“Rose, my office. Now!”
I smash the phone down onto my desk, my anger a ferocious beast, hungry for vengeance, impatient for blood. This is the first time a delivery hasn’t made it. A new beauty, the last addition for The Pen, should have been on my private jet and on her way here. This team of nomads couldn’t commit to their contract. They dared to fuck with my plans. I pound my fist into my desk, my rage finding no peace. My fury overtakes my rationality.
I always get what I want.
“Filip!” I roar. He tips his head lazily to the side in acknowledgement. His arrogance will one day catch up to my wrath, but not today. He will enjoy this too much if he stays and watches. “Leave the room and send in Mathias.”
He swiftly turns, swinging the door open and closing it. Filip will only get a stiff dick with what I am about to do to Rose. Nobody needs to be rewarded for my loss. I need to balance the scales, and I know just how.
I remove the plain satin black mask I have on and place it on my desk. Then, I prowl over to my tall, antique, ornately carved set of drawers, sliding the deep top one open to reveal a mask lying on a bed of rich black velvet.
My hand reaches for it, and I allow myself a moment to gently pet it in admiration of the intricate craftsmanship and artistic detail. There are three faces on it, but only two sets of eyes. The left side has a sad face, the right, the smiling face, and in the middle, there are two hollowed eye sockets from each of the happy and sad faces, where they both meet. It is very much a three dimensional mask, which allows my mouth to be freely seen, to look happy, sad, or enraged, letting my wicked desires purge from my body on a roar if I so choose.
The mask is white and hand-painted with real gold, which coats both sets of lips and the three delicate and intricate gold masks that cover the two sets of eyes, giving the illusion of three masks, three faces.
It is one of my most prized Venetian carnival masks. One I have not had a reason to use... until now.
I pick it up, holding it with reverence, and then I place it over my face, making sure it is fitted and secure, and glide the drawer shut again. I walk over to the lovingly handcrafted gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall, one Donald Trump himself would envy, and seek out my reflection. The mask covers the sides of my face, almost engulfing my entire head. I turn my head side-to-side, making faces. I smash my palms into the wall on either side of the mirror and silently roar at my reflection, showing my teeth, stretching my lips, and then I close my eyes and let its power soak into me, giving me the strength to perform. My flattened palms ball into fists as I let my anger fully engulf my mind.
I am furious, and somebody must pay, which is the only thing that will soothe the wicked beast’s thirst inside me.
The door opens, and I turn my head slowly to watch my tall courtesan walk in, ready to take what I am about to give her, with Mathias following at the rear. I lick my lips, because I am so hungry for Rose’s blood.
I need to taste it.
“Mathias, strip Rose of her clothing,” I order, leaning against my ornate desk, my arms folded, my ankles crossed, and watch him peel her out of her catsuit. She doesn’t fight him. She works with him, and there is no bulge in Mathias’s pants. Maybe he isn’t in to women? I hadn’t thought of that.
My courtesan is bared to both of us in her naked glory, and even I’m not sporting a hard-on.
That needs to change.
Payment must begin for this utter fucking mess. I needed the right number of women, and now I don’t have that. There is no time to get another. I am seething, wanting my dark, wicked side to come out to play. I need it to take the reins, and I want to ride it hard.
Oh so fucking hard.
I stand aside. “Rose, bend over my desk and spread your legs.” Mathias has placed her weapons on the floor atop her catsuit. “Rose....” My lips are by her ear as I move her hair over one shoulder so her neck is bared.
“I’ve just discovered the last female for The Pen won’t be delivered to me to complete my collection. This does not make me a very happy man.” I pause for a little drama, letting my finger trail lightly over her nape. My hands move to her lower back, touching it, caressing her soft, naked skin. “Apparently, she was defective, something about only having one leg. The moron’s who screwed up can’t pay for their fuck-up, because they skipped out on my sentinels. It is, of course, not the sentinels’ fault the girl was not delivered. They did their job. They were on time, waiting patiently for the delivery boys to arrive under the correct assumption the contract was to be given its full commitment.” I pause again, letting her anxiety for what is to come tether her nerves while my hands massage her tense back muscles.
There is a storm raging inside me, and she’s about to become the eye of that storm.
“Rose, I can only be a respected king if I show my loyal subjects what severe punishment insubordination brings. Somebody has to always pay. It is the balance of things in my world.”
My blood is pounding through my veins at the sight of her perfection. “Bow your head and arch your spine.” My dick is starting to harden, my mind practically dancing with excitement.
And then a random thought grabs me. “Before we proceed, the silly season starts in just a few days. Why not a little Dean Martin to pass the time?” This is not a question that warrants an answer, because I am Cezar Pavel.
With a giddy smile, I approach the set of drawers and roll out the one with all my favorite vinyls. I select the one I think will elevate my spirits the most during the next few moments I spend with Rose, and place it on the turntable I have on top of the drawers, lifting the needle gently and lowering it again. Hearing that crackling sound, I go pick up Rose’s blade, unsheathing it as Dean Martin’s jolly “Let It Snow” begins to fill my office.
Now, where was I?