His Plaything ||18+

12. Inner Conflict: Anger

[Bianca]

I bit his lips, shoving him off me. His eyes widened momentarily, but then he smirked, touching his bleeding lip with one hand. Without warning, his hand shot out, gripping my upper arm with a bruising force. I braced myself, expecting him to lash out, but instead, he leaned in, his breath warm and unsettling against my ear.

"If you do that, I may not be able to hold back." A dangerous light danced in his eyes as he licked his lips. "Pain... does wild things to me."

"If you touch me, I swear I'll scream. My friend knows I'm here, I'll fucking sue you!" I started blurting out all the threats I could think of in fear that he would force me into something I didn't want.

"Oh, relax." He rolled his eyes, letting out a low, mocking laugh. "I may be a lot of things, sweetheart, but I'm not a rapist." His smirk widened, his fingers tightening on my arm just a fraction. "Now go on. Hit me."

"What?" I asked incredulously but his tone dropped.

"Hit me, unless I'll hit you." He said with narrowed eyes.

I didn't think twice. Fury coursed through my veins as I threw my heaviest punches, each one aimed at his smug, perfect face. My fists pounded against his cheekbones, knuckles connecting with flesh until I saw a thin line of blood dripping from his nose. It was small, barely a trickle, but it was there—a testament that he wasn't invincible, that he could feel pain, just like anyone else.

I grinned, a bit relieved.

But he barely flinched. His cold, mocking eyes held mine with twisted amusement as if my blows meant nothing.

I could feel my hands throb, aching from the effort, and I took a step back, shaking them out and wincing. The skin on my knuckles had started to split, red and raw. But what scared me the most was the fact that I'd enjoyed hurting him...

He wiped the blood from his nostrils with a thumb, smirking. "You hit like a girl." He said, moving to grab a vial filled with a transparent liquid from inside his drawer.

"What are you doing?" I took two steps back, every fibre of my being screaming out for me to run. Yet, I was worried that getting on his bad side would cost me.

Before I could even fire back, his hand darted out, gripping my throat. "Drink this. Don't worry, it's not poison." He forced the liquid inside my mouth and my throat burned. It felt like alcohol had slipped past. He slipped the glass vial into his pocket and then gripped the collar of my shirt. His fingers wrapped around the fabric.

"Now, one last thing. So he understands the message," he murmured, inches away from my face. In one swift motion, he tore at my shirt, ripping the buttons straight off. Puzzled, I stumbled backwards, tripping over the trashcan.

My hands flew to my chest, instinctively clutching at the torn fabric as I hit the ground hard with my butt. "Owww!"

The next time I looked up at the psycho, he wasn't smiling. He wore a look so serious that I almost cried.

"What are you doing here?" He spoke sharply, then winced, touching his sore face. He took one look at me and the blood that stained his fingers and I watched his eyes widen with shock.

"Dante?" were the only words I managed to say before tears welled up in my eyes and a sob escaped my throat.

Never in my life had I been as glad to see such a cold man. I was utterly terrified that his other personality would do something to me.

***
[Dante]

The sight of her crumpled and trembling on the ground triggered something in me, though I forced it down. Memories like those were better left buried. Right now, I need to think logically.