"Nobody is allowed between these pretty little thighs but me....and if anyone tries...𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦."
~
They call him The King-a ghost who rules the world's most powerful mafia from the shadows. No face. No mercy. No mistakes.
And beside...
~"You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you are beneath it."~
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"Phase 2 has been successful, Sir," the blonde woman spoke. The man behind the desk didn't look at her at first. He was studying a cracked photo frame in his hand—its glass spiderwebbed but intact enough to make out the faces inside.
"You know what to do," he responded. A smile unfurled across her face, slow and slick with promise. The kind that told you she'd done worse for less.
"And make sure she sees," he added, turning around to look at her caked face.
"Of course, sir. I'll make sure she sees it all," she grinned. He gestured for her to leave, and she did so without a second thought.
He waved her off. She didn't hesitate.
Left alone, he set the broken frame down—carefully, almost reverently—and rose.
"I'm going to watch you unravel," he murmured, voice like gravel soaked in smoke. "Piece by piece. Until there's nothing left to love."
Then he left the office.
The streets were cold. His car tore through the city outskirts like it had teeth, swerving off the paved road to a stretch of industrial ruin—an old warehouse gutted by time and silence.
He stepped out, his boots crunching on the gravel, and pushed the rusted door open.
There she was.
She was chained against the far wall, blood crusted at her jaw; arms pulled tight overhead. Her black hair was knotted and tied away from her face, exposing every bruise, every cut left half-healed on porcelain skin.
Her eyes, once a fierce steel gray, fluttered open as she sensed his approach.
She still hadn't seen him. Not truly. The room was always too dark. He liked it that way. She only knew his voice—taunting, low, ever-present.
He crouched in front of her and brushed his thumb over a small slice on her cheek. She flinched. He smiled.
Her previously tanned skin was now sickly and stained in bruises, wounds, and blood.
Her head lifted slightly at his figure.
She still couldn't see his face after two days of being here. All she heard was his tormenting voice, but she never saw his face since the darkness hid it.
He crouched down in front of her and rubbed his thumb over her cheek, which had a small cut on it. She flinched away slightly at his calloused and rough hands touching her skin. She swallowed the lump in her throat, not fighting him, or it would only get worse.
