Page 9 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

The Bride Of A Beast

Leila paced around the room with her teeth bared. Wrinkled lines sprung at both sides of her face, and her hands were folded into fists. She hated it here. Makros. The Cretes. This mansion that felt like a prison yard, and the godforsaken servants that sneered at her.

They turned their nose up whenever she passed by, and it was barely a month here.

She wondered if they thought they were better than her. Especially girls like Maria who gave her menacing glances. Perhaps they hated her because they loved him, the way Maria had declared so boldly. They could keep him for all she cared.

How could anyone even love someone like him?

Him.

It was forever fuck Makros, and his stupid incredible face, that looked like a well-sculpted Greek god. It was the Greek in him. That gene, combined with the Italian ruggedness, was bound to get the girls feening. He dressed like old money which he was but an advanced ruthless version.

She suddenly paused, realizing her thoughts had taken a drastic turn.

“Why am I thinking about his stupidly perfect face,” Leila muttered, pacing the room with a dramatic limp, one hand bandaged and the other shaking in frustration. “The same face that left me in this glorified prison suite with no food, no explanation, and oh yeah, a bandaged freaking hand?!”

A voice in her head casually chimed in: “Because, honey, he’s hot.”

Another voice jumped in like it had been waiting all day . “And it looks like a walking orgasm. Let’s not forget that dick...god. That dick.”

Her eyes twitched. “No.”

“ Yes,” her inner slut purred . “You saw it. That thing was long, thick, and arrogant like the rest of him. It had the audacity to swing like it knew it was the main event.”

“It was the size of a baby’s forearm,” the second voice whispered in awe .

“STOP IT!” she shouted, swatting at the air like she could physically beat the voices out of her head. “I am not thinking about his demon dick!”

“Don’t you want to suck that dick with a fast stroke?”

She paused.

“...It did have a vein,” she muttered under her breath before slapping herself. “NO!”

She turned to the mirror with fire in her eyes. “I don’t care if he looks like sin in a suit and fucks like the devil incarnate, he’s a barbaric, soulless warlord, and I’m going to kill him.”

She planted her hands on her hips like she meant it.

“He’s going to die. I’ll slice him bit by bit, feed his sexy flesh to dogs...no, wolves. Something dramatic and majestic. Maybe even film it in slow motion.”

She nodded to herself, satisfied. “Revenge. Blood. Death.”

A pause.

“...But like, after another ride? Just one more? Swear that you didn’t enjoy the way he fucked you last time. Or should I say rape?”

“SHUT UP!!”

Leila paced like a woman possessed, muttering to herself and dragging her bandaged hand dramatically behind her like some tragic heroine in a mafia opera.

“I’ll have him on his knees,” she seethed.

“No, not the fun kind, like bleeding, pathetic, groveling. First, I’ll bash his head against a wall.

Crack his skull a little. Watch the blood drip.

Then I’ll point his own gun at him, smile sweetly, and boom—a nice hole right between those arrogant brows. ”

She paused.

“I’ll wear red stilettos that day. To match the blood. Very couture.”

She imagined the scene like a Tarantino movie with a designer twist: her dress slit high, blood on her thighs, him whispering “mercy” before she blew him a kiss and his brains out.

But as her monologue fizzled into silence, she realized she’d wandered straight to his closet. She stared at the doors like they had insulted her mother.

“Well, well, Makros Crete,” she said in her most villainous whisper, “if I can’t kill you yet, I’ll at least destroy your peace.”

She flung the closet open.

It was organized to near-psychotic perfection. Suits arranged by shade. Shoes aligned like soldiers. Shirts, oh, the shirts folded with terrifying symmetry.

“Oh, you like order?” she sneered, cracking her knuckles. “You turned my life into a chaotic circus of blood and bandages. Let’s see how you like my version of storm.”

She yanked all his crisp white shirts and flung them to the ground like she was exorcising demons. Then, with slow, deliberate rage, she stomped on them.

In circles. Twice.

“You haven’t seen anything crazy yet, Makros!” she declared with a wild glint in her eye. “Kidnapping a Crawford, that was your first mistake. Underestimating me? Your last.”

She turned to the drawers and yanked the first one open.

More order. Pens. Color-coded. Papers. Aligned like blueprints. Everything screamed ‘serial killer with a premium dry cleaner.’

“Pristine psychopath,” she whispered, jaw tightening.

And then, like a raccoon with a vendetta, she shoved her hands into the drawer and flung every document, pen, and item into the air like confetti. Pages flew. Pens scattered. Her laugh got a little unhinged.

“You think you’re the devil? Baby, I’ve been in hell. And I brought heels.”

She didn't stop at the drawers, but also proceeded to his dressing table and repeated the process of throwing everything to the floor. When she moved away from that spot and stood in the center of the room, she was euphoric. Her chest heaved with both excitement and an adrenaline rush. But she still wasn’t done.

His bed was her next target. As she placed her hand on the covers, a memory popped up in her head.

“Let’s see what we have here.” She crawled from the edge of the bed to its head. Raising his pillow, she found a gun.

Her lips curved into a sinister smile. “You fool. You do keep guns under every pillow.” Shaking her head, she placed the gun on the ground and dragged the sheets off the bed.

“Now we're done!” She nodded, fulfilled by the result.

A soft rap suddenly sounded on the door. Reflexively, she bent to the ground and picked up the gun.

The keys made a clicking sound as the door pushed open.

“Good afternoon, m—” The tray in her hands slipped to the ground when she saw the mess that had been made. A gasp escaped her throat when she raised her head to see the gun pointed at her.

“Take me to Makros right now,” Leila ordered, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

The maid’s lip quivered as her hand rose in a surrendering gesture. “I— I can’t. He— he is a mee–ting,” she stuttered, her language distorted.

“I don’t give a damn!” She approached the maid who was too startled to guess her next move.

Leila’s hand went around her neck, pulling the maid into her body. She put the gun to the side of her head and muttered, “Move.”

“B—u—”

“I said move!” Leila commanded her hands on the trigger.

The danger of the situation finally registered in the maid’s head, and slowly, her feet moved. As they walked, Leila took stock of the hallway. Luckily for her, there were no guards around.

“You should always have someone watching, stupid,” she whispered.

They arrived at a door, and the girl pointed with shaky fingers.

“That's it?” Leila asked, and she nodded. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t let go of the maid as they inched closer to the door. When they were in front of it, she stopped. Her legs kicked the door with force, and it flew open. She pushed the maid in, following right behind her.

Makros raised his head to see the intruders. His brow lifted slightly, and the pen in his hand stopped scribbling as he stared from his door to Leila with his gun in one of her hands and the other wrapped around Elisabetta’s neck.

She was using her as a human shield.

“Thought you said he was in a meeting?” she asked harshly. The maid trembled in response.

Makros leaned back, cocked his head to the side, and placed a hand on his chin. “ Ne ho avuto abbastanza (I’ve had enough) ,” he said.

Leila’s eyes squinted, curious about what he had said.

“Don't do anything funny. I’ll really pull the trigger and empty her brain and then yours." Leila tried to sound convincing.

She had barely stopped talking when she heard the sound of a zipper. Her eyes went toward the sound, and she saw a young lady around her age, slip out of the table. She wiped her lips with her hand and stood beside Makros.

Leila’s mouth went agape, not expecting to see the sight in front of her.

“Cecilia, are you finished?” He spoke too calmy for a man that just had an orgasm..

“ Si , signore Makros,” Cecilia replied, unfazed by Leila's presence.

Leila couldn’t gather her thoughts fast enough to speak. It was chaotic inside her head. This was the meeting he supposedly had. A girl, very gorgeous, by the way, gobbling his cock while he scribbled away. She was too stunned to speak.

“Are you a statue? You kicked my door open, came in with my gun in your hand, which let me know you went through my shit, and now you have my staff's neck in your hand. What now?” There was really no bit of stress or panic in his voice.

His calmness irritated her to her core, and in no time, she regained her voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t have locked me in your room.”

“But I did, so what will you do about it? Shoot the maid?”

“Or I should shoot you?” She pointed the gun at him. “Or her. If she's sucking your dick in the middle of the day, it means you care about her, right?” She pointed the gun at Cecilia.

"Cecelia, vaticinate ," he beckoned to her.

She moved closer to him and bent her ears to his mouth. He whispered something that turned her bright red. Her hand went to her mouth as she giggled. Leila was beyond enraged. She cocked the gun, drawing their attention to her.

“You think I won't do it, yeah?” She asked in a furious tone.

“I don't care what you choose to do.” He shrugged and turned his attention back to Cecelia.

Leila’s anger grew to the point of combustion. She couldn’t tell what she was more angry at. The fact he hadn’t even blinked despite his gun in her hands or the fact he was conversing with the girl that just finished sucking his dick.

With shaky fingers and clattering teeth, she pointed the gun to his head, but before she could pull the trigger, he pulled out his gun from the drawer and shot directly at the wall, so she thought.

Leila screamed as the bullet made a clean hole through the maid’s forehead and blood splattered all over her. Leila’s heart leaped to her mouth as her hand dropped beside her.

“You...you killed her.” She exclaimed in shock, not being able to use her words.

“No, Leila. You killed her. So, don't you ever threaten me again.” He rose to his full height. “Cecelia, have Dragon bury her, while you clean up this mess.”