint of lace underneath.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” I order, my voice rough.

She obeys, lifting her arms above her head, her eyes dark with hunger.

I take my time, dragging my gloved fingers along her inner thighs, teasing her, and watching her writhe beneath my touch.

“Still so eager to be used,” I murmur, my tone laced with mockery.

She moans, arching into my hand, her breath shallow. “I want it all, Kade. I want to feel you break me.”

I smirk, unbuckling my pants fully and freeing myself, hard and ready. “Then you’ll take everything I give.”

I pull her panties aside and slide my fingers through her slick heat, feeling just how ready she is.

“Dripping already,” I taunt, circling her clit with steady, controlled strokes.

“Please,” she gasps, her voice wrecked.

“Not yet.”

I tease her entrance with the tip of my cock, pushing just enough to make her whimper. “You’ll beg properly.”

“Please, Kade,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “Please, fuck me. I need it.”

I slam into her in one deep, brutal thrust, drawing a guttural moan from her lips.

“That’s it,” I growl, gripping her hips as I thrust harder and deeper.

She cries out, her body shaking with every punishing movement.

“You’re mine tonight,” I snarl, biting down on her shoulder and leaving a mark.

She clings to me, her nails raking down my back as I take her, rough and relentless.

I flip her onto her knees, dragging her back against me, her body pliant and trembling with expectation.

“Ready for more?” I rasp, my breath hot and harsh against her ear, letting her feel the threat in my voice.

“Yes,” she gasps, her voice wrecked with need, her back arching to invite me in deeper.

I slide back inside her in a slow-burn glide, savoring the way her body clenches around me, then thrust in hard, setting a punishing pace, the sharp slap of our bodies filling the room.

She cries out, her moans growing louder with each deep, brutal drive.

I grip her hips tightly, pulling her harder against me, then raise my hand and bring it down on her ass with a sharp smack, watching her jolt and shudder as her flesh ripples under the force, the motion drawing a low, guttural sound from deep within me.

“You love every second of this,” I growl, delivering another rough thrust.

“I do,” she whimpers, her voice breaking with pure, raw hunger.

I lean over her, one hand gripping her throat just enough to make her gasp, my other hand snaking around to circle her clit, fast and unrelenting.

Her body arches beneath me, caught between pain and ecstasy, every muscle straining as I grind into her with brutal purpose.

I can feel every ripple of her body around me, the tight clutch driving me to the edge.

My breath grows ragged, every thrust deeper, rougher, and making her gasp beneath me.

I slam into her harder, my hips meeting hers with a violent rhythm, the slap of flesh echoing in the room.

I groan low, the sound guttural and primal as I feel myself unraveling, but I don’t ease up. I love the way she clenches tighter each time I grip her throat, and the way her body milks every inch of me, desperate for more.

Her sounds are a drug, every moan and shudder making my head spin as I keep pushing and chasing the high, chasing the inevitable crash that burns through both of us. The slick heat of her around me only drives me further, my hips pistoning into her, relentless.

I snarl against her skin, my voice rough with lust, the line between control and abandon blurring with every savage thrust. I savor it, the way her body trembles, and the way her cries turn breathless and broken.

Still, I don’t stop. I keep pounding into her, both of us riding that edge, until every muscle in my body locks tight, every nerve igniting as I chase release with ruthless hunger.

“Don’t hold back,” I command, my voice thick and unrestrained.

She lets go, her entire body shaking as she shatters under me, screaming my name with ragged desperation.

I keep pounding into her, chasing my own release as her walls tighten around me.

“Fuck—” I snarl, losing control as I come hard, my body locking up as I spill inside her, every pulse deep and consuming.

We collapse together, tangled and gasping, the room heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and victory.

“Now,” I murmur, my voice rough and satisfied.

She grins, sated and glowing, before whispering the information I came for, her voice soft against my skin.

Vescari won’t hide for long.

And neither will I.