INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 2
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
Bastàrd.
Piercing a blank stare at the imbécile kneeling in front of me, I was on the verge of dozing off due to immense boredom.
I just don’t know what else this limp díck wants me to do to him. I mean, what else am I supposed to do to yank the god-damnéd words out of his stiñky mouth?
He has been beateñ mercilessly, of course. Bloód is still leaking from the previous enjoyable—to me, not him—tortúre. What hasn’t been done to him?
Is it punching? Done.
Or maybe kicking? Also done.
Hittiñg him tremendously everywhere? Done.
Oh, wait. My all-time favorite hasn’t been done yet, and now is the best time to do so. The sícko already got three nights to confess who sent him, but refuses to talk.
I would have let him go if he just opened his fílthy mouth and told me the truth, but he decided to glue it shut. I definitely wouldn’t have torturéd him as much as I did if he gave me the information I needed and still do. And I definitely wouldn’t be thinking about my next line of action right now.
Wait. All of that was a lie.
I would totally have erased him from the surface of the Earth the second he told me the truth. But since he didn’t, let’s have a little fun.
Clearing my throat for dramatic effect, of course, and effectively gaining his attention, I slowly trailed my forefinger across the sharp edge of my beautiful custom-made knife, intentionally cútting myself in the process to show the foól just how sharp it is.
With féar and caution in his bloodíed eyes, I think he got the idea.
I take the finger I cút into my mouth, lick out the bloód, and crouch down to meet his rheumy eyes, all playfulness that wasn’t even there in the first place gone to the wind. “I’ll ask you just one last time. Who is stupíd enough to send you to kíll me?”
The bastàrd squirmed, fighting to get freed from his rope bondàge. He has been tiéd upside-down, right-side-up, and right now, he is tied in a kneeling position with his hands up in the air.
“When I get to five and you are still looking at me like the dumbàss you are, you are gonna haté what I will do.” I simply informed him because I am a good person and I wouldn’t inflict paín on my victims without telling them first.
Yes, I’m evíl, but not a moñster.
Or, am I?
Honestly, I think not.
The senseléss excuse for a man decided to commit the second biggest mistake of his life by spitting his bloodiéd saliva on my face as if druggiñg my drink wasn’t already enough. The angér in my soul skyrocketed, and a maniacàl laugh bubbled out of me.
Brushing my fingers through his dark, wet, and bloodiéd hair, I made to yank it so hard it pulls his brains if he has one. I gritted my teeth together and muttered, “Wrong move, Kev.”
He groaned. “And what are you going to do about it?” His deep American accent hittiñg my ears like bricks and it even earns a low hum from yours truly—me.
“Oh, I so love that question, my dear Kev.” I smiled at him, and I dropped my hand from his hair with a grimace on my face. “Firstly, I would kíll so wonderfully, and it is going to be so much fun for me. I don’t know about you though. Secondly, you must have some families or someone you love. I’ll track them down and also in the most fun way possible, kíll them, too, after of course, torturiñg them. I haven’t done so is because I am still kind enough to think you’ll change your mind.”
Féar flashed in his eyes, but he expertly masked it. “Do your worst.”
I tried. I really tried to reason with him, but when someone chooses to be stupídly adamant, I will have to do what I got to do.
Pulling the lever that made the rope drag him to his feet, I reveled in the groans of paín he released. That dévil—which is most definitely not caged—emerged in his full glory, ready to have some little fun.
I am not just Dominic anymore, but Dominic Morozov, the head of the Russian Mafía. We aren’t the most fearéd mafia for just one reason.
Not to blow my own horn, but when that devíl comes out, I become so ruthléss and merciléss and unforgivíng that I oftentimes scàre myself.
My eyes watched with pure excitement as the sharp edge of my most trusted and beloved knífe skimmed across his fílthy skin, and my ears filled with the scream of pàin coming out of him.
Although, that wasn’t the only thing coming out of him. A trail of crimson liquid shone brightly in my eyes, leading to a crumbled, shivering drop. His body trembléd and shudderéd, his críes pleasing not only my ears but also my heart.
The lame bastàrd tried to kíll me but decided to drúg me first. Bad idea, if you ask me, but no one did, so…
I continued my administration, dragging the knifé through his skin as more and more red flowed out. That color just brings a smile to my face.
But, this wasn’t a time to smile. Someone is after my lífe, and I need to know who. I have suspects, but I needed the surety.
Since centuries ago, all of the countries which have or had críme lords had marks that serve as identities on them. I just need to find one on him.
The decision to further down was completely out of body will, and whenever my body does so, I listened. The knifé glided down, cútting through his lap and continued trailing down until I am bent down again.
My gaze on his limp díck, a grimace and a smirk fighting to win a battle on my face. When I called him a limp díck earlier, I didn’t know I was going to be right.
Where’s the dang mark?
It must be somewhere around here.
With the knifé, I lifted his penis, and a grunt left his mouth. He spat out again, and I glared up. My eyes searched, found nothing. I lifted the knifé further up and narrowed my eyes on something unusual on his balls.
“Dexter, microscope.” I yelled out for my right-hand man, and he jogged into the place like he had it on hand already.
“Found anything?” He asked, crouching down to my level.
“I think so.” I took it from him, looked through the glass, and… bingo!
The very detailed marking on his balls brought a curve to my lips. My head tilted at Dexter, and when he saw the smirk on my face, he grinned.
“Found it?”
“Yeah.”
“Who is it?”
“Brazil.”
“Fúckers.”
“I know, right?” I scoffed. “Deal with him.”
“Sure thing.”
“I’m out.” I said as I walked to the door.
I heard him spin on his feet and felt his eyes on me. “Where to?”
About two weeks ago, I got an email pleading for me to visit a school, and I only accepted because a certain someone attends there.
The someone I have been unable to erase from my mind for the last seventy-two hours. That someone with pretty words and a nàsty tongue. Oh, let’s not forget those chàotic blue eyes.
Those same colored eyes have been stuck in my head, hàunting me for years, and now is the perfect time for a little food called reveñge.
“Somewhere,” I muttered back a reply to him and left before any more questions came out of his mouth.
✷✷✷✷
I slowed my car to a stop in the parking lot and stepped out. One of my hands slid into my pants pocket, and the other one removed the sunglasses from my face while staring at the centuries-old castle-like building that’s a school staring back at me.
Without wasting any more seconds, I marched forward, headed straight into the entryway. The hallways filled with pretentious, well-behaved girls and boys, walking like programmed robots. Even the teachers—males or females—who offered their greetings to me were more pretentious than the students.
After locating the principal’s office, I knocked on the door just to pretend I have respect, and when I heard her voice, I entered.
“Good morning, Mr. Morozov. It is nice to finally meet you,” her British accent reached my ears faster than her smile reached my eyes.
God, how I hàte these people. All white and nothing but prim and proper.
The good thing is that I can also pretend. I have been doing so for years in the public eye. So, I slapped a smile on my face and stretched out my hand like the gentleman I am not. “Good morning. Nice to meet you too.”
“Please sit.”
Sure, was I supposed to stand before?
“You are doing a pretty great job in raising the kids. They are very…” Looking for the best word to describe them without sounding like an insúlt. “Proper.”
The smile on her face assured me she didn’t get the insúlt, and I mirrored her action. “Thanks. Don’t let them fóol you; not all are proper.”
Oh, I know that.
“Really?” I must sound interested so she won’t see my boredom.
“Yeah. There are a few basket case students, that’s why I needed you to come talk to them. Who will caution the futures of tomorrow if not us, the adults?”
Adults, my foot.
All these rich kids who can’t lift a finger to do anything can’t be leaders of tomorrow. Maybe their maids and nannies will help them to do so, if it’s possible.
“You’re right.” I lied.
She is not.
Mr. Green—her name on the nameplate on her desk—opened a cupboard and brought out a file. “This is the list of the students you will be talking to today. Their names and everything you could need are in there.”
I took it, pretended to be interested in flipping through the pages, but the false interest soon turned real when her face came into my view.
Genevieve King.
My eyes flicked up to the principal to find her glaring at the picture like she would snap lifé out of her if she had the power.
Luckily, she doesn’t, but I do.
“I will be on my way.” I stood up from my seat, and she did too. I beamed another fake smile at her, and she repeated it. “Good day.”
••
Letting my gaze travel from each face looking at me with curiosity, I couldn’t quite find the one I was set on meeting. A frown spread out on my face as my eyes met an empty seat which obviously belongs to her.
“Who is the missing student?” I asked as if I don’t already know.
“Genevieve.” A reply came from God-knows-where because my eyes still refused to leave the empty seat.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
My eyes slinked to the person sitting next to her as I noticed she was nervously tapping on her phone.
Maybe they are friends.
“You over there.” I successfully called her attention, and her equally blue eyes snapped to me. “Do you know where she is?”
Her eyelids blinked rapidly, her grip on her phone tightened, and her nervousness stayed as I strode to her. “N-no.”
God, I hàte the stutter.
“You do.” Placing my palms on her desk, I leaned in to let our eyes meet, and I nearly smiled at the shudder of her body. “Call her in.”
“She isn’t answering.”
“Last time, girl. Where is Genevieve?”
Hmm. I sure love the sound of her name on my tongue, but I’ll definitely love the feel of her bloód on my hand more.
“Rooftop.”
“Good.”
I turned around, left the classroom ready to make my way to wherever the rooftop is. The stairs were the only thing that leads to the place, so I took it. The journey took about three whole minutes out of my precious time that when I saw the door, I almost felt excited.
A breath left my mouth as I turned down the knob and stepped out, or in, I don’t know. The breeze instantly slapped me hard on my face, and another exhale slipped out.
Ignoring the windy breeze up here, I trailed my eyes to find her, and I finally did. She was standing on the edge of the rooftop with one foot balancing in the air.
Giving myself a minute to take her in, I stated. “You chose a quite easy way to díe.”
Her strawberry blonde hair flipped as she turned to face me. The wind doing a great job of messing up her hair and even getting into her eyes. The same eyes she squinted to look at me.
Finally, recognition flashed in those inebriatiñg eyes, and although she tried to stop it, her lips lifted up in a little smile. “Yeah? I can already see the headline if that happens.” She raised her hand in the air like she is reading something. “Something like, ‘Genevieve King, granddaughter of the Duke of England commits suicíde. What could be the reason?’ definitely.”
She can’t be any more right than she is. That’s exactly how the tabloids will be.
Funny? I know.
“What are you doing here?” Genevieve asked.
“I was invited.” I truthfully replied.
A laugh spilled out of her mouth followed by a scoff. Then, she shook her head. “I don’t mean the school. I mean, here, like right now in this place.”
Oh.
That makes more sense.
My eyes remained on her as she turned to continue balancing her foot in the air. “Looking for you.”
Her body froze for merely a second before she turned her head to me again. “Why?”
“You’re not in class.”
“I know that.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I be?” She sharply retorted, jumped down, and walked to me. “You are probably going to talk about how you work so hard to achieve what you have right now when you just inherited it from daddy.” The degradiñg tone of her voice resonated and echoed with the wind, and her pout made it even worse. “Right?”
She has no idea how hard I worked to get to where I am today, and she will never know because she is among the rich kids who can’t do anything themselves. She basically described herself because there was no daddy for me to receive a thing from.
Conceal.
Ignore.
Control.
Her blue orbs flicked to my mouth as they tugged up in a smile. “You have to be present to know that.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a question, Genevieve.”
Did I mention how much I love the sound of her name?
“And, I sure hope it is not an order.”
“Actually, it is.” I said. “Go to class.”
“No.”
God dàmnit!
I hàte stubborn people, but what I hàte more is when they defy me.
With one step to her, I towered over her petite figure and my action caused her to take a step back. “I won’t repeat myself.”
“Okay, so?”
“Genevieve.”
I can’t stop imagining how pretty that name, Genevieve King will look on a tombstone. Very soon, I won’t have to imagine it anymore.
The defiance in her eyes shone brightly and rages like a fiery storm, ready to wreck anything in its path. When she rolled them, I tucked my hands in my pockets to prevent me from doing something drastic but she beats me to it as she said, “Dominic.”
Is…is my name supposed to sound so good?
Why doesn’t it feel like my name?
Why did she call it like that?
Or maybe, I’m mistaken. She couldn’t have dared to call me with sedúctive voice. Right?
“Class. Now.”
“Make me.”
“Easy.” One step forward and one step back. I like this game. “I could throw you over my shoulder and take you there.”
“If I let you.”
“You probably weigh as much as a paper.”
“I do not.”
“Class. Now.” I repeated.
“You know, for someone who said you won’t repeat yourself, you have repeated yourself enough.” Genevieve said with a smirk, her hands going to put her hair in a ponytail.
And, she is right again.
What’s wrong with her?
What is wrong with me?!
“Say one more word that contradicts my words and I’ll throw you over.” I told her, meaning every single word.
Genevieve paused, her smirk vanished, and when I wanted to place one on my face, it slowly turned to confusion as I watched her lean to look at the place I just told her I’d throw her.
My voice low and curious, I questioned. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if it’s worth it.” She simply shrugged.
And, just like what happened three days ago when she saved me—after I woke up from the semi-comatose sleep—I laughed. Like, seriously laughed.
Not a chuckle or a smirk or even a smile; it is a full-blown laugh.
“You’re such a jokester, kid.”
Genevieve frowned immediately that last word left my mouth, and she took a sudden step towards me. “Don’t call me that.”
“But you’re a kid. You’re seventeen, so you’re a kid.”
“You’re annóying.”
“So are you.”
Her electric ocean blue eyes and my own amber eyes collided again, but this time in a glare. “You’re more of a kid than I am.”
“So, you’re admitting it, thank God for that.” I said. “You know what, I have always hatéd the British accent, but yours just hits right in my ears.”
“Yeah? I wonder why.” Her tauntingly tone was also obvious. “You’re Russian?”
That I am. A full-blooded Russian.
“Yeah. How do you know that?” I asked because I have the perfect American accent, and that’s what I use in public.
My last name, however, is a big giveaway.
A mischievous smile brushed on her lips, and a low giggle rumbled from her throat. “I may or may not have looked you up.”
Another laugh escaped from my mouth as I continued staring at her like she is an art in the museum.
“Really?” She nodded. “Which is it?” She shrugged. “Really, kid?”
“Call me that again and I will stàb your eye so deep the other one turns orange.” All playfulness gone from both her tone and eyes.
“Try it.” With just one step, I was so close to her that we breathed each other in. The burgeoning excitement and anticipation for fun stirred up in me. “I. Dare. You.”
TBC 📖✍️
