Magnus Hale.
Good enough to get through days of blind wind.
“Seal it.” I point. “Two seals. You sign, Osman. Then me.”
He signs and passes me the pen. I close the chains, hearing the sharp click of the improvised security. I turn to Adrian, who watches silently, his eyes scanning the shelves as if trying to decipher a forbidden language
“See, little angel?” My voice is low, firm. “This is how this place breathes. Without it, everyone devours each other until there’s nothing left but
bones.”
He remains silent. The silence suits me.
“Very good.” I return the clipboard to Osman with a gesture.
Depot sealed, inventory matching. Control is still mine.
I grab Adrian’s waist and pull him close. A crooked smile crosses my face. tilt my head and run my tongue slowly and deliberately across his
chin.
“Now let’s relax, little angel. The biggest problem is off my shoulders,” I say in a low, cold tone. “I’m excited now that the pressure is off.”
He freezes, as if the word had pierced his skin. His body stiffens against mine, which amuses me even more. I bring my mouth close to his ear and my voice slides coldly, sharply.
“I’ll give you time to get ready. Go take a shower… and then straight to your cell. If you’re not there when I get back, it will be the last mistake you ever make.”
The sentence falls heavy, leaving no room for doubt. I see him swallow hard, the latent fear in his black eyes trembling, without the courage to
stand up.
I hold his face for a second, plant a quick kiss on his forehead, and push him with my hand on his chest.
“Go, darling,” I order.
He leaves without hesitation, running down the hallway. His haste to obey elicits a low laugh. His explicit submission amuses me as much as
his obedience.
I stand there for a few seconds, savoring the scene; duty calls me back. The storage room is sealed, sure; there’s the kitchen and laundry room to check. Blackthorn’s chaos feeds on small mistakes; mistakes are not tolerated.
After all, I’ve already failed with three bastards.
I walk down the narrow hallway; the echo of my footsteps is the only sound I make. I pass the guards without stopping; some try to show courage, eliciting a short smile.
The kitchen smells of rancid grease and watery soup. Workers move pots and pans and clean utensils; boxes brought in by helicopter line up. I
1/2
22.14 Sat, Feb 7
Chapter 151
enter without warning; silence falls.
* 18%4
“Carry on.” The order is short.
Movement resumes, but hesitantly. I go to the side storage room and check the boxes: bags of rice, packets of flour, stacked cans, small bottles
hidden among the groceries. Masked vices.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Lester, the skinny foreman, approaches with a notebook in his hands.
“Executioner… we checked the quantities. Everything adds up.”
“I hope it always adds up.” I snatch the notebook and scan the lines. “Something missing? I’m not going to look for the culprit, I’ll pull the culprit out of the line and hang him in the courtyard.”
He turns pale and backs away, obedient as a frightened dog. I leave the notebook on the counter and turn my back. No need to say more.
I leave and pass by the laundry room. Steam pours out, windows fogged up prisoners bent over scrubbing uniforms, the water turning gray. A guard straightens up when he sees me; a glance is enough to speed up the work.
I grab a folded uniform and a clean towel from the pile and head to the private bathroom. The iron door is closed but unlocked; I push it open
and enter.
The space is empty, the smell of fresh soap betraying a recent visit; Adrian has already showered. The humidity and steam confirm it: he has obeyed the order.
I leave the uniform and towel on the sink. I take off my clothes, each piece falling on the damp tile, and wash myself under the shower. The cold water cuts through my body; I rub my skin hard, washing away the din of the day. As the foam runs off, my mind returns to what awaits.
Today will be fun.
I will savor every reaction from my little angel, every tremor, every sigh of fear he lets out. The anticipation brings a short smile to my lips.
I rinse myself, dry my hair, and put on my clean uniform without haste. I leave the bathroom with steady steps; my body still vibrates with expectation.
Comments
6
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
