Page 34 of Bloody Savage God
Eric just nods, not bothering to reply. Looks like I’ve finally pushed him a bit too far, expecting him to socialize.
Ignoring his silence, I go on. “We need to keep a close eye on each one of them.”
Right now, though, I have someone waiting in my dungeon who should be just about ready for our next conversation.
Chapter Twelve
Mikhail
Myfingertipsburnlikefucking hell. Even though I can’t move my hands, duct taped as they are to the arms of the chair, the needles Gianna pushed under my fingernails seem to move each time I breathe.
The woman is vicious and as another piercing stab of pain shoots up my hand, I’m regretting the life choices I made that put me here. Not an emotion I usually have to deal with. Regret isn’t really part of the Bratva’s way of life. Right now though? Definitely feeling it.
Being preoccupied with my dick and following Gianna to the back alley behind the bar? Not my best call.
I run through the same mental list I’ve gone over again and again through last night, but there are no obvious ways for me to get out of here.
The air is stuffy, but at least my pants have dried overnight. Not that I got any sleep, anyway. Despite my exhausted state, at least her little needle stunt has cleared one thing up for good. I’ve been overly concerned with my reputation, clouding my judgment about the best way to get out of here. Sure, I’m not eager for my father to learn about my sexual deviance, nor do I want my enjoyment of pain to turn into a challenge for whoever thinks they can fuck me over the most, but it’s becoming ever more apparent that I might be better off telling Gianna exactly where I was Friday night. Even if she uses it to try and blackmail me.
I’ve killed men for pretty minor reasons in the past. Let them come after me for this shit. I’ll gauge their eyes out with my bare fingers.
I’ll even enjoy it.
Of course, drawing the big reveal out might have had something to do with that sick part of me that wanted to see how Gianna was going to play this. Looking down at the damn needles I grimace. I’m a bit less appreciative of the experience now that I know.
Pain doesn’t get me off the same way when I don’t have a gorgeous woman right there with me inflicting it. Like when she’d cut right through the flesh of my upper thigh while watching my every expression. That was damn hot, and my cock had stirred despite the ice bath it received beforehand.
Being left alone with damn needles to make my life hell? Less thrilling. Especially since I have no hope that she’ll walk down any moment, since I haven’t heard any noise from upstairs for hours, making me fairly certain she left me alone in this damned place.
Given the lack of alternate entertainment, I do my best to picture Gianna naked. The image of her going down on me, sucking my cock, while I’m tied to this chair in her personal dungeon actually makes the burning of my hands significantly less irritating.
Finally, though after how many hours I’m not sure, I hear the noise of the door upstairs. It’s a damn relief to hear Gianna return to the cottage. There is only one set of footsteps upstairs, suggesting she’s come back alone. Or that her bodyguard is stationed outside. Something I’d need to keep in mind, should I find a way to get out of here after all.
When the door on top of the stairs opens and Gianna slowly descends the twisting staircase, she looks perfectly put together in her black dress and pumps. Like she does in those pictures on the Bruno Properties website. Nothing like the Mistress at Club Steel or the woman in the parking lot that first night I saw her in action.
It’s a messed up kind of enticing. Like a role play where she acts like the proper business woman when we both know she’s as deviant as I am.
“All black, eh? How are you holding up?” I ask, both to see how she’ll react and because I’m genuinely curious. The thought of anything upsetting Gianna has a protective instinct rouse in me that I should probably question, given the fucking needles under my fingernails.
Whatever the case, I doubt she’s likely to give me an honest answer, anyway.
“I’m pissed off. Want me to let it out on you?” The challenge in her gleaming green eyes makes me smile. Yeah, nothing will keep her down for long, though I can see the strain the past days have put on her. Even make-up can’t hide the hollow look in her eyes that speaks of loss.
“Why don’t you start on my chest and stomach today,” I suggest. “You might find that’ll get you the answers you want.”
She contemplates me for a moment, trying to figure out whether I’m trying to fuck with her head, but then she shrugs. “If you want, why not.”
She walks over to her table of instruments and I have to suppress the spark of interest at the sight of the pliers. No doubt she’s intending those for my nipples, which under different circumstances could be an interesting way to spend some time with the Mafia princess.
Before she walks over to me, she picks up the carpet knife, too. For a second I think she’ll just cut right through my shirt and into my chest, which would delay the moment she’ll find out, but instead, she takes hold of my shirt and pulls it away from my body to cut through it.
“You could’ve just opened the buttons,” I joke, earning myself a pissed off look before Gianna’s eyes travel down to my chest and her eyes widen.
There it is, still clear to see. The G she carved into my chest in Club Steel.
“What the FUCK?”
I grin at her, letting her see the satisfaction I get from having gotten close to her that day without her even realizing. She’s clearly reeling from the realization.
