Blood spattered across Knight's face as the knife slit the man's throat. The man fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Knight closed his eyes, breath shallow. The five bodies before him — lifeless, bleeding — but his mind was elsewhere. On her. On that bloodied face he couldn't forget.
After a few seconds, his eyes snapped open, and he looked down at the five bodies scattered before him, blood pooling beneath them. He stared, expressionless, as if he hadn't just committed a massacre.
Blood slid down his wrist, pooling at his feet. But Knight was not satisfied. There was another blood he wanted splattered all over the ground.
"Boss," one of his underlings stepped forward, head bowed, holding out a face towel. Knight turned to him but didn't reach for it.
"Is everything settled?" he asked, his voice calm and collected.
The man replied evenly, careful to keep his voice steady. "Yes, boss."
Knight turned back to the bodies. "Get rid of them."
Without another word, he turned and began walking out of the warehouse. Outside, he stood a few feet from the car, bathed in moonlight and dripping with blood. He turned his hand to the right and handed over the dagger. It was immediately taken from him.
After a moment, Knight stepped into the car and it drove off. As they moved, his mind raced—a flood of images flooded his thoughts: blood on her face, her split lips. His hand clenched into a fist.
He wanted more blood.
The rage inside him demanded release.
He tried to calm himself.
The silence shattered when the phone rang.
He turned to the side and saw an unknown number flashing on the screen. Without hesitation, he picked up the call, already knowing who it was.
Keenan's voice crackled through the phone, low and mocking.
"Heard you've been looking for me."
Knight said nothing. His grip tightened. Jaw locked.
"Relax," Keenan chuckled. "Didn't even touch your new pet. Kinda wish I had. Just to see how she screams."
Knight's breath stilled.
"Innocent little thing," Keenan went on. "Bet she tastes as good as she —"
A dark laugh cut him off. Cold. Cruel.
Knight leaned forward, voice like poisoned honey.
"You want to know how she tastes?"
A pause. Then:
"Sweet. Sweeter than anything your filthy hands will ever touch."
His knuckles cracked around the phone. Eyes burning.
"But don't get it twisted."
"I'm not hunting you, Keenan."
"I already know where you hide."
Silence stretched, sharp as a blade.
Knight's voice dropped to a whisper.
"When I come... you won't taste mercy."
"You'll drown in madness."
Click.
The call ended.
The car sank into a silence thicker than the blood on his hands.
Keenan dropped the phone and leaned back in his chair, unfazed by the blood covering him.
After a few minutes, the car arrived at the estate. It was past midnight. He stepped inside the house and made his way through the darkness, climbing the stairs toward their bedroom. When he got there, the light was on—no surprise.
By now, he knew all too well that his wife didn't sleep in the dark. The only time she did was when he was around.
He pushed open the door, and the coldness of the room hit him square in the face. He gently closed the door behind him and stared at the figure curled up on the bed—she was tucked into a ball on his side, hidden beneath the duvet.
He knew he shouldn't go to her, not like this—covered in the blood of men he had just killed in cold blood. But every part of him—his feet, his mind, his heart—needed to see her.
He moved closer and in a few seconds stood over her. Her eyes were closed, but he could see her face—her mouth slightly parted, the small cut from the fall still visible, her nose reddened. Her smooth skin was partially hidden beneath strands of hair that fell over her cheek.
Then he realized his hand was already reaching toward her face. He pulled it back quickly, glancing down to see blood dripping onto the floor.
Turning away, he headed toward the bathroom. But then he heard a rustle, followed by a soft thud. He made the mistake of turning around—and there she was, standing there in one of those nightwear pieces he'd bought for her. It left nothing to the imagination; sheer, delicate lace that revealed everything.
But that wasn't what caught his attention. It was the worried, shocked look on her face when she saw the blood. Before he could say anything, she rushed to him and placed a trembling hand on his chest, touching frantically where she thought he was hurt.
And in that moment, he realized her horror wasn't because she thought he'd been hurt—despite what he'd done—it was something deeper.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and searching. Rising on her toes, she touched his face gently, her eyes silently asking questions.
"It's not mine. I'm not hurt, princess," he said, grabbing her frantic hands to still them.
But she shook her head, pointing to his chest.
He smiled softly. "Someone else got hurt at work. It's not mine. I promise."
She stared at him, skeptical, then slowly nodded and settled back on her feet. They stood there, eyes locked.
Kieran's gaze flickered down to her pert breast, barely covered by that lace nightwear, and he felt himself harden.
"I should go wash up," he said, though he didn't pull away.
But it didn't go as planned.
Suddenly, Knight lunged forward, his hand wrapping around her throat, his mouth capturing hers—sucking, biting. Genesis moaned softly but silent.
His other hand cupped her face, blood staining her skin.
In a world drenched in blood and pain, this was the one place Knight could still find himself — lost in her, even if just for a moment.
He pulled back to look at the hand-shaped bloodstains on her cheeks.
"Fuck, that's so sexy," he muttered. She tugged at his shirt and mouthed silently—
"More."
Knight's eyes darkened. "Fuckin' hell," he whispered, lifting her up as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.
He didn't hesitate. His bloodied hands left wet trails on her skin. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the sharp scent of sweat filled the room. Her quickening breath hitched against his lips as their hearts hammered in time.
He carried her to the bed and laid her down, pushing the dress up, bunching it beneath her breasts. His hands caressed her body, leaving trails of blood on her skin.
Leaning down, he grabbed her bottom lip between his teeth, a wild smile spreading across his face.
He looked down at her, body marked with streaks of red—his mark. Their mark.
"I'm going to fuck you covered in their blood," he growled, "and you're going to take every inch of me."
Genesis stared up, dazed.
"And you don't mind me being rougher than usual?"
She shook her head.
He smirked, flipped her over into doggy style, then wrapped his hand in her hair, gripping tightly.
His other hand wrapped around the head of his cock and brought it to her entrance. Genesis gasped, her heart pounding.
"All mine," he muttered.
Without hesitation, he thrust in—deep, to the hilt.
Genesis's mouth fell open in a silent scream, her legs trembling.
He groaned, eyes closing. When he opened them again, she was looking at him. He grabbed her neck, pulling her bloodied face close, then rubbed his thumb over her lips, stained and swollen from where he had bitten.
"Now you're going to take me like a good little girl." His voice was low, rough.
He pulled out and thrust in slowly at first.
"I'm going to worship the very ground you walk on. Kill for you. Bleed for you," Knight growled, hunger and fury thick in his voice.
Genesis gasped again, trembling beneath him—not just from pain or pleasure, but from the wild fire raging between them: fierce, dangerous, utterly consuming.
He leaned down, brushing a blood-slicked strand of hair from her face, his eyes dark pools of obsession.
"You don't just belong to me," he whispered, lips barely touching hers. "You are me," he whispered, lips brushing hers. "Every scar. Every sin. Every drop of blood."