Chapter 1
Daniel
TakingDavidSharp'shomeseemed like the obvious choice now that I'd stolen his position, his life, and his whore.
The walls of the Sharp estate looked awfully drab compared to my riverside apartment, in a building I had designed and sculpted to beexactlyas I wanted. Leaving the place behind needled me, putting me in a worse mood than I might have been.Patience, I reminded myself. I’d be home soon enough, and staying in this dilapidated tomb made up a necessary step in my plan.
I deeply regretted killing David before he had a chance to prepare this damn mansion himself. So many minor inconveniences could have been avoided with a touch more planning. The extreme cold served as a good example of that. I drummed my fingers against the table in irritation. My wool coat fit snuggly, and I grunted with annoyance. Precociousness wasn’t usually one of my foils.
It had been months since David condescended to visit this part of the world and many years since he'd updated the décor. That much was obvious from the foyer and only grew more dismal the deeper you went. When I arrived days ago, thick clouds of dust hung in the air, making it nearly unlivable. I ordered the windows opened and staff to clean around the clock, but it was still musty and stale.
This room was among the first I ordered cleaned, along with the master suite. The windows were closed, blocking off the breeze you still felt in other rooms. The rest would come in time. My plans to redesign every building owned by the Sharps would take time, but it would ultimately be incredibly satisfying to smear the name out of existence.
I wouldn’t wait for comfort where I slept, a promise I made myself only days after David Sharp pulled me off the streets and provided me with a bed. A place to sit in the morning, drink my coffee, and eat a croissant was more of a desire, though not one I was willing to live without. This shabby little breakfast nook served my purposes perfectly, aside from how fucking ugly it was. The yellow wallpaper faded around the edges, and the furniture and appliances were outdated.
At the very least, steam wafted from my piping hot coffee, and my pastry squished and crunched as any good croissant should. I took a sip of one and a bite of the other while I ran my gaze over the only lovely thing left in the room: the smooth expanse of Ju's skin as she kneeled beside me on the tile. She shivered delicately, not from fear but from the cold. I looked at the thermostat displaying both indoor and outdoor temperatures.
“It’s fifty-five, Ju. Quite a lot warmer than yesterday.” She didn’t respond in any way other than raising her head at her name with bland obedience. “Hm, you use Celsius, don’t you? So that doesn’t mean much to you.” I mused, tapping my fingers in a staccato beat. “I guess you don’t actually need a number to know you’re fucking cold.” I patted her on the head, pleased with her for amusing me.
Her blood dripped toward the floor in lazy streams from the shallow slices I cut into her before breakfast. Blood always flows less freely in the cold, and Ju was an excellent clotter. The display lacked the drama I craved. Without warning, I leaned forward and lazily dug the scalpel into one of the existing wounds. Part of the slash deepened, and the other end veered off course, creating an all-new, much deeper slice.
She whimpered but, to her credit, didn't cry out. Her pained flinch shook loose a wave of shivers. Her body wracked so intensely that the wicked, hungry creature inside me purred in delight. The solid wooden chair pressed uncomfortably into my back, but I leaned into it, enjoying watching Ju bleed on the white tile. I ran my fingers through her hair and placed my hand on her cheek.Have I broken you yet?I forced her to look at me, trying to see the truth in her eyes. Sometimes it seemed like it, but she had been an actress in her former life. Maybe she excelled at her job.
Delicate tears rolled down her cheeks and over my thumbs, dragging her makeup over her skin like brush strokes from a vicious master. She was a work of art, tear-stained, bloody, and self-possessed.
I didn’t have the typical emotional responses to things beyond anger and occasionally fear, but she impressed me with her beauty and pain tolerance. I wanted to pick her apart, to learn if that strength was a natural predisposition or if she gained it through extreme suffering. Could I create more of what I liked in her by making her suffer further? Ju intrigued me, and I found genuine curiosity so rarely.
Despite her posture and lack of complaint, I caught a brief flash in her eyes that told me she would love nothing more than to dig my blade into my neck. I smiled as I silently taunted her,try it. The idea thrilled me. I pushed her face away, satisfied with the knowledge that I had work left to do with Ju.
Her incredible looks and my misplaced curiosity about her pain tolerance were why she survived the past week. Usually, I spent about this much time playing with them and then getting rid of what was left of them. I hadn't even fucked her yet and was still enjoying myself much more than I normally would. Part of that was the anticipation of when I eventually would take her. Even when I came near her with a gentle hand, she shook. Unlike my old friend Mason Sharp, I didn't lack self-control, so we could play this game as long as it suited me.
“Ju,” I drew her attention back to me. “I usually kill my whores in less time than I’ve had you. You’ve nearly outlived your usefulness. What do you have to say about that?”
Her eyes flitted over to me, holding my gaze. “You’re going to do what you want with me regardless of my opinion. I know I don’t have a choice in the matter, but you still haven’t fucked me. Maybe you’ll like it.”
“Clever girl,” I praised her as a surprised smile flashed across my face. She hadn’t done anything so bold since I took her, but clearly, she saw a chance to better her position. “Why would I want to fuck your dry cunt?”
“It’s not dry,” she said softly, spreading her knees to show me the dewy shine coating her lips.
“Are you wet for me, Ju?” She nodded, butthatfire flickered in her eyes. I knew she wasn’t, and I wondered who she thought of to get herself excited enough to make such a move without showing her hand.
But she was right, and that was all that mattered: I would do whatever I wanted with her and anyone else in the fucking world.
“I may fuck you before I kill you. I may not. For all I know, your cunt is loose from all the movie execs you must have screwed on your way to the top.”
She swallowed hard and gazed down at the floor, “I’ve been told the opposite, but you should feel for yourself.”
Again, that surprise kept me interested in what she might do or say next. So fucking obedient, and yet so surprising.
“Get up, then.” I snapped my fingers when she didn’t move quickly enough. The faintest tremor ran through her body, and I savored it. I grabbed her hips and pressed her bare ass to the table.
The fear implicit in this sort of calm delighted me. The knowledge that I would lash out at any moment, warring with her desire to survive, electrified me. She hoped that if she played this right, I might let her live. Her delicately floral scent mixed with adrenaline surrounded me.
“Well?” I snapped. She flinched at the noise but caught on, spreading her legs for me and leaning more of her weight against the table. I had a lot of reasons for not fucking Ju yet, but lack of interest was not one of them.
Rather than forcing myself on her, I wanted her to want my touch, to associate it with something that might save her. If she thought her pretty cunt was winning me over, saving her, she would crave the way I touched it. Eventually, she’d love the way I make her come.
It was time to cement that lesson. So I pulled my jacket off my shoulders and wrapped it around her, covering her entire upper body and draping over her thighs. Her teeth rattled at the warmth.