HATE ME HARDER ( a dark revenge romance)

Chapter 10:

OSCAR'S POV

The red lighting in Darkar pulsed like a heartbeat, casting long shadows across the velvet walls of my private suite.

The air was thick with the scent of cigar smoke, and the faint musk of sex from the girls in the clubhouse below.

I leaned back on the leather couch, legs spread, one arm draped over the shoulder of ruby, one of the girls that worked at the club house

She sat beside me fumbling with my buttons as I maintained an eye level with the much older woman sitting opposite me.

The woman had a long dark wavey hair, and deep green eyes just like the ocean.

Ruby's body pressed against mine in a way that was all performance. Asides Raven, Ruby was my best girl.

She was a perfect distraction, a warm body to celebrate with.

My thoughts ran back to Damien Blackwood. The untouchable CEO, the man who thought he owned Manhattan. Captured like a rat in a trap by me.

The ambush had been perfect, and my men had hauled him out of the wreckage, unconscious, and now he was mine.

Locked in iron, I can't wait for the fun to begin.

Ruby straddled my lap, grinding slow to the muffled bass from downstairs. Her lips brushed my ear, in careful kisses.

"So what now?" The older woman opposite me asked.

I chuckled, low and dark, hand sliding up Ruby's thigh.

" By morning, he'll sign everything over." i said to her.

She tilted her head, fingers tracing her wine glass.

"Everything?" She asked.

"Everything." I replied, giving her a throaty smile. "The documents are ready. Political gold. Blackwood Enterprises has ties to half the city council. Contracts for development projects, backroom deals with senators, offshore accounts tied to election funds.

He signs them over to me, and we own the city.

The mayor, the police commissioner, all of it.

Just one fucking signature, and Damien Blackwood hands me the keys to the city."

She laughed, a throaty sound. "And after that, what next?"

"Then I kill him.

Slowly, I'll Make him beg for his life."

The TV in the corner was on mute, but the news ticker caught my eye. "BREAKING NEWS: DAMIEN BLACKWOOD KIDNAPPED IN AMBUSH. POLICE TAPE CRIME SCENE. REPORTERS SWARM MANHATTAN STREETS."

I unmuted it, channels flipped, CCN, FOZ, MCNBS, all the same. Reporters crowded the taped-off street, lights flashing, police tape fluttering in the wind.

"The billionaire CEO of Blackwood Enterprises was abducted in a violent shootout. Witnesses report multiple vehicles involved. Police are investigating, but no leads yet."

I fumed. "What's so fucking important about him? What's so fucking special?"

My phone rang, i looked at the caller ID and answered immediately.

The voice on the other end hesitated. "Boss... Mr Damien escaped."

"What the fuck do you mean Damien escaped?" I asked anger vibrating through me, hot and electric. My fist clenched, knuckles turning white.

"We were attacked, and our men were taken down."

My body tried absorbing the shocking news which i found absolutely absurd.

"Whatever you do, find him. Capture him back or you are all dead." I yelled into the phone.

I hung up, and smashed the phone against the wall.

Damien Blackwood. Slippery bastard. But I'd find him. And when I did, the torture would be legendary.

*********************************************

RAVEN'S POV:

I sat on the armchair in the dusty corner of my secret hideout, an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city,

The old bed creaked under Damien's weight, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Shirtless, skin pale under the single bare bulb, wounds stark in the light.

The bullet hole in his shoulder oozed fresh blood, the flesh around it swollen and red.

Bruises bloomed across his ribs, cuts from knives crisscrossing his chest, face swollen from fists, lips split, cheekbone bruised purple.

He looked broken, vulnerable, human, and not the monster image of him plastered in my mind

I'd called Maya hours ago. "Take care of Lila. Take her to your apartment. I won't be back for a few days." i had said to her.

Maya's voice had been sharp, worried. "What's going on?" she has asked.

"Don't ask much questions, it's better you don't know anything, Just do as i said." i had replied her to ease her worries.

She paused. "You in trouble?" she asked.

"Not yet. I replied.

"Be safe. I'll keep her safe." she said at last, knowing that pressing any further won't yield any positive result.

I hung up, speeding up my car, one direction in mind.

**********************

After my mission earlier, i craved home, craved the warmth of my daughter's hug.

I had turned on the radio in the old truck I'd stolen to get here.

And the news was everywhere: "Billionaire Damien Blackwood kidnapped in a violent ambush.

Reporters swarm the streets. Police investigating, but no leads.

My mind flashed back to Oscar in Darkar. The "little surprise" he mentioned, grinning like a wolf. "That son of a bitch," I cursed, anger seething through me.

Damien was mine.

Mine to torment.

Mine to kill.

No one else was permitted to hurt even a hair on his body.

Having worked for Oscar so long, I knew all his hideouts. The perfect one to hide a whole Damien Blackwood was the warehouse in Queens, remote, guarded, but I already knew the blind spots.

I'd gone there undetected, slipped past the patrols, took out two guards with silenced shots, hauled Damien's unconscious body into the truck. Because he was mine.

Now he lay on the bed, breathing ragged. The bullet wound on his shoulder looked so bad and ugly, infection setting in. Other wounds, knife cuts, baton bruises, oozed. I cursed out loud. Inviting a doctor was way risky, i had no choice but to treat him myself.

The first aid kit was in the corner, stocked up for emergencies: gauze, antiseptics, forceps, sutures, painkillers. I washed my hands in the rusty sink, gloved up.

Damien stirred slightly, eyes fluttering but not opening. "The bastard better not die yet," I muttered. "He's only permitted to die in my hands."

I cut away the remaining shirt fabric.

The shoulder wound was ugly, entry hole ragged, exit clean, but muscle torn, blood crusted.

I poured antiseptic over it, bubbles foamed. Damien groaned, body twitching.

I ignored it, probing with forceps, metals clinking.

The bullet was lodged deeper than I thought. I spent hours digging through his shoulder, sweat beading on my forehead.

Damien's body arched, a low groan escaping. I pressed down on his chest with my forearm. "Stay still bastard."

The forceps gripped.

I pulled, slow, steady. Damien grunted, eyes still tightly shut. The bullet came free with a wet pop, and blood welled fresh.

I packed the wound with gauze, pressing hard. Fatigue washing all over me.

I sutured fast, needle piercing skin, grateful he wasn't awake.

I bandaged tight, then moved to the knife cuts on his chest, cleaned them, stitched the deep ones. Bruises I iced.

When I finished, his breathing was a getting back to normal.

Finally done, i let the fatigue get complete hold of me, i sat back and stared at him intently again.

The bastard better not die yet. He's only permitted to die in my hands.