“Puppeteer” – MAX

Camilla glares at me.

Oh, I know she must hate me. She's easy to wind up—like a little toy. It does give me such a thrill when she tests me for I truly don't know how I'll react. Everything in my life is so predictable, and while that is what I need... it becomes tedious. And the worst damage she can do? Well, there really is nothing she can do as long as she's here, now is there? So, play with her I shall... "Dance for me, Camilla," I say with a smile.

A fire lights in her eyes and her nostrils flare. "Do I look like your own personal stripper?"

"You look like whatever I want you to be."

"Fuck. You!" She folds her arms across her ample chest. I've decided she's the most beautiful when she's angry.

"I said, dance."

She steps closer. "I will cut you, Russian."

"I'm quite fond of knives." I fight a groan as I remember how smoothly the blade slid over her thigh. A soft blush forms on her cheeks, and I can only hope she's thinking about it, too. On a sigh, I stand, and she takes a wary step back. "You make this so much harder than it has to be," I say as I grab her by the waist and pull her against my body. "You will do as I ask, either by choice or by force."

Her jaw sets as a sarcastic smile touches her lips. "I'm going to get off tonight picturing your dead, bloodstained body."

"How delightful." I force her to move with me, dancing. She obliges by pressing her body against mine and following my lead. The scent of her skin, the way she moves with those deadly curves, her palpable rage...she's an enticing creature. I spin her around before yanking her close again.

"I'll come so hard with my fingers buried in my pussy and you on my mind," she promises, her teeth graze over my neck.

She's filthy, and it does do things to me I rather enjoy. "And exactly how would you propose to kill me, Camilla Estrada?" I dip her, leaning over to skim my lips along her neck before I bite her. "I do hope it's brutal."

"Well, as you're so fond of knives... And is a kill even worth the effort without copious amounts of blood to show for it?" She shifts her thigh between mine, pressing it against my crotch. Oh, she plays dirty.

"You would look so pretty bathed in blood, Krasivaya." I fist her hair. "So very beautiful all in red." Adrenaline fires through me, and I want to test her boundaries because I feel she has very few.

"Red is my favorite color." She smiles and spins on her heels, placing her back to my front. Her hips roll against my hardening cock. She so badly wishes to seduce me, to watch me crumble. But I won't...

"Does it make you angry that I won't fuck you?" I brush her hair to the side of her neck and notice the hint of a large tattoo peeking from the top of her dress. And what a contrast it is against the satin material. She looks so elegant, yet she's utterly ruthless. Like a Lily of the Valley... "I do know how important having men fall at your feet is."

"Does it frustrate you that your tight control won't allow it?" She turns again, bringing her lips close to mine. "Does it make you want to let go for a night?" Her hand slides over my crotch as she quirks a brow.

"I don't mix pleasure and business and you, Camilla," I smirk "are very much business."

"Hmm." Her gaze drops to my lips. "And you, Ronan, are the enemy. But don't we always want the things we shouldn't?"

"Oh, but don't we?" I reach inside my pocket and grab my knife, pulling it out as I shove her against the bookcase. Her breath catches, and I smile before I slice across her chest. She gasps as a thin line of blood wells from the wound, trickling down perfectly over the slope of her breast. I swipe my finger through it, lift my hand to my lips, and touch the tip of my tongue to the drop of blood. "And I do so look forward to the day you're on your knees with my cock in your filthy little mouth,” I whisper, shoving the knife back in my pocket as I let go of her.

She shoots a smug smile at me, and I snap my fingers. Within moments, Igor steps through the doorway and grabs Camilla by the elbow, escorting her from the room.

What a wonderful surprise this has turned out to be. I go to my desk and pull up the security camera footage on my laptop just in time to see Igor shove Camilla inside her room.

She stands frozen for a moment, and I just wonder what she's thinking. How angry she must be that I appear so immune to her charms. It's not long before she turns toward the camera, looks up, and flips me the bird. Clapping my hands, I laugh. So festive and lively... And such pretty blood. I fish the knife from my pocket and lay it on the desk, staring at the sharpened edge. Blood is very much a pleasure of mine. Something fascinating. But that is reason number one as to why I don't get my hands dirty. It's not good to mix pleasure with business. I learned early in my career that it's too easy to get carried away with, and I need things planned, calculated, controlled to ensure everything goes accordingly. However, one thing utterly excites me: Camilla won't be business for long—

"Sir," one of the guards steps into the room. "Anastasia Derevichi is at the front gate."

"I wonder why?" A smile curls my lips and I force the sordid thoughts of Camilla's red blood deep down. "Let her inside the grounds." I step around the guard and make my way down the hall. A servant is by the door waiting with my coat in hand. I take it and step onto the porch, pausing as a black car rounds the drive. A dusting of snow kicks up behind the tires when it comes to an abrupt stop.

The back door opens and Anastasia's long legs swing out. "Ronan," she says, her cheeks red, her face stained with mascara. "He knows."

Don't smile. "Who knows what, Ana?"

"Nikoli.” She covers her mouth with her hand and sobs. “He knows about us!"

Of course he does, but I must pretend to be shocked, so I drag my hands through my hair and pace. "How?" I ask. "How does he know!"

"There were pictures..." I can see her pulse throbbing in her neck, and I delight at the sight. She's afraid of him, but she fears the wrong man.

Forcing a frown, I make my way down the steps and take Anastasia into my arms. "It will be alright." I press my lips to hers, losing myself in the theatrics of it all.

"What are we going to do?" she asks. "He threatened to kill you." Oh, did he now? How wonderful! How pleased I am to hear that. While fucking Ana has been no hardship, I never fucked her for the sheer pleasure. I fucked her because of Derevechi. Because a woman's heart is her weakest point and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. "I'm leaving him," she whispers.

"Don't be foolish." I step away and motion her toward the car. "He'll have us both killed if you leave." He won't, but she doesn't know that, and I want her to feel trapped.

I hold the door for her as I glance back at Camilla's window. She's standing beside the parted curtain, watching, and I must say, I couldn't have planned this better if I tried. Anastasia and I climb into the car, and as soon as the door is closed, I kiss her. Hard. Brutal, like all I need in the world is her, and in some ways, at this very moment that is true. She is my pawn to move and manipulate in order to take another king off the board.