Confessions of a Wanton

29 Interogated

🎶 Bad Girl (feat. Marilyn Manson) 🎶
🎶Avril Lavigne🎶
Maze:

There's some weird shit going on: Killian was shot the other day; We're on full fucking lockdown and no one knows what's really going on behind the scenes. The other members of Killian's Twelve are being questioned too.

Much like I am now I'm sure, or more painfully. Only... I don't think Killian's Beta is questioning the others. The Egg headed motherfucker.

He's the bastard questioning only me, I heard the derogatory terms he'd used for me before they'd pulled off the hood obscuring my vision.

Such a white bitch ass munching tub thumping anachronistic geezer thing to do.

Old Fucker.

My aunt would be turning in her grave if she could hear me now, but not after she'd beaten this wise crackers ass with a slotted wooden spoon. My Auntie feared no one and never cursed, telling me the Lord is always listening.

Shit, I'm definitely going straight to hell in a hand basket.

"I'll ask again. What is your full name?" The older man lifted a brow, leaning over the desk set in front of him.

We're in one of the lower levels of Knight Industries, in a sub basement used mainly for interrogations, I'd know, this room is still stained with the blood of some of the people I'd interrogated.

It had been hard to guess where we were headed after my kidnappers had surrounded me mid flogging, shoving the hood over my head and binding my wrists together. Their skin scent, stinking of cigarette smoke, stale beer, old sweat, and the underlying scent of wolf had been the only indication that the reeking assholes, who, forcing me away from my client, were actually a part of the Pack. The only reason I didn't kill the mother lover's for interfering in my business.

"Mila Avery Zayn Easton. Friends call me Maze." I arch a brow back at him, crossing my fishnet clad legs, showing off my dark tan thigh, flexing under the short leather skirt I'm wearing. Black spike heals bouncing slightly as I circle the one ankle that's in the air. The only other piece of clothing I'm wearing is the thin leather straps that barely cover my small breasts. I've thought about breast enlargement, but then I wouldn't be able to wear saucy little numbers like I am now. The men I work with love a lady in leather.

If I move too much my nipples will come out. It's a little cold in this room, they may try to escape on their own. I'd love to see the look on the old farts face if that were to happen as he questions me. The man biting his lip and leering behind him is much younger than the Beta, appraising me with lustful eyes. I'm sure he'd love a good nip-slip.

My lips curve upwards in the semblance of a smile while my arms fold under my chest, accentuating my small amount of cleavage for a better view. If I can distract at least one of them maybe whatever they have planned won't turn out so bad. I bite my lip playing seductively with the silver ring attached to it, scrunching my nose in a way I know men find attractive, wondering absently which interrogatory tactic the Beta will use on me.

"Mmm, Miss Easton we are not your friends here." His look of disapproval went from me to the man behind him. The other man straightened at his bosses hardened gaze trained on him, face blanking as he regarded the two of us sitting at the table. His eyes returned to my breasts the moment the Beta turned back around, expression simmering with need.

Ah, that's how it's going to be. What a pussy. I recognize him now as the Betas personal bodyguard. His name eludes me though he looks damn fine. I know with the ways he's looking at me that he'd have me anyway he could if he could get his hands on me. Jokes on him; I like to top.