Taken by the Heartless (HEARTLESS, Book 1) (NOW EDITING)

THE OTHER WAY AROUND

    Once Eros dropped Cassandra in the mansion, he jumped back into the car and headed for Marco. Even with all the tactics Cassandra devised to stop him from going, he didn't yield this time. The bastard had beaten more than he could chew, and he was ready to end Marco's bullshit.

He turned off the engine once he was at the site and got out, taking in his surroundings. Marco was a sly bastard; he needed to ensure the whole place was secure. Not that they weren't careful enough, there were men in the control room, watching every cranny around the warehouse, even the surroundings. If any danger were lurking, they would find out. He stalked into the warehouse where Javier and the others waited, blowing smoke from his fat cigar.

Marco was strapped to a chair in the center of the room. His face was bruised, and his head hung, he was so motionless that Eros thought he was already dead. There was a deep cut on his temple where a lone blood trekked down to his cheek, his lips were swollen, and one of his eyes was closed. Eros smirked approvingly. His men have done an excellent job, but as Lucifer reincarnated, he was there to finish it. The men stood around silently, waiting for his merciless instruction. The set of men that work at the warehouse are the brutal ones that only understand the word 'kill' They relish in killing deserving men wickedly, and Eros loves them for that.

He stood before Marco, putting his cigar between his lips, and stuffing his hands in his pockets. He thought of other ways to torture the man for attempting to touch his woman. Marco could do whatever he wanted with his business; he could sell him out to the police, steal from him, double-cross him and go scot-free, but when it came to Cassandra, he completely crossed his fucking boundary and would pay with his life.

He looked to his left, where different torture weapons were laid on a table. There were knives with glittering blades, guns, pliers, wires, teasers, a bucket filled with water, and ropes. All the torturing methods he knew suddenly felt lenient to him. He needed a way that would gratify him so much. But no torture was really enough to eliminate this man.

"The Almighty Marco de Vera," Eros teased, bringing out his hands from his pocket and grinning at Marco.

Marco looked at him with all the strength he could muster and smirked. "Your father would be fucking disappointed in you. Eliminating your ally for a cunt? A worthless whore who brings nothing to the table.

Eros' hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightened, and he started counting to ten in his mind, trying to control his anger. Marco had nothing left to do and was trying to provoke a reaction from him; he knew that and was never going to humor him. He would kill the bastard before he manipulates him into letting him go again. Marco has never really been an ally, he was still alive because he supplied his cartel with good coke at reasonable prices. Eros decided to stop dealing drugs anyways. It fetched a lot of money, but other things brought in good cash too. Moreover, he was already established in the business world, his company was atop his counterparts', and he had nothing to lose. The way Cassandra had reacted to it the day he spoke about it made him come to peace with the decision to stop drug sales.

Marco was useless to him now. He had given the bastard a long rope which the bastard had cut so short. Trying to kidnap Cassandra and harming her father was the last straw. He would gladly end the bastard; he was a miniature threat to his life with Cassandra. He looked at Marco with rage, itching to wipe off that stupid bloody grin away from the bastard's face.

"F*ck you, Marco."

"Shame on you, Eros Castillo. Your father foresaw that you are only a coward. Look how a little, weak woman brings you to your knees. I am afraid you will end up like your father." He laughed, coughed a little, then spat blood on Eros' shoe. "She stabbed you with scissors once, she will stab you severally, as your mother did to your dad; It's a thing that runs in the family, though—"