Page 38

THIRTY-SEVEN

Vlad

T he cool metal in my hand should fucking melt with the anger burning through my body, but it only warms accepting its use. Not giving two fucks about what I’m driving, I take the first car with keys in the ignition. One of those filthy fuckers put their fucking hands on my wife. My fucking wife who is a fucking queen, and they’re not even peasants.

Unworthy fucking pricks.

She was scrubbing her neck. They’re not worth touching shit that she fucking stepped in never mind feeling her pulse under her skin. Especially not under her fucking ear, that one spot always makes her shut the fuck up. It’s the off switch that I fucking found.

I can’t see anything other than the images my mind formulates of destruction. Blood will clean what should never have been fucking touched. The usual calm that settles in my muscles is nowhere in sight and my lips lift without excitement as their shitty little fucking compound comes into view. Satan’s Rejects have fucked up and they’re going to be demolished instead of dismissed by the devil.

The tires screech as I block their gate from closing and the coward who’s supposed to be standing guard fucking runs before I’m even out of the car. I’ve never been a fan of sports; baseball is boring as fuck, but it earns a point for the pro column as the bat sails through the air. The dull thud of it hitting his skull has the first curve of a smile on my face as I fully step out of the car. My steps are easy, feeling like myself again as his head flies forward, and I pick the bat back up.

Ignoring the sound of cars pulling up behind mine blocking their entry, I hum bayu bayushki as everything goes silent and black.

It’s all off.

No sight. No sound.

Gunshots break up my peace and the sounds of screams. I blink back in my body in time as some cunt runs at me, there’s no president patch on his jacket and the fucker ruins my bat. It’s warped, the metal that was straight is now twisted with a large dent, making it form a half-flattened C.

I drop it and ignore the blood around me. There’s a tear in my suit jacket, the threads having come loose, and I straighten my lapels before stepping into their little fucking clubhouse. There are four of them with guns stood closest to me, four further back hiding behind a bar, and three creeping through a hallway. They’re too fucking stupid to think of the reflection against the darkened glass behind the bar and I can see the cunts easily.

I straighten my cuffs as they stare and watch the fear blanch their features. Opening my arms once I’m done, I muse aloud.

“I thought bikers were supposed to be hospitable.”

The dark playfulness has them hesitating and I wipe away the droplets of blood racing down my lapel. Looking back up, their leader is hiding the fucking rat. There’s no one here with any notable title on their little leather vests. My voice darkens, removing any false playfulness due to the topic.

“Now, which one of you filthy fucks touched my wife?”

There’s a teenager stood against the wall, and he looks at the picture of their dickhead president, giving him away. Loyalty is a respectable trait, not when it’s against my family and my body moves automatically. It’s been too long since I went head to head with more than ten at one time. But there’s no ache and my movements are fluid as my mind shuts down.

My ears ring with all the shots being let off and blood drips from my face as I blink back into reality. It’s all hazy and red, seeking more destruction and even in my rage I had foresight to keep three of them alive for my lucid entertainment. Well, barely alive. Their faces are fucked up, but I improved on their genetics so they should fucking thank me, the ugly cunts.

Dima and my brothers stand at each exit without a speck on them. Strange. They don’t have any weapons in their hands, but they must have used something. Fuck it, it’s not my problem. I look towards the three fucks, making a decision on who will live.The youngest one is mid-twenties; he doesn’t have a weapon, and he’s got the most promise with youth and na?vety being on his side. His misguided attempt at fitting in nearly killed him, but being a coward saves his life. Not wanting an easy death, one of them pushes forward, signing his torture with his tongue.

“We didn’t touch that stuck-up bitch,” he spits with blood and spit bubbling from the corners of his mouth.

I’m the only fucking person who gets to call Inessa a bitch, and she isn’t one. She acts like one, there’s a fucking difference.

Imagining his death has me laughing, it’s going to be beautiful, and I wish I could record it. Dropping their weapons like dumb fucks, they both come at me. There’s a split second where their life is literally in my hands, it’s like an aphrodisiac knowing I am in control of their next breath and then I blink again. It’s over.

The worst part of my rage and the fights is not remembering, I want to remember their pain. This is why the warehouses are the only places it can happen, when I have control and my mind at least retains 10% of what I do.

Unrecognizable faces with lifeless eyes stare up at me as the entire room falls silent. There’s not even the sound of fucking breathing and I look around expecting some mythical beast to be behind me. Realization fills me that I am the fucking beast, and I could skip, I’m so joyous.

My suit is ruined, I’d only worn it twice for fuck’s sake. Inconsiderate fucks, they wouldn’t understand fine tailoring with all the cowhide wrapped around them. Wiping the blood away is useless and I push my hair back as red drips down my face. Looking at the kid, I ignore the wet patch on the front of his jeans, and he repays the kindness, giving everything he knows.

“I swear I didn’t touch her. I wasn’t even there, prez saw your car and thought it was you.”

Fear chokes him as I stand motionless and wait for the bastard to spit it all out.

“H-he licked her, said she tasted as sweet as she looked.”

Every cell in my body hardens, even my fucking ears drop from the weight. When righting a wrong, you leave one fucker alive to show his haunted face to the masses and keep everyone else away. Remembering that, I stop my feet from moving and curl my fingers in to restrain myself.

Changing tactics, I desecrate the dead and collect each fucker’s tongue for my wife. Inessa can have them as a token until I give her the one that’s to blame. The pissy kid whimpers when I get closer to him and turns, giving me his back as he walks out towards a back entrance. Valentin moves around the bar collecting bottles to torch the shithole.

I can’t help myself and keep my steps silent as I gesture for the others to leave once they’ve successfully filled every square inch with accelerant. His stupidity leads him to think he’s alone, that he can fucking escape. Following the little fucker, he doesn’t slow down and bursts into fresh air. His fingers shake as he brings a cigarette to his lips, he struggles lighting it and I make myself known, whispering boo in his ear. His scream makes me laugh and I nearly fold in half from the force.Hooking my hand around his lips, I push that toxic stick into his mouth. He can’t fight for shit and his entire body shakes as I kick into the back of his knee so he’s kneeling.

Gripping his sweaty hair, I pull his head back and take out my knife. It’s still in my pocket and I don’t know how with the blood on me. My hands are fucked when they come into view. My knuckles are swelling, but it doesn’t deter me as I position the blade under his brow bone. I tut and knock my knee into the back of his head as he continues shaking.

“Keep fucking moving and you’ll take your own fucking eye out.”

It doesn’t inspire him to gain control and I slowly press the tip of the blade through his thin eyelid and angle it up. The blade isn’t long enough to reach his little fucking brain, but he screams, it’s blood curdling and has me laughing harder as he shakes harder, pushing himself up and doing exactly as I said by catching his eye on the blade.

I let him go as he starts to lose consciousness and my humor doesn’t die as I go back inside and carry my queen’s trophies out of the shithole. Valentin is still waiting when I leave, and he takes out a cigarette when he doesn’t fucking smoke. He lights it and only takes one drag as I reach him.

I’m about to tell him the dangers of the habit when he flicks it off his middle finger into the shitty building and heat engulfs my back. He smiles like a child, proud of himself and I make him walk ahead so he doesn’t admire the flames.

“Congratulations, I’ll allow you an extra hour on your games before bed for doing such a good job,” I say monotonously.

He bristles at my comment and saves his tantrum until we get in the car.

I have to keep pausing when my laugh comes back as I take the stairs up to my floor. Fuck, now that the adrenaline is slowly wearing off my memories open up, repeating their screams. Reaching what should be our room despite me never sleeping in it, I’m prepared for my wife’s anger at me dirtying the place with the blood on me.

It’s not what greets me.

Inessa springs up with her face falling and nearly trips as she jumps up and runs across the room to stand in front of me. She looks like an idiot in those god-awful fucking orange fluffy trousers. Especially when she runs, and it makes her look like she’s been taken over by a fucking tabby cat. Somehow she’s still jaw droppingly beautiful despite them.

I’m trying to find out how attached she is to them and how pissed she’ll be when I burn the orange monstrosity when she winces and stops herself from touching me. Her words rush together, and she speaks over herself.

“What the fuck? You’re hurt? Where are you hurt?”

I’m not surprised she manages to talk through her own words, I wouldn’t be if she found a way to have two tongues and be able to fucking talk underwater.

“Vlad, call a doctor.”

When I don’t move, she tries to go around me. I hold her chin between my thumb and finger. A crease forms between her brows as I lift my other hand up to give her the gift and their apologies.

“Got you something, moya koroleva.”

The dark material hides the blood, and she takes it from me. I hold the bottom as her every emotion plays in her dark eyes. She hesitantly unties the knot, then screams as she pushes back.

“What the fuck is that?!”

The dead muscle rolls from the makeshift bag I made out of a t-shirt I cut off one of their bodies. They drop to the floor with a dull thud, and she stares at them wide-eyed as a shiver works through her body.

She doesn’t stop moving until her back hits the wall and she holds on to it like it will save her. Looking down expecting their to be snakes or some other fucked up shit in my hand, it’s exactly what I packaged, and my confirmation comes out as a question.

“Their tongues?”

She slowly blinks three times, then shakes her head and bursts out laughing. She has to hold her knees for support, and the sound doesn’t stop. It’s not filled with humor, but hysterics and tears race down her cheeks. It takes too long for the laugh to taper off and my queen smiles at me when she looks up.

Her feet move easily, and she stands back in front of me, avoiding the body parts littering the floor. She’s adorable as her nose scrunches up at my hands and she flicks her fingers in order.

“Get rid of them, you weirdo.”

I drop them to the side, and she presses into me when they’re nowhere near touching her.

“I think I prefer your sex toy gifts over tongues.”

Looking down at my beautiful wife, there’s no fear on her face, the twisted smile and her step back is warning that she’s as fucked up mentally as me.

“Although, tongues could be classed as toys too.”

I’m going to fuck her so hard she forgets her own name. Grabbing her nape, I pull Inessa into me and hold her jaw, so she doesn’t misconstrue a single fucking word.

“The only tongue you will ever feel is in my fucking head.”

She’s a brat, I know this, yet I still expect different. It’s the definition of insanity, and the woman is exceeding her goal to drive me fucking crazy. Pushing up on her toes, she makes everything silent and loud at the same time.

“I’ve had better.”

Bloody fingerprints mark her skin, and I can’t even get the word out without unclenching my jaw.

“Who?”

No fucker touched her, she’s mine. My queen and annoying fucking brat who never shuts the fuck up. She nonchalantly lifts her shoulder and wrecks me.

“That’s for me to replay every night and you to never find out.”

I lift her by the back of her thighs faster than she can anticipate and she doesn’t waste a second in wrapping her pretty little legs around my waist.

I hold her jaw, so our lips don’t touch, knowing it’s my own off switch.

“There are two words for people like you, people who will stare into the face of a monster while he’s covered in blood and fucking laugh.”

Awe wraps itself around my words and the beautiful thing strokes her fingers through my hair.

“Hmm, what’s that?”

Sitting her on the dresser, so I can touch every part of my wife’s body, I grind into her and give the answer. “Stupid or brave, moya koroleva.”

My brat cups the back of my head and tries to pull me closer as her voice drops, full of sex. “Maybe I’m both.”

There’s not a universe in existence where Inessa is stupid. Her intellect isn’t measured with grades or a degree. She’s forged from steel, and just like the metal, she knows when to bend to make herself even more dangerous. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable and the ugly orange pants are covering her legs making me ask, “Are you still on your period?”

She smirks as she leans and looks across my soaked body.

“Worried about getting blood on you?”

Her laugh weaves through the sarcasm and I don’t have to temper myself.

“Just wanted to know if my dick will match, meelaya.”

There’s no heat in the slap against my chest and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re so romantic, no wonder you had to force me into marriage.”

She doesn’t want roses and candlelit dinners. She would be bored by the time she was seated.

Pulling her closer so there’s no space between us, she opens her mouth to spew some other shit. I push it back down her throat and everything ceases to exist. The air from her lungs is like pure oxygen getting to my head and making me dizzy. It’s not safe for long periods of time, just like the gas itself, but I’m an addict soaking it up as many times as I can before my ultimate death.

Crossing my arms over her back, I squeeze my shoulders and it’s like she’s inside me. Every part of her body is in touch with mine and she moans into my mouth when I coil tighter around her. She doesn’t let me poison myself and pushes against my neck to be released. The softest whisper has me laughing at her pout.

“You have their blood on your face.”

Widening her thighs, she sits up straight like a queen commanding obedience.

“Go wash your face, and your hands.”

She giggles, losing the brattiness as I nip her neck with my teeth and strokes up my chest. Her delicate fingers undo my buttons instead of ripping my shirt open and she forgets about her previous command. Turning toward me, she chases my lips and bites back a groan as my shirt and suit jacket fall to the ground. I’ve never given a fuck about aesthetics. Muscles serve a purpose to show force and strength. But every time Inessa touches my biceps, and her eyes turn black with lust, I flex like a little bitch.

Her hands are healing and damaging as she ignores the blood staining my skin and massages across my shoulders. She’s going to be soaked because she bites the corner of her bottom lip when she reaches my biceps. Her hands slow down and she doesn’t look at my face as she traces each vein and tests the muscle. I could watch her watching me and never get bored. She’s stunning and lets out a groan as I flex when her fingers are holding as much of my biceps as possible. It’s fucking heady knowing she’s getting off on it when my dick isn’t even out, and she isn’t looking at my face.