Rain pounded against the car like a relentless drumbeat. I sat there, drenched, my body trembling from the cold, my mind replaying the scene over and over—Celine moaning, her workout pussy lips, the men violating her, Mr. Blade directing it all like some twisted film producer. And Dontrell—he had known. He had allowed it. No, he was in on it.The car door remained open. Andrew stood there, his broad frame blocking the rain from completely drenching the interior. He didn’t close the door. He didn’t speak. He just stood by me, leaning on the car, watching me. Silent. I sobbed the more for a while before I met his gaze, my chest heaving. Of course, he was silent—I had insulted him this morning before storming out of the house, throwing words at him like daggers. Maybe this was my punishment. Maybe he wanted me to sit in my misery.But as he turned to leave, I reached out and grabbed his arm. He was just as wet as I was, his wrist cold against mine. His shirt was soaked through, clinging
The house was too quiet as I sat.Andrew had told me he would check the docks for Dontrell. I begged him not to start a fight, and he promised he wouldn’t. But now, sitting alone at home, I couldn’t help but wonder—what had they discussed? Was Dontrell really the one with the shoe? If he told Andrew the truth, would Andrew tell me?I think he would. Andrew needs me to leave, Dontrell. But the fact that he still defended Dontrell—insisting he’d never be involved with a woman like Celine—showed just how loyal he was to Dontrell before I came into the picture.Later that evening…I sat in front of my dresser, a hairdryer in hand, wearing nothing but a silk robe. My wet hair clung to my shoulders as I ran my fingers and the dryer through it. The shower had washed away the crime, but not the betrayal. That would never fade.Suddenly—I heard a slam!Someone was stomping their feet continuously outside the room. It made my pulse spike as the heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway.But I d
The room was silent except for my unsteady breaths. My wrists were pinned above my head, and Dontrell’s grip was unyielding. His body caged me in, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. His eyes burned into mine, dark and unreadable.I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath coming in shallow gasps as his dick stretched me, no foreplay, no affection, just raw and hard sex.A ragged groan left his lips as his pace grew rougher, his body demanding mine to follow. My fingers curled into my palms, my mind slipping between pain and pleasure, anger and surrender.I writhed beneath him, my legs trembling as his pace deepened. "Dontrell—please.But he didn’t heed my pleas. His cock thrust me with no pity, his moans of pleasure mixed with my grunt of pain, rough, deep, each movement hurting more than the last.I turned my face away, my breath hitching, but it angered him the more."Look at me, Dove," he commanded, his voice low, dangerous. "Don't fight me." His fingers caught my chin, turning my fa
I looked up, my eyes burning, my mind struggling to believe him. "Stop lying," I yelled. "I'm not lying," he said, his voice lower now, almost tired. "Celine and I were over long before you came into the picture. She meant nothing to me. Just a desperate face chasing power. She thought dating me would secure her place in the mafia, but when she realised I had no interest in being the Godfather, she used her body to climb the ranks. That’s all she ever did."I swallowed hard. "Then why does she still act like she owns you?" His lips pressed into a hard line. "Because she doesn’t know how to let go." I searched his face. "So what was that scene in your office?" His expression darkened. "That wasn’t about me. Someone paid for it." A chill ran down my spine, his confession hitting me like a stone. "What?" "My father." His voice was cold. "He arranged it." I sucked in a breath. "Why?" Dontrell let out a bitter laugh. "Because that’s what he does. He turns everything into a business
The back seat was dim, city lights flickering through the tinted windows as we moved through the streets. The driver was silent, focused—just as he should be.I barely noticed. My body still thrummed from what had happened between Dontrell and me. Even though he forced himself into me… I still wanted more. I reached out, fingers grazing his chest and then the hard length beneath his trousers. He inhaled sharply, his hand closing over mine before I could go further. His eyes burnt—dark, hungry."Hope you aren’t doing what I think you’re trying to do, dove," he murmured, voice edged with amusement.I met his gaze, bold. “Yes. I’m about to suck your cock.” No sugarcoating. No hesitation. No filter. His deep chuckle rumbled through the car.He let out a low laugh. “No.” His refusal sent heat rushing to my cheeks, both from embarrassment and frustration. He always did this—pushed and pulled. But then, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke, voice dark and possessive.“You kno
This can’t be.My hands trembled around the photograph. The entire shopping mall seemed to blur into silence, the distant hum of voices and Christmas music fading until the only sound left was my own jagged breathing.The photo in my hand was new. I knew how my mom looked when she died—late thirties. But here, she seemed older, late forties. The strangest part? A dried tear stain at the edge, right where it read, I’m alive, Ali.The woman in the photograph stared back at me.She had my eyes. My face. Older, sharper. But unmistakable. A dead woman doesn’t send letters. A dead woman doesn’t pose for pictures.And yet… I took in a sharp breath, my fingers shaking as I shoved the image back into the envelope. The box from Vivian slipped from my grip, clattering onto the shelf.I needed both hands—I needed to see the rest.Swallowing hard, I yanked out the next paper. It was roughly folded, creased like someone had carried it too long, unwilling to let it go. My pulse hammered as my fin
The gunshots rang in my ears like church bells at a funeral—loud, final, and foreboding. My heart hammered in my chest; my body felt like I was passing out. The world went still. For a breath, a single breath, everything froze. The mob. The flashing cameras. The Christmas lights blinked in rhythmic oblivion.Screams split the air.People scattered in every direction, shoving, ducking, and running as panic swept the street. Tables overturned. Fliers flew. Someone knocked into a street vendor’s cart, sending oranges rolling onto the pavement. The chaos was immediate, suffocating.Dontrell hadn't shot the man—he’d fired into the sky. A warning. A declaration that he was a man with self-control—until he decided otherwise. The man who had charged at us stumbled back, fear cracking through his bravado like glass. His breath came in frantic bursts, his pupils blown wide with raw, primal fear. He hadn’t been hit, but he knew. The next shot wouldn’t be a warning.Dontrell never missed unless
My hands trembled as I gripped the phone.The kitchen was cold, but sweat slicked my palms. My fingers trembled as I pressed the phone to my ear, my breath coming in shallow bursts. The house was quiet. The kind of silence that made the shadows seem bigger. Then, the voice came. Deep. Low. Controlled, slithering through the speaker.“Hold on to this like your life depends on it." I swallowed hard."I don’t need to remind you of the consequences. You should know them already. But I’ll say it again so we’re on the same page. Throughout this call, I don’t want you to respond or question me. Keep shut and listen to my instructions. It’s clear enough."My blood drained from my face, and I pressed my back against the cold kitchen counter, my body rigid.A chill crawled down my spine. My hand tightened around the phone as my knees threatened to buckle. The warning was unnecessary. I was already tense, and now—it felt like I could just go paralysed.The eerie silence between us was suffocat
My screams shattered the air like thunder.“Asylum! Asylum!” But Dontrell didn’t stop—didn’t even flinch.I sobbed, my body raw, my throat hoarse, shifting away from his cock, trying to slide off, to escape—but he yanked me back with one arm around my waist and slammed back into me— a beast possessed. The breath in my lungs vanished. My scream turned silent.He growled, sweat dripping, muscles armouring over me.“Too late to say that shit. I’m deeply gone, close—fuck, I feel it burning. You should’ve screamed it before I lost my goddamn mind. Now? You’re just noise under me. I come first.”My throat burnt as I screamed the word again—“ASYLUM!” my voice raw from screaming, begging, and crying —but he only groaned, his eyes dark and crazed. He shoved deeper. His cock felt like it was splitting me open from the inside.One hand on my breast, the other claiming my throat. I couldn’t stop crying. I had come three times already, my body twitching, yet he hadn’t even climaxed once. His coc
Dontrell's hand slid possessively around my waist, pulling me closer until I could feel his cock searing through the fabric of his trousers. My fingers clawed at him, desperate, tangling in his shirt as our kiss grew frantic. His breath was a harsh whisper against my lips, hot and demanding.“Every time I look at you, I’m reminded I’m a monster, but I still want to hold you in ways I shouldn’t.” He said it with such rawness, almost like he was confessing something darker within himself."I don’t care what you are," I responded, my head sliding to the centre of his trousers, feeling his cock. My voice trembled, almost like I was moaning. "I just want to feel you, even if it destroys me. I want to be your victim."He cupped my face, his mouth full of heat and promise. His fingers slid over my dress and took it off. With one smooth motion, it was gone, falling around my feet like air. Revealing the new bra from this morning.“Damn,” he muttered, eyes glinting like a child on a Christmas
Three days. That’s how long it took for them to clear me—how long I’ve been calm. No more screaming. No more machines beeping like death was on standby.My body healed. My memory returned—mostly. The fog lifted, and with it, the denial. I’d bled till I lost my baby. I’ve accepted it. My memories are clear now. I remember everything. Including who did it.I’d cried a lifetime’s worth. Now, I was just... quiet.The doctor signed the discharge forms an hour ago. “You’re free to go, Miss Blackwell,” he said. "Now, dressed in a flowing gown, standing by the window, I soaked in the hospital’s silence—hopefully for the last time.“Your man’s waiting,” the nurse whispered with a smile.And he was. Dontrell stood at the end of the hallway, talking quietly with the doctor. His brows furrowed, the usual sign he was shielding me from something. He glanced up, saw me, and his expression softened. He left the doctor mid-sentence, walking straight to me."He leaned down, kissing me in front of every
I opened my eyes slowly, blinking at the light above me. For a moment, I thought it was a dream, and I closed them again, willing myself to wake up. But no, it felt real. The sharp, clinical smell that filled my nose was right here.It didn’t just feel like waking. It felt like being dragged from the edge of darkness to light. My head throbbed and my chest tightened, breathing was hard. And I strained to see through the foggy blur in my eyes.Before knowing where I was, I felt a warm hand holding mine. The touch felt familiar, like someone I should have known. The shapes in my vision began to clear, and I focused on the person sitting beside me. Head in hands, shoulders hunched—him.My heart jumped a beat as I registered his presence.“Dontrell?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath, hoarse and weak. Hearing my fragile voice startled me. His head snapped up at my words. His frantic eyes were wide, tears clung to his lashes.At first, I didn't fully recognize him, but memories trick
They hit the club, boss..." Dave's sharp, panicked voice cut in before I could speak. He didn’t even wait to listen to what I had said before; his urgency burnt like brimstone.The phone burnt in my hand. My heart slammed, jaw clenched as I stood still, jaw clenched.“Tell me everything,” I growled, ice-cold.“They disguised themselves as clients and got in. Once they bypassed security, they opened fire.”“But we lit ‘em up. Twelve of them down. All dead.”I gritted my teeth. “Twelve?”“Yeah. But there’s more. The cops arrived late. Someone delayed the callout, and it’s looking like it came from the inside.”My eyes narrowed. “Inside?” The word tasted bitter and harsh, like poison. I lowered my voice; the warden mustn't overhear. "You sure? My trained men wouldn’t dare betray me," I spat, anger dripping.“It wasn't our guards; we suspect someone else and are hunting him.”“Who did it?”“A bartender vanished before the shooting—no struggle, no panic. No sign of a forced exit. Just g
Three weeks in this damn cell—just cold walls and metal bars. A cage made just for me—tucked away where no one can see at the back of the prison yard.The cell room is bare—stone walls, a comfortable bed with a threadbare blanket, and a toilet in the corner. Built for someone with connections but no contact with the outside.Dad’s pull got me this cell, but it can’t stop the weight-crushing me.Wardens told me one thing: stay quiet and let Father’s men handle it. Every time I asked about Allison— they’d tell me nothing. Hell, even the guards who run this place are his men, and they’ve been told not to speak to me about anything. No word—on the world or Allison.Still, she haunts my thoughts—every damn minute.The last time I saw her plays on repeating my head—blood, limp head, the way our hand broke contact as she was wheeled into the ward.I pondered.Will she ever forgive me? Would she listen to my side of the story? I knew I didn’t spike her drink—but how do I prove it? She’s not h
I walked out of her ward, kissing her forehead one last time, as I had every day for the past week. Each step grew heavier, my body resisting, my mind drowning in frustration. The sterile smell of antiseptic reminded me where I was. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, the pain matching the ache inside.Her pale face haunted me. She lay still—too still—and I had to fight the urge to collapse beside her, begging her to wake.She should have woken by now. I'd seen men survive worse, but she wasn’t a man. She was a woman, and I was supposed to be her protector—but I failed at that.Now there she was, trapped in that damn coma, barely holding on. Her name echoed in my mind, but no amount of wishing could bring her back.Three weeks now, and I haven't heard her voice. I miss her laugh, the way her eyes light up when she talks, how she stands firm in her beliefs, the softness of her touch, and the way she makes everything seem right.The doctors said she was stable, but that wasn
The car raced down the street, swerving through traffic as my driver drove like a madman following my frantic orders, fury lacing my voice.“Faster!” I yelled. “Drive like your life depends on it—because it does!”My fists clenched where they rested on my thighs. The leather seat beneath me squeaked from the force of my tension. I was a storm, ready to rip apart the sky.Tyres screeched as the car lunged forward; I didn’t care who we hit.Headlines lit up my phone screen like flames stoking my rage.{**SHOCKING TURN IN BLACKWELL MISCARRIAGE CASE—DONTRELL BLADE ARRESTS HIS BROTHER for poisoning his wife. ****Mafia Heiress in Coma After Miscarriage: Blade Brothers at War.****IS ALLISON FAKING IT? Sources Claim Miscarriage May Be a Setup****SHE’S WINNING: ALLISON Blackwell Faked Miscarriage to Pit Brothers Against Each Other.****BLACKWELL’S DAUGHTER IN COMA, The Blade’s LEGACY IN JEOPARDY.**}Liars. But the truth buried in their lies made my stomach turn—Clayton poisoned her.I shove
I didn’t wait for Mr Blackwell’s response. My words hung in the air like poison, suffocating the space between us. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t dare challenge me—not here, not now.Clayton swallowed, his eyes narrowing, but he stayed silent, looking at us.“Exactly.” I barked. “You’ll do nothing.”"Brother," Clayton said, his voice deceptively calm. “Everyone just wants to know if she’s fine.”I walked right up to him and leaned in, whispering in his ear. Only he would hear the words. My hand gripped his neck, tightening like a noose, pretending like it was just two blood brothers talking secretively. But I wasn’t just talking to him—I was choking him, tightening his neck, and he didn’t dare break; he just stood there, losing his breath.“I hope you rot in hell,” I whispered, my voice low and filled with venom.“Trying to take everything from me. My wife, my heir. All for the sake of your twisted ambition, you killed my child in the process—your own flesh and blood—just to secure