Asher
My breathing came in a slow, steady rhythm. I soaked myself, my thoughts, and every fucking ounce of self control in the blissful feeling of punching through ripped flesh. I was a monster. I, Asher Asbourne, was a fucking monster.
That much was a fact and it wasn't because I was smart, intelligent or swift, but because I was brutal and everyone feared who I was.
Twenty eight fucking years and never for once have I lost a territory. Twenty eight fucking years and the number of men I've killed, has way surpassed the average age of a human.
Twenty eight fucking years and I'm still the unbeatable, undefeated Capo. The fearsome man who rules the underworld and the entire fucking country.
My fists collided with flesh again. The object of my beastly satisfaction happens to be a very close friend of mine. A close friend who fucking tried to betray me.
Another punch and he made a hollow sound that was very loud it was easy to tell he was in so much pain.
Yes! Yes! Bleed! Bleed and let me revel in the intoxicating scent of blood against ripped flesh. I was Asher Asbourne, the twisted demon of the Russian Bratva. Fear, blood, violence, and rough sex were the only things that calmed my rage.
A bag was over his head so he couldn't see anything. I loved torturing my victims and making their hearts run wild trying to anticipate where my next move was going to hit.
The madness that comes from not being able to see your enemy, rubbed me off in a primal way. I wasn't afraid of being at the receiving end either. I only gave my victims torture brutalities that I myself have undergone.
Red. Black. Blood.
My fist was moving on its own, landing on every side of his fucking face. Each hit was sharper and heavier than the previous one. The room smelled like sweat and metal.
Red. Black. Blood.
He was tied to a chair, and it scraped the floor every time his body jerked. I wasn't counting the punches. I never did. Counting made it feel like I cared enough and I fucking didn't.
I was just about to open up his skull with the next punch, when one of my men interrupted me.
"Boss, you have a call."
I didn't turn. I hit my victim once more, then again. There was a crack sound and my blood warmed from the impact of my last hit.
My knuckles were burning but I loved the feeling. It was a sign that I was going to sleep well tonight.
"Убирайся с глаз моих,"
Get out of my sight.
"It's important, boss." The guard replied.
I exhaled through my nose and stepped back. I wiped my hand on my jacket and turned.
"Дай сюда," Give it here.
Holding my hand out.
The phone was placed in my palm. I brought it to my ear.
"Что?" What?
The voice on the other end was calm, which already annoyed me. "What's the update?"
"He's still not talking," I said. "Stubborn piece of shit."
There was a pause. Then, "You know we don't have time to waste. Get the information out of him. I don't fucking care how you do it."
"Watch your mouth Gonzalo. Nobody fucking orders me around," I said.
Then the line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a second, then lowered it. I turned back to the man in the chair. He was breathing hard now, shoulders rising and falling like he was trying not to panic. The bag was damp from the sticky mix of ripped skin and blood.
"I was actually considering your daughter and your wife," I said calmly. "I thought maybe that would loosen your tongue."
He laughed. It was empty and hollow. "Fuck you," he said. "And fuck your bratva scum of an organization."
I smiled.
"That was the wrong answer," I said.
I moved closer. I didn't rush it. There was no need. He tried to speak again, but he didn't get the chance. I ended it quickly. In a split second, his head was on the floor. The view of his headless body convulsing from the impact, unleashed something more animalistic inside me.
There were two things that deeply annoyed me. One, was giving me orders. Two, was believing that I had a soul enough to consider whatever human sentiments you might have. I don't do those. They irritate the fuck out of me. And everyone who has done either of these things, never lives to tell the tale.
The room was quiet except for the drip drip sound of blood and the still convulsing body before me.
I stepped away and adjusted my jacket. I walked out of the building.
Outside, I sat down on the steps. The night air hit my skin, and I let myself breathe in for the first time since I started torturing that fucker. I took a cigarette from my pocket, put it between my lips, and lit it.
The first drag burned my lungs. It was a welcome sensation to the raging flames that were burning through me. I've been so lost in the proper and corporate world, I've barely had time to indulge myself in blood baths these days.
Especially since I've had to be in the same room as that blue eyed demon.
One of my men came closer. "Boss, what should we do now?"
I stared ahead. The city lights looked distant. Madness and chaos were familiar to me. They had always been there. But tonight, irritation sat heavier than usual.
"Gonzalo," I said. "Send one of my men to his house."
"Yes, boss."
"End his life," I added. "Quietly."
He nodded and walked away without asking questions.
Nobody had the right to speak to me like that. Not in business, not outside it. I was the capo. That wasn't a secret. Everyone knew who I was and what I ran. Just because we were in the middle of deals and negotiations didn't mean respect stopped applying. If anything, it mattered more.
Business be damned. I didn't give a fuck.
I crushed the cigarette under my shoe and stood. My head was already moving through the list of things I had to handle next.
Meetings. Money. Problems that kept stacking up. Time was slipping, and I hated wasting it. Every delay was a reminder of what I could lose if I didn't act fast.
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket. A picture of dead Gonzalo lit up my screen. A smile appeared at the corner of my mouth. I loved my men because they knew how to follow orders swiftly. My fingers swiped up and the picture of a blue eyed boy was staring back at me. Almost immediately, like a shot through my groin, I felt my dick throb.
He was the enemy's son and the fucker didn't even know it. Unfortunately, I would have to end him soon.
But I wasn't the only one after his head.
In the distant, fucked up part of my mind, an obsessive spark lit up in me. I alone would be the one to have him. He's my play thing now and everyone knows not to touch my play things.
So far I've gone easy on him. From here on, it's game time and I'll make sure before I do away with him, I'll have that dangerous mouth of his, choking down on my cock.