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Chapter 8: (Dontrell’s POV) The Meeting, Part 2
Last Updated:
2024-12-25 22:49:11
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The lavender scent clung to the air as warm water cascaded over me, washing away exhaustion. The shower was my refuge—a brief escape from everything. Dontrell was still asleep in the bedroom, the house eerily quiet.My thoughts drifted to my father and Nadeem—it had been too long since I’d heard from them. My new phone, constantly under Dontrell’s surveillance, was only available to me on days he allowed it, and even then, I couldn’t text anyone without his permission. My father’s betrayal of my mother’s memory still haunted me; the news of the amount of trafficked women he had slept with was a dark reminder of the broken man he’d become. A faint sound outside the bathroom door broke the silence. I paused the shower and called, “Dontrell, is that you?”No answer. I peeked out from behind the tub’s curtain, a massive shower with frosted glass. My breath caught; the ensuite bathroom was luxurious—polished marble, gold fixtures—but it was empty.I shook off the unease and turned back t
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My chest heaved, exhaustion pulling me under. I stopped struggling, resigning myself to his touch.He gripped my waist and pressed closer, lifting me slightly and positioning himself to penetrate, sending a gasp from my lips. A shiver ran through me as he teased me, just barely intruding. I felt the barest intrusion of his tip in my love hole. A sensation that set every nerve alight. My body braced instinctively, expecting him to take more.But then, he stopped. Just as quickly as he advanced, he pulled out. Relief, confusion, and something darker churned in my chest, leaving me breathless. The tension was unbearable until Dontrell’s voice shattered it.“Not tonight,” he muttered, his voice rough as if wrestling with his restraint. He pulled back, his touch lingering only briefly before retreating entirely. My chest heaved as I turned to face him, confusion and relief swirling through me. He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his muscles evident. “I didn’t save you to hurt y
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The smoke from My Father's Bon-Cadeau pipe filled the bathroom, casting shadows over his sharp features, amplifying the menacing air around him. His immaculate dark suit hugged his powerful frame. A man radiating authority, the kind that commanded both respect and fear. I tensed, my pistol still in my hand, the safety clicked off from when I’d thought I’d need it moments earlier. The audacity of him barging in burnt through me.He stood in the doorway, a figure carved out of shadows and smoke. His gaze slid past me like I wasn’t even there. His smirk deepened when he saw Allison clutching the towel tighter around herself, his eyes lingering on her a moment too long. “Next time, don’t bother hiding behind the curtain. It won’t help you.” His voice cut through the tension, sharp and biting. I didn’t respond right away; I just felt the anger bubble up.Allison’s soft voice broke the silence. “Good morning, sir,” she said, barely above a whisper.His eyes flicked over to me, colder tha
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The door clicked shut behind me as I stepped into the room. My father sat in the centre of the room, expression unreadable, framed by the chandelier light. The room carried an air of suffocation—a mix of cigar smoke and silence so heavy it seemed to choke any sense of comfort. Clayton leaned against the far wall, coiled, ready to strike. Andrew stood near the window, his arms crossed and his posture relaxed but calculated. Two additional bodyguards loomed by the door, their eyes fixed on me. I held up a hand, stopping any attempts at conversation. "Give me a moment." I walked past them into my closet, shutting the door. The hangers clicked as I pulled on black slacks and a shirt. No shoes, no jacket—this was still my house, even if it felt like enemy territory presently. When I returned, I found Clayton pacing, his anger almost palpable. My father hadn’t moved from his position, his demeanour as though he owned not just the room but everyone in it. When I returned to the room, Clay
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I froze in the bathroom doorway, my pulse racing. The air around me was thick with tension, the echoes of the women’s cries still haunting my ears. But it was his eyes—dark and piercing—that held me captive. “Come here, Dove,” he said, his voice like velvet and steel.My feet felt glued to the floor, and my body refused to move. “I won’t ask again,” Dontrell warned, his tone colder now.My feet began already betraying me as I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, each step feeling like a death sentence. When I stopped in front of him, Dontrell reached out, grabbing my neck. His touch was gentle but heavy, like a shackle, locking me in place.“Were you listening?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.I swallowed, panic rising in my chest. I couldn’t lie to him. He’d see through it instantly.“I heard... some things,” I said, my voice shaking.He studied me for a moment, lips pressed into a tight line. “You shouldn’t have.”“I didn’t mean to,” I rushed to explain. “I hea
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The snap of the bracelet echoed through the room, and the tiny beads scattered like shattered stars across the cold marble floor. “No! No!” I screamed, dropping to my knees, hands trembling as I frantically tried to gather them. Each bead that slipped felt like my heart breaking again."“Why would you do this?” I choked, my voice raw.“Because you need to let go of him,” Dontrell said, his voice sharp but laced with something deeper. “You can’t keep living in the past.”I looked up, tears falling. “You don’t get it! This wasn’t just a bracelet—it was all I had left of her!”He rubbed his eyes. “I understand more than you think. I’ve lost more than you know. But that bracelet—it's a chain from your father. It's keeping you trapped.”You don’t get to decide that for me!” I shouted, clutching the broken strands. Memories flooded back—my mother weakly smiling in her hospital bed, slipping the bracelet onto my wrist. “Each charm represents us,” she whispered: the heart for you, the crown
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Clayton’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp and merciless. “Dorothy said you’ve decided not to eat.” His tone was heavy, laced with lethal authority.I flinched. Each time I saw him, I remembered the sting of his slap, the humiliation of our first meeting. I was terrified of him. Every time I saw him, I remembered his hand striking my face the first time we met, the force of it, the humiliation. He knew I feared him. That’s why he was here—to force me to eat. “I—I’m not feeling fine,” I stammered, my words trembling as I met his hard gaze, though the way his eyebrow arched told me he didn’t care.His lips curled into a humourless smirk. “I don’t care what’s wrong with you. In this house, when you’re told to do something, you do it, eating included. That free will, Dontrell has spoilt you with, ends now.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my gaze. “I’ll eat now.” “Not like you have a choice,” he retorted, annoyance lacing his tone. Clayton closed the distance, the tray still
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The darkness of the abandoned lot wrapped around me like a predator stalking its prey, the warehouse looming ahead with its metal frame groaning under decay. I gripped the crumpled paper tighter in my fist, the name "Simeon and his address" scrawled in my father’s messy handwriting fuelling the fire raging in my chest.He was out. Out of the Circle's Pit, the place where men like him—snakes, liars, and traitors—were sent to rot. I didn’t care how he clawed his way out; I cared about one thing: answers.The photograph of Allison burnt in my pocket like a brand, the memory of its haunting details as sharp as a blade. Her face, so delicate and pure, didn’t belong in the pocket of a dead man—a thief who thought he could cross the Blade family. And that "11-11," marked on the back with an ominous X? That wasn’t just a coincidence. That was a threat.And threats against Allison? Those were punishable by death.I kicked open the warehouse door, the rusty hinges shrieking in protest. Dust and
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“Each time I touch you, you get tighter, sweeter. This body of yours is a drug and I can’t quit." His words were raw as he bit my thighs.His hand slid down, his fingers grazing my clitoral area, making my body jolt, heat exploding within me. My muffled cries fought the tight gag over my lips.He doesn’t slip a finger in yet but flicks my clit—relentless, precise—making my body tremble. The strap around my waist holds me down, shockwaves pulsing through me.Every time I try to close my legs, his grip holds me open, fingers digging in, pushing me closer to the edge.My bound hands jerked against the straps as his other hand found my breasts.“You look like sin laid bare, spread out, and needy. The best part? You’re only like this for me.”His breath grew heavier and faster like mine, his grip tightening, his body moving with no hesitation.I could barely see him, my eyes rolling back into my head, but I felt his hands moving fast as he stared at my pussycat, jerking to himself.“Today’
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My wrists were bound above my head, leather straps biting into my skin as I struggled. He circled me, his dark eyes devouring me. The solitary pole left me exposed, my naked body glowing under the fiery red light."You’re trembling," he said, stopping before me, his voice dripping venom. "Is it always like this, or just when I’m about to ruin you?"I bit my lip, refusing to answer, though my body gave me away.He stepped closer, his hand encircling my throat, the pressure a seductive command. "Speak."I don’t know," I stammered, my voice cracking."Liar," he said, gripping my jaw and forcing my eyes to his. "Don’t lie, Dove. Be good, and maybe Daddy will go easy on you."He stroked my cheek before pressing a gag to my lips. “Open,” he commanded. I obeyed without hesitation, parting my lips as he slid the ball gag into place and fastened it tightly. My muffled sounds only heightened his control, and he smirked as he stepped back to admire his work. In his hand, he held a black leather
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The room felt suffocating as I slid my fingers along her wet heat, feeling her pulse race. I kissed her hard, urgently, as the table groaned beneath us. My hands roamed her body, deliberate, unrelenting. She gasped, but I silenced her, swallowing the sound with my mouth on hers.“You’re mine tonight," I growled, stepping closer.Her breath hitched. "I don’t—""Shh." I cut her off, my fingers brushing her neck, feeling her pulse race. "Fear’s just part of it. You’ll learn to love it."She swallowed, eyes wide, but something in her gaze shifted—curiosity or something darker. I could already feel her slipping, inch by inch, into submission.Tonight, I’d break every boundary she didn’t even know existed.Her body arched as I touched her clit, her breath quickening. “I warned you what it would mean to be at my mercy," I growled, my voice rough.Her eyes widened, but I saw the shift in her."Don't fight it," I added, watching her body tremble, giving in.She didn’t speak, but her movements
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“I don’t know what you mean.” I snapped, attempting to push past him, but he moved faster, blocking my every move. His body towered over me, his cold blue eyes piercing mine with predatory intensity.You’re avoiding me, Dove,” he growled, his voice like a blade. “Tell me what I want.”His tone rumbled like thunder, shaking me to the core, heat pooling between my legs, a maddening ache I couldn't ignore.“I…I didn’t say anything important,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady, but the tremor gave me away. His lips twitched into something darker, stepping closer, his heat suffocating. “What did you say behind my back?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, darker. “Don’t worry, Dove. I won’t bite…” He leaned in until his breath fanned against my forehead, sending direct signals to my cunt. “Not unless you beg me.” I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. My lips parted, but no sound came out; a part of my brain kept reminding me that talking whi
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The sunlight filtered through the drapes, casting a soft glow on the room. From here, the world below felt distant. The sprawling compound below was perfectly ordered, each detail screaming meticulous control—Dontrell’s control. Beyond the compound, houses stretched out like scattered chess pieces, barely visible through the morning haze. I turned, my feet brushing the foot carpet. The faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and dark—lingered in the air. My gaze caught on the nightstand, and my breath faltered. A bouquet of black roses whose velvety petals looked like midnight whispers lay there. Nestled among them were a pair of sleek black heels and a new Birkin bag. A crisp note rested nearby, his handwriting slanted and bold. I reached for it, my fingers trembling, as if the simple act of reading it could undo me. "To the angel who turned my night to chaos and beauty, I owe you not just an apology but the world. I’ll replace anything you’ve lost—even the pieces of yourself you thin
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I shoved my father harder against the car, the metallic thud echoing through the air as his back hit the frame, but it didn’t satisfy the rage boiling inside me. His smirk—the same one I’d now found myself resenting—mocked me even now, a taunting reminder of how far he’d go to destroy anyone who defied “Go on, boy. Do it," he sneered, his voice calm despite the strain in his throat. "Prove you’re no different than me."My forearm pressed harder against his neck, and for a split second, I contemplated doing exactly that. But killing him now wouldn’t satisfy me—it would only make me like him. I needed him to live long enough to feel the weight of what he’d done.I released him, shoving him harder one last time. The car shook under the force, and he coughed. For a moment, I wondered how a man his age—almost seventy—still dared to meddle in all of this. He wasn’t as strong as he once was, but his cunning made up for it. “Don’t mistake this for weakness,” I growled, locking eyes with him
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The engine of the car roared as I sped through the thick forest, the tires bumping over uneven terrain, branches scratching against the sides of the vehicle. I could barely see through the windshield; the darkness of the woods swallowed up everything around me. Andrew sat in the passenger seat, silent as always, I could see that he was dying to ask questions, but he didn’t. Not a word. I knew he wanted to know where we were headed, and what we were doing. But he was quiet.The acronym *GDL* rang in my mind. *The Godfather’s Legion*.This was no ordinary group. My father’s men—trained criminals, assassins, and deadly people from all over the world. Men who swore oaths of secrecy and loyalty to him. They fought for him, killed for him, and, if need be, they’d die for him. The GDL was for matters that couldn’t get traced back to my father. When he wanted something messy done, he’d call them in.Andrew shifted, his gun clicking as he holstered it beside him. His attention stayed on the g
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“Who the hell are you?” My voice shook, sharper now, fueled by fear and adrenaline. My mind raced, grasping for answers. There was something disturbingly familiar about him—his voice, his posture, even his towering presence. It rattled me more than the mask he wore or the weapon I knew he probably carried. Did I know him? Could I trust him? No. Not here.He stepped closer, and with one swift motion, I brought out the scissors, aiming them directly at him.“Stay back!” I spat, lifting the scissors higher and pointing them directly at his chest. “I’m not afraid to use this!” My fingers trembled, betraying my bravado, but I refused to lower my guard. His voice was low, mocking. “Drop the damn scissors before you hurt yourself.” He moved toward me again, deliberate and unrelenting. I mirrored his steps, my back legs brushing the edge of the bed as I kept the scissors pointed at him. “If you’re so fucking bold,” I snapped, my voice rising, “take off the mask and face me like a man, not a
