Free Read Vol.5 Married To My Killer: A Transmigration Mafia Romance

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Chapter 111

The silence was deafening.

Beatrice stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still gripping the frame for support. Her legs trembled beneath her, weak from months of forced sedation, weak from childbirth, weak from everything Atlas had put her through.

But none of that mattered now.

Because Atlas was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

The gun had clattered from his hand, skittering across the polished marble until it came to rest against the far wall. His body was motionless, sprawled at an unnatural angle, one arm flung out as if reaching for something—or someone—that would never come.

Blood.

So much blood.

It spread across the pristine white floor like spilled ink, dark and viscous, pooling beneath his head. The metallic scent filled the air, thick and suffocating, mixing with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Beatrice's breath came in short, shallow gasps. Her vision blurred at the edges, the world tilting dangerously.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

But it was.

Atlas—the man who had manipulated her, drugged her, stolen her child, planned her death—was dying.

Or maybe already dead.

"Atlas..." The name fell from her lips, barely a whisper.

No response.

Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might burst from her chest. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to do something, but her body refused to obey.

And then—

"LET HIM DIE."

Blade's voice exploded in her mind, sharp and vicious, cutting through the shock like a blade through flesh.

Beatrice flinched, her hands flying to her temples.

"Let him die, Bea," Blade repeated, his tone colder now, more controlled but no less intense. "This is what he deserves. After everything he's done—to you, to me, to us—he deserves to bleed out on this floor like the dog he is."

Beatrice's throat tightened. Her vision swam with unshed tears.

"I..." She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

"Don't you dare," Blade snarled. "Don't you fucking dare try to save him. He tried to kill you, Bea. He drugged you. He took your son. He was going to let you die and raise our child as his own. And you want to save him?"

"I—" Beatrice's voice cracked. "I don't know..."

"You don't know?!" Blade's fury burned through her skull like fire. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? This man has done nothing but hurt you from the moment you met him! He doesn't deserve your compassion. He doesn't deserve your mercy!"

Beatrice's knees buckled. She sank to the floor, her hands pressing against the cold marble as she tried to steady herself.

Atlas's blood was inching closer, creeping toward her fingers like a living thing.

She jerked her hand back.

"Blade..." she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "He's... he's the father of my child."

A bitter laugh echoed in her mind.

"Father?" Blade spat the word like poison. "He's a monster. He doesn't get to be a father. He doesn't get to be anything."

Beatrice shook her head, her breath coming in ragged sobs. "But our son... what do I tell our son? That I let his father die? That I stood there and watched?"

"You tell him the truth," Blade said coldly. "That his father was a killer. A manipulator. A man who would have destroyed you both without a second thought."

Beatrice pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to block out the voice, the blood, the overwhelming sense of drowning. But she couldn't. Because Blade was right.

Atlas had done all of those things. He had hurt her, betrayed her, nearly killed her. And yet...

Her hand moved.

Slowly, trembling, her fingers reached for the phone in her pocket.

"Bea, NO!" Blade roared. "Don't you fucking do it! Don't you—"

Beatrice pulled out her phone, her vision blurred by tears, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Blade, but I... I can't..."

"BEA!"

She dialed.

The line rang once. Twice.

"Emergency services, what's your location?"

Beatrice opened her mouth, but no sound came out at first. Her throat was too tight, her chest too constricted.

"Hello? Are you there?"

"I..." Beatrice forced the words out, each one like a knife twisting in her gut. "I need... an ambulance. There's been... a shooting."

Blade's scream tore through her mind, raw and agonized.

"YOU FOOL! YOU FUCKING FOOL!"

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face as she gave the operator the address.

"Please hurry," she choked out. "He's... he's losing a lot of blood."

The operator's voice was calm, professional. "Stay on the line. Help is on the way. Can you tell me if the victim is breathing?"

Beatrice's gaze snapped to Atlas. His chest rose and fell—barely. Shallow, labored breaths that rattled in his lungs.

"Yes," she whispered. "He's breathing."

Free Read The Thing I Keep in the Dark: A Twisted Dark Romance About Control, Revenge, and Forbidden Desire by Tizzz

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CONTENT WARNING

This book contains mature themes and graphic content that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Please prioritize your mental health and well-being.

If these themes may trigger trauma or cause distress, we encourage you to consider whether this book is right for you at this time.

Read more: Disciplinary Diary (anthology of BDSM theme) in KDP 

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Chapter 1

The tripod stood in the corner. Its red light blinked like a slow, heavy pulse. Erik adjusted the lens. He wanted to see every inch of Reece’s shaking frame. He watched the sweat bead on Reece’s collarbone before it ran down his chest.

"Smile for the camera, Reece," Erik whispered. His voice was rough. "This is for Mia. A souvenir of the moment her prince finally paid his taxes."

Erik picked up the cattle prod. A blue spark hissed between the tips. Reece’s eyes went wide. He didn't look scared. He looked hungry. 

His gaze locked onto Erik with a heat that made the basement feel like a furnace. He stopped struggling. He went still and offered himself up.

Erik pressed the metal tip against Reece’s damp ribs.

Fifty thousand volts burned through Reece’s body. 

"MMMMGGHHH!" A deep, primal scream broke out behind the tape. Reece’s muscles snapped tight. His back arched off the chair in a violent curve. His head snapped back, showing the straining tendons of his neck.

Erik waited for the satisfaction of revenge. It never came. Instead, a heavy throb hit his own veins. Watching Reece break triggered something dark. Erik’s breath caught. This wasn't justice. It was a sense of ownership.

He pulled the prod away. He leaned in close. Their lips almost touched through the tape. "Does that hurt, Reece? Or is it the only real thing you've felt in years?"

Reece slumped forward. He was gasping. 

"Hhhh... hnnn..." His chest heaved against Erik’s vest. Sweat made his skin look like polished glass. He looked up through wet lashes. The terror was gone. His eyes were dark and devoted.

Reece leaned his forehead against Erik’s shoulder. It was a slow surrender. He wasn't looking at a captor. He was looking at a god. He looked at Erik as if this brutal touch was the first time he had truly been handled.

Erik felt his hands shake. He hated Reece. He wanted to ruin him. But Reece’s heat was like a drug. The hunter was being caught by the prey.

The basement was freezing, but Erik was burning up. He gripped the cattle prod. The blue spark hissed. He didn't aim for the ribs this time. He dragged the cold metal slowly down the skin of Reece’s inner thigh.

"MRGHHH! MRG-HHH!" Reece’s body hit a new peak of pain. His spine snapped straight. A muffled wail tore through the tape. His thigh muscles jumped under the current. Erik watched Reece’s throat work as he swallowed the screams.

Erik felt a sharp ache in his own body. His heart hammered. He was starving for more. Seeing this golden boy reduced to a shaking mess was better than any high. Erik’s breathing became jagged. He leaned in and smelled the ozone and Reece’s desperate sweat.

Then Reece did something impossible.

As the electricity died, he didn't pull away. He leaned into the sting. He tilted his head back and offered his throat to the camera. His pupils were wide. He looked at Erik with pure worship. It wasn't a plea for mercy. It was an invitation.

Reece began to rock the chair. He wasn't trying to escape. He was rubbing his bound wrists together. His eyes were fixed on Erik with a wet heat. Even through the tape, he looked like he was praying. He was enjoying the cruelty.

Erik grabbed Reece’s jaw with a gloved hand. He squeezed until Reece’s lips parted behind the tape.

"You like this, don't you?" Erik whispered. His voice was thick. "You sick piece of trash. You want me to break you."

"Mmm-hmmm..." Reece let out a low hum. He closed his eyes. He nuzzled his face into Erik’s palm like a cat.

Erik looked at the red light. He was supposed to be the hero. He was the brother seeking justice. But he knew he would never show this to his sister. This was his private toy now.

"Shit," Erik hissed. His pulse was a roar.

He didn't pull away. He let his hand slide down Reece’s wet chest. He trailed his fingers over Reece's skin. Every time he touched him, Reece’s body bucked. He circled the skin around his nipples.

"Mmmph... mgh..." He was seeking the contact. It was a silent taunt.

Erik reached for his kit. He pulled out three heavy steel clamps. He snapped two onto each Reece’s nipples. He clamped the third firmly onto tip skin of Reece’s manhood.

Strange, he didn't flinch. 

He let out a long, low moan. It was muffled by the tape but heavy with twisted pleasure. He slumped forward. His hot breath soaked through Erik’s shirt. He was not look like a victim. He was more like a follower at an altar.

Erik’s jaw tightened. "You think this is a game, huh ?"

He kicked the chair legs out. Reece dropped. He was suspended by his wrists from a hook in the ceiling. His toes barely touched the floor. A bar forced his legs wide. He was completely exposed.