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It fucking does.
“Same goes for the rest of you.” Killian raises his voice, looking around the bar-restaurant area.
Every eye in the room lands on him. Wide and terrified. Other than Amara’s. The look on her matches my excitement. That does it. Her pussy is the hole I want to sink into.
While I punish her for leaving the penthouse without calling us first.
For risking her life.
“One strike and you’re out,” Killian continues.
It’s clear to everyone what out could mean.
Everyone but Amara.
Preston got off with a slap on the wrist. There were others, though. Others who are swimming at the bottom of the Hudson River.
The crowd in the bar area nods.
Christopher mumbles begrudgingly, “Yes, Killian.”
“And now the final act.” I move away so Amara, the woman I love with every fiber of my being, can see Christopher’s punishment.
Her chocolate brown eyes stare at us. Her slender arms wrap around the vase she brought along. I’m willing to bet she’s pretending it’s either me or Killian.
Christopher’s Adam’s apple bobs when I put all my weight on his face. “Tell her how sorry you are.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out his fake apology.
“Her name is Amara,” Killian deadpans. “Say, I’m sorry, Amara. Make it believable, or I’ll make it hurt. Those are your only two options.”
Amara’s gaze flickers to Killian. She has hearts in her eyes. Gratitude.
Her eyes take away some of our doubts. Would you look at her. Excited about the prospect of violence.
Killing a person isn’t beating them up, but she’ll get there. She’ll get used to us. Yes, she will.
“I’m sorry, Amara.” His apology sounds genuine. Sort of.
Good fucking dog.
Next in line, Amara and Killian. My dick is begging to be touched. My palm tingles with the desire to spank and punish our girl. My teeth ache to bite into her exposed skin and my tongue to swipe Killian’s length.
The blood and brutality have reduced me to the sum of my needs.
“Don’t come back here.” I throw him to the floor. Where the trash belongs.
He collapses on his hands and knees. Bleeding from his forehead.
No one dares to rise from their chair or offer him help.
The only person I hear talking is Luna who is calling housekeeping over the radio.
“You wanted to see us?” Killian outstretches his hand to Amara, helping her off the stool as if Christopher isn’t coughing like a mad man on the floor.
“You asked for this vase, and I brought it.” She stands tall, though her voice is timid. I don’t like it. And this sadness again. “Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”
This isn’t like my pet. She’s rattled, and I need to find out why. By the determined look in Killian’s eyes, he shares the sentiment.
