Serpentine Desires

The prey

My skin was on fire, prickling under the intensity of his touch, and it was too much.

I didn't even remember ripping off the woolen scarf and tossing it into the backseat of the car.

The cold air bit into my exposed neck, but it was nothing compared to the searing heat of this monster's arm around my waist.

His cane tapped rhythmically as we walked, his sunglasses shielding his unreadable eyes from the world, the prettiest and perfect illusion of blindness.

Ask me, I'd write his tales with better pen.

I didn't know why he bothered to bring me along.

Kyle trailed behind us, stiff and silent like always, with guards I didn't recognize shadowing our every step. My ankle throbbed faintly, a dull reminder of the price I'd paid for being careless. But the pain was manageable-nothing compared to the six feet four inches bastard that tower over me like a storm cloud.

We were escorted to the private dining area, what caught my sight first was the large table at the center, surrounded by men. Lavish, refined, the room felt like the very essence of wealth. A slow Russian sonata played in the background, the soft music lulling the air into an eerie calm.

Waiters stood by, motionless, like soldiers awaiting orders.

I'd rather stay with them than associating myself with these dangerous men.

My gaze flickered to the men sitting around the table. Some of the faces were familiar, shadows from that fateful night. Except for one face-Donatello-whose ghost must be lingering nearby. A cold shiver crawled down my spine as I remembered him. He was dead. Judas killed him.

And yet, here he was-or rather, the memory of his lifeless eyes still haunted me.

I was jolted from my thoughts when a hand brushed my back, snapping me back to the present. "Little lion," one of the men-Carlo, I thought-greeted Judas with a smirk, but his eyes cut to me.

I stole a glance at Judas. His lips twisted in that wicked way they always did when he was about to tighten the noose. He tugged me closer, as if claiming me in front of them. The room stilled, the air thick with power plays and unspoken threats.

The me. Definitely shifted at his sight, some even made the faces of pure loathe. They didn't like Judas, but like me, they had no choice but to play to his tunes.

Carlo pulled out a chair for Judas. But I couldn't help but notice, there was no chair for me. Just a cold, vacant space between two men.

I was not going to sit there.

I hesitated, my stomach clenching as I wondered where I was supposed to sit. Judas, of course, didn't miss a beat. His cane tapped once on the ground, the sharp sound cutting through the silence.

"Sit beside me, ptichka." His voice, smooth as silk, held an undertone that sent a ripple of unease through me.

I turned to him, my heart pounding in my chest. There was no seat. I was about to open my mouth to protest when he patted his thigh. "Or my lap."

The words fell like a nail to the coffin, and my breath hitched. The men around the table watched with interest, but none dared speak. I could feel their eyes boring into me, an trust me, their eyes were as hodded and disgusting.

Adjusting the bodice of the dress, I wished they would stop staring at my chest.

I swallowed hard, every nerve in my body screaming against what he was asking. But there was no escape. Not here. Not now.