Page 7 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

NICO

The bass pounds like a second heartbeat beneath the thrum of my blood.

Heat and sweat mingle in the sticky air, shadows flickering across bodies lost in their own dark desires.

I own this place. This is where I come to purge the rage.

The lust. The chaos beneath the surface I keep so carefully locked down.

She’s on her knees in front of me, blindfolded and bound, her lips wrapped around my length like she’s trying to swallow every inch. The slick wetness of her mouth, the desperate press of her tongue should be enough to pull me under.

But when I close my eyes, it’s not her face I see.

It’s his.

That proud, fierce expression as my knife grazed his skin, teasing the fine line between pain and control.

I can’t help but wonder what his smug face would look like contorted in pain.

I try shifting my focus to the warm weight of her hands, the tight grip of the leather cuffs biting her wrists.

But all I feel is the cold edge of that memory.

I grit my teeth and push harder, needing release, needing distraction… but his face won’t fade. The way his eyes held mine, unflinching under the blade, like he was daring me to break.

I’ve never been attracted to men.

But the fire he stokes inside me is hotter than any pain or pleasure I’ve ever chased.

Fuck.

I fist her hair and bury myself in her throat, feeling her body tremble beneath me as I sink into her.

But all I can do is sink into the ache, the twisted pull of fascination and something darker.

I catch my breath, knowing I’m nowhere close to release. My body tightens in frustration. I grasp her hair again, my voice low and sharp.

“Get up. Now.”

Her blindfolded face tilts up, lips parting as she whispers, “Yes, Master.”

I don’t wait. I seize her by the throat, pressing her back against the cold wall, my grip firm but controlled.

“Don’t move,” I growl, my eyes darkening with hunger.

My hand moves to the wall, sliding over leather and wood until I find the riding crop. I pull it free, letting the weight settle in my palm.

“Remember the safe word,” I warn, my voice a low promise. “Say it if you want me to stop. Understand?”

A quiet nod, and then I bring the crop down.

“Count each strike.”

The sharp crack fills the room.

One.

Her body flinches but doesn’t break.

Two.

The burn spreads, a delicious sting.

Three.

I watch her closely, each hit marking her, each breath a silent surrender.

This is power. This is control. And right now, it’s the only way to drown out the storm inside me, the storm that only one man’s face can stir.

I wonder what he’d look like in this position—legs spread, wrists bound, defiant to the end. I bet he’d fight it at first, biting his lip until it bled just to keep a moan from slipping out. But everyone breaks eventually.

How much would it take to break him?

To make him tremble?

To have him fall apart in my hands? Breath hitching, voice wrecked, begging for more?

I snap the crop against her inner thigh, and she cries out six. But I barely register it. My grip on the handle tightens. Something shifts in the air, sharp and electric, pulling my attention toward the crowd beyond the velvet ropes of the VIP section.

I glance up.

And that’s when I see him.

Across the room, half-shrouded in neon light and smoke, standing near the bar like he owns the place. Jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt half-buttoned, hair damp from the rain. He’s trying to blend in. It isn’t working.

I blink once, slowly. Maybe I’ve finally lost it. Maybe the bastard’s lodged so deep in my mind that I’m conjuring him out of thin air. But no, he’s definitely real.

Because when our eyes meet, he pauses.

Got you, cagniolo.

He doesn’t run. Doesn’t move. Just raises a brow, standing there like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Good.

I’m in the mood for a chase.

“That’s enough for today,” I mutter, letting the crop fall to my side as she crumples to the floor, trembling and breathless. Six strikes. That’s all it took to leave her wrecked, spine bowed in submission, sweat dripping down her flushed skin.

I bet he would last longer.

“Thank you, Master,” she breathes, her voice soft and wrecked with pleasure.

I stare down at her, detached. I can’t even remember her name. That’s rare for me. Shitty, even. I’m usually more considerate. At Nocturne I have a reputation to uphold. Most sought-after Dom in the place. A waiting list a mile long. But tonight?

Tonight, I can’t feel a fucking thing.

Not with her. Not with anyone.

Because all I can think about is him.

My boots echo against the polished floor as I leave the girl kneeling in the corner, her soft breaths fading behind me. My eyes stay fixed on the dark figure at the edge of the lounge—

leaning casually against the bar in the VIP section, cigarette hanging from his lips—like he fucking belongs here.

He meets my gaze like he’s been waiting for it. No fear. No shame. Just that smug little tilt of his head, those maddening eyes glinting with challenge beneath the low lights, as if to say, “You really thought you could trap me?”

Arrogant bastard.

I cut across the floor like a blade, ignoring the stares as I move. I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I grab his wrist in a bruising grip and yank him off the barstool.

He doesn’t resist, doesn’t even flinch as I drag him through the corridors—past the curious stares, past the velvet curtains and pulsing walls—until I shove open the door to one of the private rooms and slam it shut behind us.

He barely has time to blink before I pin him against the wall, my forearm across his chest, my breath hot between clenched teeth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarl.

He smirks.

“I could say the same to you, master.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl under my breath. “How the hell did you get out?”

Julian smiles like he’s enjoying this way too much.

“Chef was clumsy,” he says. “Left the door unlocked.”

I step closer, every inch of me coiled tight.

“Try again.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Maybe I got bored. Decided to pay my gracious host a visit.”

I push him harder against the wall, my breath brushing his cheek.

“You got a death wish, is that it?”

He grins wider.

“Starting to think I’m not the only one.”

My fist slams into the wall beside his head, mere inches from his face.

He doesn’t flinch.

Damn him.

“You think this is a game?” I hiss, my voice low and razor-sharp.

He tilts his head. “Isn’t it?”

I stare at him, hard. Studying every twitch in his expression. Every calculated breath. But he’s too well-trained. A professional liar. His heart may be pounding, but his mask never slips.

“You followed me here,” I say. “Risked your life. Slipped out of a fortress with cameras, guards, and locked doors. Why? You could’ve left and never came back, so why did you follow me?”

I lean in closer, my breath ghosting his ear.

“Did you come here to kill me, or were you just… curious?”

His smirk fades. Just a flicker. But I catch it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, but there’s something in his voice, Something tight, strained, and sharp.

“You were watching,” I say darkly. “Tell me, what did you see?”

“Not much,” he says. “You didn’t exactly leave a lasting impression.”

“And you think you would?”

That makes him laugh, but it’s bitter and hollow. “I think you’re already asking yourself that.”

I step forward until our bodies are nearly flush. My hand moves from the wall to his jaw, gripping it just enough to make a point.

His eyes flash, but he doesn’t look away.

“You think you know me,” I say. “Think you’ve got it all figured out. The killer. The sadist. The broken man with blood on his hands…”

I let the words hang between us, my thumb brushing the corner of his mouth like I’m wiping away a lie.

“But you don’t know shit about me.”

Julian’s breath catches, just slightly.

“You’re right,” he says after a beat. “I don’t.”

Then softer, more dangerous: “But you want me to.”

That’s the moment I lose control.

I slam my mouth to his like it’s a fucking war.

It’s not a kiss, it’s punishment. Violence. Confession.

He meets it with equal force—teeth clashing, lips bruising, hands fisting the front of my shirt like he can’t decide whether to shove me away or pull me closer.

I pin him harder against the wall, my fingers digging into his jaw, devouring the sound he makes when I bite his lip. He grunts, half-pain, half-something else, and I feel it down to my bones.

This is wrong. Dangerous. Out of control.

But I don’t stop.

I can’t.

Not when his mouth opens for me like he’s been waiting. Not when his hands slip beneath my jacket, clawing at my shoulders like he wants to tear me open and see what’s underneath.

When I finally pull back, both of us breathing hard, I hold his face in my hand and stare at him.

His lips are swollen. His chest heaving. His eyes… hungry.

“Still think I won’t kill you?” I murmur, my voice low and dangerous as I drag the blade of my stare across his face.

Julian licks the blood off his lip, his smile all teeth and insolence. “I think if you were going to,” he says, “you’d have done it already.”

I laugh, dark and humorless. I step in until I’m crowding him again, until his back hits the wall and he has nowhere else to go. I brace a hand beside his head, lean in until his breath hitches.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m just waiting for the perfect moment.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just tilts his chin like he’s daring me to get closer. “Then do your worst.”

God, he’s infuriating.

I slam my hand to his chest and press him harder into the wall. He exhales sharply, and for a moment I think he’s going to hit me back.

But he doesn’t.

He just stares, throat bobbing, jaw tight.

I reach up, run my thumb across the blood smeared at the corner of his mouth, then drag it down the curve of his throat. He tenses beneath me, but not in fear. In want.

“You like this,” I murmur.

He scoffs, but it’s not convincing. “You’re delusional.”