A Dangerous and Cruel Love (Dark Mafia Romance Duet 2)

The prince yanked his head back by the hair, and the barrel was back inside his mouth, forcing Grant to swallow his own vomit. “Do you know,” the prince crooned, “I’ve always been just a little jealous of you, for knowing Fawn before I did. I despised you for it, Bennett, and because of it, the mere sight of you repulsed me.” The prince’s grip tightened around his gun. “But I’ve never wished you dead until now.”

A frightened sob tumbled past Grant’s trembling lips.

“You don’t know,” the prince whispered. “You don’t fucking know how close I am to killing you right now.”

But he did, Grant thought sickly. He did know how close the prince was to taking his life.

“And I probably would have killed you,” the prince murmured, “if certain circumstances didn’t require me to keep you alive.”

It was all in those merciless eyes of his—-

“So here’s what’s going to happen instead. I need you to do several things for me—-”

And if Grant made the smallest mistake—-

“I will tell you what it is, and you will do them.”

He would be dead.

“Do you understand?”

Grant knew he should say yes. And he did mean to, only fear got the better of him, and he choked—-

It was not the answer the prince wanted.

The gun fired the second time.

Air exploded inside his mouth, and a silent scream of horror tore out of him. His body jerked and shuddered, and it took several moments for his senses to return, for his brain to accept that he wasn’t dead—-

Yet.

He heard the prince say musingly, “You’re quite the lucky man, aren’t you, Bennett? But don’t celebrate just yet, mm? I can fire the gun again and again until we get to the slot that does have a bullet in it—-”

Grant broke down.

He choked. He cried. He begged. He did all things that destroyed his pride, but at that moment he no longer cared.

But it was too late.

Shoving the barrel deeper down Grant’s throat, the prince murmured, “I’m going to repeat what I said one last time, and you will answer by nodding or shaking your head. Yes?”

Grant nodded jerkily, the barrel bumping up against the roof of his mouth.

“First – you’re a cock-sucking son of a bitch, to even think of something that vile—-” As the prince spoke, the cold rod of metal pushed an inch farther inside before pulling out, mimicking the movements of a cock.

“Do you agree, Bennett?”

Tears of humiliated rage burned his eyes, but Grant still made himself nod.

A smile formed on the prince’s lips. “It’s good that we understand each other now.” He motioned for one of his men to take over. Stepping back, he said dispassionately, “Let’s give this gentleman what he wants and make sure to get him to suck as much cock as he needs.”

Grant jerked.

“Yes, sir.”

The barrel started thrusting harder and faster into Grant’s throat, partially blocking his airway, and Grant began to gasp for oxygen.

Almost from a distance, he heard the prince say, “Show us how much you love to suck cocks.”

Knowing what was asked of him, Grant’s stomach turned over, and he began to retch.

But the prince only shook his head, sighing, “Bennett, Bennett, Bennett. Do you need to be reminded? If you don’t do what I tell you to do, I’ll get you to swallow a fucking bullet.”

Ruthless green eyes glittered down on Grant.

“So start sucking.”

Even as Grant choked on his own vomit, he forced his tongue to move, and he slowly, painfully, began to suck.

“That’s a good cock-sucking boy.”

The prince’s men laughed.

Grant’s tears rolled down faster on his face, but even so, he couldn’t make himself stop sucking on the barrel of the gun.

The prince crouched down in front of him. “Now,” he purred, “here’s what else I need you to do.”

You will continue acting like Fawn’s boyfriend on paper.

You will not tell Fawn or anyone else about what happened tonight.

You will not do anything that would hurt Fawn.

****

The prince watched expressionlessly as his men half-escorted, half-carried a completely unresisting Grant out of the premises. Bennett was silent and pale-faced, his eyes dull, his body still trembling from his ordeal and stinking of vomit.

He was no longer the same man he used to be, and the prince knew that if Bennett proved to be even weaker than he believed, he would never be the same man again.

One of his guards approached him, the prince’s Desert Eagle in his hand. “Your gun, sir?”

“Get rid of it,” the prince said grimly before slowly turning to walk back to where his limousine was waiting, its engine still running. He pulled his phone out absently, sending a text message to Jason Christakos so his friend would know he had been delayed in leaving.

The prince heard footsteps behind him, and soon, Noah fell into step beside the prince.

“What time is it, Noah?”