Chapter 10

Kelvin's POV

“Killing me would not serve any purpose sir. P…please…for..forgive me this once. It's my first time I ever made a mistake.”

There were a lot of things I despised and of all those, three stood out the most on my list. Ingrates, prostitutes, and worst of all, I hated people who didn't get the job done.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand down my face as exhaustion settled deep in my bones. Now I had to think of getting new people who would get the job done.

“Your last mistake,” I muttered, my voice drawling with laziness and disinterestedness. “It had to be your last mistake.”

The man nodded frantically, his eyes wide with desperation. “Y-Yes, sir. I swear! I’ll never fail again—”

I lifted a hand, and he instantly fell silent.

Then, with a flick of my fingers, the shadows in the room stirred.

Figures dressed in black, moving like ghosts, emerged from the corners. Silent. Efficient. Deadly. Trained by me.

Before the man could even draw another breath, they descended upon him.

His scream tore through the air as they pinned him down, his limbs restrained with brutal precision.

Music.

This was pure, exquisite music.

The kind that sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

But as beautiful as his cries were, they were nothing compared to what came next.

A different scream.

One filled with something more.

Horror.

Betrayal.

And that intoxicating touch of despair.

I turned my head slowly, savoring the moment.

There she stood—my wife.

Her hands covered her mouth, her eyes locked onto the scene before her, wide with terror.

For a second, she was frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Then, her scream shattered the air.

And that—that was the most beautiful sound of all.

I had imagined this moment more times than I cared to admit.

How it would feel to have her screaming beneath me, her voice going raw until there was nothing left but strangled gasps. How it would feel to leave her completely ruined, her body bearing the marks of my pleasure, her spirit cracked under the weight of my dominance.

The thought sent a pulse of heat through me. And I could feel myself getting hard again. It amazed me how fierce and stubborn she could be even when she was just so…weak.

She had tempted me that morning.

Teased me.

It was enough to leave me with a raging need that coiled in my gut, making everything feel sharp, unbearable.

I had spent the day trying to rid myself of it. Drowning myself in the one thing that usually worked, violence.

But even the exquisite agony of a man’s screams couldn’t match the high-pitched terror in her voice.

That fear.

That delicious, intoxicating fear.

It was better than anything.

I took a slow step forward, watching as she stumbled back, her breath coming in frantic gasps.

I smirked, extremely pleased.

This was what I had been waiting for.

That look. That perfect blend of horror and understanding.

She knew now, truly knew, what kind of man I was.

I took another slow, deliberate step toward her, savoring the way she flinched, her body tense with barely restrained terror.

She should be screaming.

She should be crying, begging, pleading for mercy she would never get.

But she didn’t.

She just… stared.

Wide-eyed, unblinking, frozen.

Horror and disbelief flickered across her face, but not the hysterical, gut-wrenching reaction I had anticipated.

She wasn’t cowering.

She wasn’t running.

She was simply standing there, looking at me as if she were seeing me for the first time.

And for the first time, I felt something unexpected.

I felt annoyance. It was hard to get me to feel anything but numbness so I smiled at the sensation filling my chest.

I took another step forward, closing the distance between us, watching her, waiting for her to break.

She had to break.

But instead, she just whispered, her voice tight and barely above a breath…

“What the hell are you?”

I paused, first of all taken aback by her question then I guffawed. A deep, amused laugh that rolled through my chest as I bent down in front of her.

This woman—this infuriating woman.

Even now, with the scent of blood thick in the air, with a body lying in cold blood behind me, she still found it in herself to be disgusted by me.

I reached for her cheek with my bloodied hand, wanting to see how far I could push her, wanting to watch her crumble.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she slapped my hand away with a sharp swat, her nose wrinkling in revulsion.

“Go wash your dirty hands before you touch me.” Her voice was steady, and her eyes burned with unmasked repulsion.

For a second, I just stared, surprised again at her reaction.

And then I laughed again, harder this time.

A full-bodied, rich laugh, the kind I hadn’t let out in years.

It was absurd.

She was scolding me…like a child.

Me.

I dragged my tongue over my teeth, shaking my head as I studied her.

“You never fail to amuse me, wife.” I murmured, tilting my head as my grin widened. “Here you stand, in the middle of a bloodbath, and this is what concerns you? My dirty hands?”

She didn’t answer, just lifted her chin slightly, her body still taut with fear but her expression unwavering. She may have lost her memory, but she still had that Carter blood running through her veins.

God, she was a marvel.

I should’ve been furious.

But instead, I only wanted more.

More of her sharp tongue.

More of that defiant fire.

More of the inevitable moment when that fire finally burned out.

She scrambled away from me, her breath uneven, her steps hurried yet calculated.

I didn’t chase her.

I only watched as she scampered away like a scared rat.

I watched the way her fingers fumbled with the door handle before she yanked it open and fled.

The sound of her rapid footsteps faded, leaving me standing alone in the room, the scent of fear and blood hanging heavy in the air.

I exhaled slowly, lowering my gaze to the bags she had left behind.

A smirk curled my lips. “Sloppy, wife. Very sloppy.”

But my amusement faltered when I glanced downward, my jaw ticking at the sight of the problem she had left me with again.

I groaned, rolling my shoulders as frustration coiled tight inside me.

There was only one thing that would clear my head now.

The gym.

The underground house was a sanctuary few knew existed. Hidden beneath the estate, it was where I trained, fought, bled. It was where our familial rituals were carried out. It was where I grew up.

The air was thick with sweat and steel, the scent of exertion clinging to every surface.

I wasted no time.

I wrapped my hands, set my stance, and threw the first punch.

Then another. And another.

When I threw the final punch, the bag jerked violently on impact.

Then, I froze. There was a presence in the room.

I turned my head, already knowing who it was before my gaze landed on him.

My father.

He stood near the doorway, leaning against the frame with practiced ease, a pipe resting between his fingers.

He exhaled, a thin wisp of smoke curling into the dimly lit space.

His eyes, still sharp for an old man, carried an undeniable twinkle of amusement.

I narrowed mine.

“Father.” I greeted in one word.

“Cigarettes. They always help.” He said, lighting up a stick and handing it over to me. I took a huge inhale and let it out, feeling like the smoke went away with all my exhaustion. “Sobranie. Good stuff.” He patted me heavily on the shoulder and sat in the illuminated boxing ring. I joined him shortly after.

I tapped the ash off my cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light.

“There's a spy in our territory.” my father's voice filtered in calm, and matter-of-fact. “sloppy work, letting it go on this long.”

I exhaled, rolling the cigarette between my fingers before taking another drag.

“I'm on it.”

His lips curled in a knowing smirk. “Are you?”

I side-eyed him, jaw tightening. “Yes.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You always were impatient.” he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Kelvin, I understand the thrill of the kill. I do. but sometimes, you have to savor it. Let them think they still have control. Let them talk. Then take everything from them.”

I exhaled sharply, flicking the cigarette away. “I'll be more careful next time.”

He hummed, clearly amused but not doubting my words. “See that you do.”

I said nothing, my gaze fixed on the empty boxing ring ahead of me.

“Laura,” he mused, his voice carrying that ever-present undertone of calculation. “How is she handling things? Especially after the ritual?”

I chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated in my chest. I ran a hand through my damp hair, shaking my head slightly.

“She’s part of the dark,” I said, reflecting the strange glint in my father's eyes. “Fits in like a measured glove.” My smirk deepened, as something unreadable flickered across my face. “She’s... interesting.”

My father leaned back slightly, tapping his cigarette against the side of the ring. “Interesting?” He raised an eyebrow. “Coming from you, that’s saying something.”

I scoffed, flicking the last embers of my cigarette onto the floor before grinding it under my boot.

“Let’s hope she’s smart enough to know when to kneel.”

My father chuckled, that knowing, infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips. He took another slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling lazily in the dimly lit gym.

“Not all flames die out quickly, son,” he mused, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “Some need a slow, controlled burn before they truly turn to ash.”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t have the patience for slow.”

He hummed in amusement, his sharp eyes watching me like he already knew how this would end. “Then make her burn the way you want. But be careful not to get burned yourself.”

I let out a dry chuckle, rolling my shoulders to shake off the irritation settling in my bones.

I exhaled through my nose, rubbing a hand down my face before looking at him. “She doesn’t react the way she’s supposed to.”

His silence urged me to continue.

“She should be breaking,” I muttered, half to myself. “She should be on her knees by now.”

Instead, she stood tall.

Defiant.

Even in fear, she found a way to resist.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“She amuses you.” My father’s voice was edged with something unreadable.

I smiled at the accusation. “That, she does.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Women like that, the ones who don’t crumble at the first sign of power? They’re either your greatest weakness... or your greatest weapon.”

I scoffed. “She’s neither.”

“She could be.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. “She’s a tool, Father. Nothing more.”

His smirk didn’t fade. “If you say so.”

I didn’t need to justify myself.

Laura would learn.

I’d make sure of it.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much she resisted…

She would kneel before me, my dick in her mouth.

He let out one final chuckle, standing from the boxing ring and dusting off his slacks, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt before turning to me with that same knowing smirk.

"Control is an illusion, son." he mused. "Keep that in mind, especially with her."

I didn't reply, just exhaled through my nose and watched as he strolled toward the exit. He paused only once at the door, casting me one last look over his shoulder.

"Don't take too long to figure out which one she is."

Then he was gone.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, a shadow detached itself from the dimly lit corner of the room.

Dylan.

Silent as ever, moving with the kind of precision that made it easy to forget he was even there.

He fell in naturally behind me.

"It has been prepared, sir," he said, his voice calm, impassive.

I didn't need to ask what it was.