Read Story: SEASON 2 EPISODE 94

But making someone actually bleed? I wasn’t sure I could ever enjoy that—or do the actual torturing.

Maybe that made me a little bit of a coward, but I felt like that could be a good thing—a line in the sand that wouldn’t be easy to cross.

“I’m done with him,” I snarled and stalked toward the kitchen door.

I stopped in the doorway, whirled around, and pointed my finger at him.

“He doesn’t get any of the food Jessica brings you guys. Get him some bread and some goddamn deli meat. I want the carcinogens so high he gets cancer just by looking at it.”

“And no condiments,” I added after another moment’s thought.

Now, that kind of torture was more on brand for me. That, I could stomach. The rest? Well… that’s what I had Chloe and Psalter for.

“Chloe,” I said as I turned and stormed the rest of the way out of the dining room, “knock him out of his chair.”

I heard a loud thud, followed by a second one that sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor. Ryo yowled.

“What was that for?” the poor man cried out, sounding like he was speaking around a mouthful of blood.

“You blew up my fucking helicopter!” I yelled from the kitchen.

Okay. So maybe I could dip my toe across the line on occasion… if they deserved it.

Ryo Tanaka deserved it.

I could hear a couple of the guys picking Ryo off the floor, dragging him off somewhere, as Chloe followed me through the door, working her knuckles and rotating her wrist.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yup,” Chloe said.

I sighed and looked toward the dining room.

“What do you think we should do?” I asked.

Chloe ran her hand over her mouth as she gave it some thought.

“My vote,” she said, “is to put a gun barrel in his mouth and give him a full magazine. I rarely get what I want, though.”

Something about her choice of words… was that supposed to be a double entendre for something else? Was that a reference to our agreement to cut things off?

“I knew this German once. Bavarian.” Psalter appeared in the doorway, stirring a cup of coffee with a small spoon. The occasional plink of metal against porcelain accompanied his words like the refrain of some private song.

“We needed him alive for an arms deal in Antwerp, so I kept him fed—bratwurst, pretzels, even let him choose his own wine. Riesling, of course. Always a red flag. I’ve never met a man worth trusting who drinks Riesling.”

He took a casual sip. “Turns out my instincts were right—real talker. Wouldn’t shut up. Gave me the entire history of how the döner kebab came to be wrapped in flatbread. Claimed it was the Germans who insisted on it. Said they have a sacred relationship with bread.”

“What happened to him?” I asked.

Psalter lifted his cup again. “Well, the seller never showed… and I let Johann go.”

Well… that felt anticlimactic.

“He let him go off the back of a moving train,” Chloe snorted.

“Never trust an arms broker who speaks in full paragraphs about anything other than guns,” Henry added.

A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. It wasn’t supposed to be funny—but the way Henry told it…

“All that to say,” he continued, “our guest talks too much. And I empathize with your desire to kill him. But that would be ill-advised.”

“Yeah… thought you’d say that.”

I sighed and pressed my fingers to my eyebrows. “I need some sleep before I can even think about what to do with him.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised you came tonight,” Psalter said.

“I don’t think I would’ve been able to sleep otherwise.”

I looked over my shoulder, toward the dining room again. “This was cathartic—frustrating, but cathartic. I might actually be able to get decent sleep now. Future Marcus can worry about our guest.”

I looked back at Psalter. “Where are we keeping him until I know what to do?”

“Here,” Psalter said.

“Here?” I looked around the room. “Is this equipped for something like that?”

“Yes,” Psalter said. “Mrs. VanCamp and Miss Hoshino had all of these apartments completely secure. Once I told them that you would need a place to hold Tanaka, they made a few special adjustments. It’s perfect for holding someone prisoner.”

I balked.

Helen and Emiko had basically become accomplices to kidnapping. There were probably some international implications, too—but I wasn’t a fucking lawyer. Neither of them had said a word to me about breaking the law. That alone spoke volumes about their loyalty. Helen, I understood better. But Emiko didn’t even know me. Why the hell was she breaking laws for me?

“So, no need to worry about sound… him escaping… anything?”

“No,” Psalter said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had my men go over everything.”

“All right,” I said, impressed. “Just sit on him until I’ve figured out what to do. I’ll let you know something soon.”

“You have me on retainer,” Psalter said. “I’m at your disposal.”

Satisfied that this problem could be safely pushed off till tomorrow, I looked from Psalter to Chloe, nodded, and said, “I’m going to bed. Anyone who gets in my way is fired.”

Friday, September 13th, 9:11 am

Sweat dripped down my forehead, and I swiped it away with the sleeve of my shirt, still holding Tara’s gaze as she circled me. Her bare feet whispered across the mat. Her stance looked relaxed, but I knew better—she was coiled and ready.

I shifted my weight back, loading on my rear foot.

She moved first—a quick jab, testing her opponent. I caught her wrist on the second one. Sloppy, but good enough to try for control.

She slipped free like silk, crouched, pivoted, and swept, nearly taking my legs out from under me.

“Getting faster,” she said, that Australian lilt cutting clean through the morning air.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “I’m surprised. I still feel dead on my feet.”

“At least you’re not dead,” she said, following it with another strike.

She was faster this time. I blocked, ducked, went for a clinch—but she spun under my arm like she’d choreographed it. Before I could recover, she was behind me, leg hooked, arm tight at my hip.

I hit the mat like a stone.

Barely had time to blink before she was straddling me—fluid, composed. Her knees pinned my arms. Her hips settled just above mine. She rested her hands on her thighs as if she were about to enter meditation.

“You done?” she asked.

Her hair was damp with sweat. Her breath was calm. She didn’t even look winded.

Maybe I could’ve bucked her off. But I didn’t. We were almost out of time anyway.

“I think so,” I said. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. We’ll rematch. I’ll kick your ass once I’ve had a full eight hours.”

She gave me a lopsided grin. “I appreciate the humor. Not a lot of students have that kind of levity when they’re on their backs.”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve only been doing this for a couple of weeks. I’m not expecting miracles.”

“Good man.” She bumped her fist against my shoulder.

She slid one long leg over mine, the movement slow and graceful—like a dancer cooling down. She twisted, kneeling beside me as I lay on the mat. She offered a hand. I took it and let her pull me up into a sitting position.

“Jet lag got your sleep buggered?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said.

“Oh—hey, guys!”

Both of us turned. Erin stood near the gym’s door, all curves and confidence. Tight gym shorts painted onto her hips. A baby tee that looked two sizes too small, clinging to the swell of her breasts. The fabric was stark white, her skin a light bronze beneath it.

I caught Tara watching. Her eyes lingered, far longer than necessary, reminding me that she didn’t swing my way. From what I understood, she’d never even kissed a man.

Erin shifted slightly, hands on her hips, turning just enough to show off the lower curves of her ass straining against the hem of those tiny shorts.

If Tara was going to obsess over anyone in this house, Erin was definitely the one to obsess over.

“No... it wasn’t jet lag,” I said, dragging my eyes back to Tara. “It’s mostly her fault.”

I could practically feel the jealousy radiating off Tara. Sometimes I wondered if she had the urge to murder me in hopes of claiming Erin for herself. Maybe I needed a security detail around her.

Tara stood, her eyes still fixed on Erin. “Came to work out?”

Erin strolled toward us, hips swaying. “No. I just need him for a few minutes,” she said, pointing at me.

Tara glanced between us. “Right. Well, then... I think I’ll hit the showers. Same time tomorrow?”

“There’s going to be a party tonight,” I said. “If you think I’m dead today, wait until you see me tomorrow.”

“Jesus, you don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“It’s a small gathering,” I said. “Besides, I’m taking a nap this afternoon.”

Tara shrugged. “Your call, mate. Just don’t go making a habit of it.”

She started toward the door, tossing Erin a radiant smile as she passed. She picked up her bag, gave us one last look, and vanished.

“She wants me bad,” Erin said.

“You think?”

She grinned and launched herself into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and locking her hands behind my neck. She pressed against me—mouth to mouth, lips melting into mine, tongue immediately demanding passage.

She moaned softly as she ground her hips against me.

“Take off my fucking clothes,” she whispered against my mouth.

“I don’t have time,” I said, more regretfully than I meant to sound.

Oh, my dick was hard. You can’t get thrown around by a goddess like Tara and not feel something—especially with her ass grinding into your crotch. I was ready, and clearly, so was Erin.

Unfortunately, I had a brunch to get to and just over an hour to clean up and get there.

"That’s not what this is," Erin murmured against my lips.

I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I didn’t think too hard about it. If we made it quick, there wasn’t any reason I couldn’t stick around for a few minutes of fun.

I lowered us both onto the mat. Erin reached up and slid my gi off my shoulders, pushing it down my arms until it bunched at my elbows. Her dark eyes roved across my chest as her fingers skimmed my skin, and she bit her bottom lip.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “You really are starting to fill out.”

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head in one smooth motion. Her silver hair fanned across the mat as she lay back, bare from the waist up.

“Take my shorts off,” she panted.

I obliged. Kneeling beside her, I hooked my fingers into the waistband and slid them over her hips, down her slender thighs. That was it—just the shorts and the shirt. Now she lay completely naked on the mat, ready to be taken.

But before I could move, she surged forward, kissed me again, and pushed me down onto the mat. She yanked my pants down to my knees, leaving me exposed. My cock stood at full attention, hard and ready.