Page 70 of Reckoning

When he breaks it off, I’m panting. I’m a needy mess. He smirks like he knows it, releasing his grip and I all but slide off the counter, landing at his feet like he’s some sort of god.

“Get dressed.” He says. “We’ll get your things and later tonight, I’ll hold up my end of the deal.”

“Tonight?” I repeat. So quickly?

“We always like to keep one alive.” Koen explains. “To extract information.”

“You told me they were all dead.” I say folding my arms.

“They are dead. Eric Turner-Black is a dead man walking. Or, hanging technically.”

“You’re going to torture him? To kill him?” I splutter.

“For you.” He says and those black eyes seem to sparkle.

Any words I have, any reply is forgotten. I just stare back at him, blinking.

Koen

She seems unsettled. I guess I can’t blame her for that.

After she’s showered and dressed we take the G-Wagon and head to her house and all the while she’s staring out the window, watching the city streets whizz by like she’s trying to sear the memories of freedom into her mind.

Is it because she’s still trying to convince herself she’s escaped her husband or is it because, deep down, she’s already sensing the cage I’m constructing around her as we speak?

Silence hangs between us but it doesn’t feel exactly uneasy.

I can tell she just needs a little thinking time, a little processing.

I don’t doubt she’s coming to terms with the fact she’s now my plaything. I wonder if her pussy is wet with the idea of it. Should I slide my hand and check? No, I can’t, not yet. I need to tread carefully. She might have ridden my face once but that doesn’t mean she’s ready for all of me.

Besides, tonight she’ll come face to face with one of her abusers; again. I know she’s mentally preparing herself for it.

Her house isn’t in the Bay District, where so many of the mega rich reside. Instead, she’s in the Old Town, the other side of the city from where I live. I keep my expression locked down as we pull in through the gates, past the guards who are technically my men and come to a stop outside a bland, characterless building.

I know I’ve already seen it, been inside it, but in my head I imagined it to look so much different in the daylight.

“This is it?” I say surprised.

Sofia nods, pulling out the keys from her pocket. One of my men picked them up from the alley, after I’d carried her away and we had to wash the blood off them before we gave them back.

She mutters something about it being a nice change for me to use the actual front door and that makes me laugh. She’s a bratty, sarcastic thing, under that petrified demeanour. I’m going to enjoy bringing that side out and then punishing her for it.

Inside, it’s the same story; all blacks and whites and monochrome, which when done well can be dramatic, but here, here it just highlights that this place isn’t really a home at all.

I know this is technically a rental, I know Sofia has technically only just moved in, but it feels so soulless.

She mumbles about being quick, then disappears up the stairs as if she’s anxious to be out of here too.

I’m half tempted to follow her, to pin her down on the bed and continue our playtime from the other night but she feels flighty. She feels off. And with what I have planned tonight, I want her to be at her best. I don’t want her half-exhausted from coming too many times. I want her to have enough energy to enjoy the sacrifice I’m providing.

So I stay downstairs, examining the space now that I can see it in a good light.

There’s a huge sitting room with two long, leather corner couches. Someone’s strewn a few fluffy cushions, brightly coloured ones, and though I have no evidence to back it up, I suspect even those weren’t chosen by Sofia.

In the kitchen there are no appliances on the side, nothing much in the cupboards beyond one set of bowls and plates.

It all feels lifeless.