Dark Queen

“There’s so much space,” she drawls, stroking her fingers over every surface.

“I’ll have the maid make you some space in the closet for now. Eventually, we’ll have your own built.”

She giggles, looking down her body, “Yes, please make space for all my designer outfits.”

I stalk her, grasping the neck of the tee and tearing it down the middle.

She squeaks in surprise, and my greedy gaze devours her creamy flesh. “You’ll never wear another man’s clothes, do you hear me?” I caress a hand down the front of her stomach. “Only what’s mine touches your skin.”

She quirks a brow, her breathing becoming heavy. “Can I wear my own clothes?”

Smirking, I lick my lips, loving the way her eyes lazily drop there. “I suppose, when I’m not fucking you, you can.”

Her audible gasp makes my cock pulse. “Now, get some sleep. I have business to take care of.”

“It’s so late,” she murmurs.

“That when the villains come out to play, little ballerina.”

I close the door, locking her inside.

I don’t want her wandering around before I’ve informed everyone of the new resident.

The Blaydon brothers don’t look as smug suspended from the ceiling of the warehouse, stripped naked, their arms pulled taunt at the wrists.

They’re hollering behind gags as I approach.

“Good job,” I tell Marcello. He stands by, head to toe in plastic overalls, ready to get started.

Thomas wheels in a monitor and parks it so the brothers can get a front row seat.

The screen comes to life with a few clicks of a laptop.

“I offered you boys something I rarely give anyone,” I tell them, taking a seat on the metal chair placed out for my arrival.

“An olive branch—and you snapped and tried to stick it up my ass.”

They both wriggle and grunt. Marcello chuckles darkly.

“You thought this was a game?” I mock. “You lost the moment you opened your cunty mouth to me,” I growl, flexing my jaw.

I signal for Thomas to do his thing, and the monitor flickers before a video of fire billowing high from a house appears on the screen.

It cuts to another house going up in flames. "

Boom," I jeer.

More squeals cry out from behind their gags. “Every family member who shares your name,” I inform them.

Another house comes on the screen, and the elder brother cries out recognizing it as his, his wife in bed inside.

“You have a sister, if I’m not mistaken?” I pose it as a question, but it’s not.

Thomas disappears and returns moments later, the girl in tow. “She was hard to track down. At school out of town, using her mother’s surname,” I tut, tilting my head. “You see, I have power and influence everywhere. You should have done your homework, educated yourselves about the players on the board.”

Reaching up, I take a strand of her hair in my hand. “Sweet sixteen, a ripe age. I think we’ll keep this one,” I utter.

Thomas forces the girl to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her pretty face, her bottom lip trembling.

“What do you think, Marcello?”

He walks over to me and grabs a fistful of the girl’s hair. He yanks her back to her feet, her lungs releasing a pained scream.

“Oh, a screamer,” he groans, licking the tears from her cheek. “Doesn’t your father like them pretty and loud?” he taunts.

The girl’s bladder empties down her jeans.

“He does. She can be his new pet,” I drool. Thomas retrieves a shipping crate and bundles her inside.

“Please,” she screams, slamming her hands against the wood as he closes the lid. “I’m nothing like them.”

I nod in agreement. “She’s right about that. She’s getting to live—at least until we tire of her.” The words stir something in them both. Their last-ditch effort to get free is futile, but it humors me all the same.

Thomas wheels the girl away as Marcello steps forward, his knife in hand, the plastic overalls crunching with his movement. “Who’s first?” The corner of his lips tilt up into a sinister smile.

“The mouthy one.” I jerk my head to the younger of the two.

Marcello wastes no more time. The fear in the room is palpable. They know they won’t be leaving here breathing.

With a twitch of his wrist, Marcello lurches forward, stabbing the man deep in his groin. The wriggling from seconds before comes to a halt as pain takes over, shocking his system.

The tearing of skin is unique to the ear and sends his brother into a fit of hysteria.

Marcello carves through skin and muscle, dragging the blade up the torso. It’s harder than it looks, gutting someone.

It takes strength, skill. The wails from the brother watching brings me a sense of closure.

They deserved this.

A splash of organs hitting the floor sends a spray of blood in my direction. I should have worn overalls too.

Stepping back, Marcello admires his work, then hands me the blade.