Cement trucks beeped as they reversed. My men moved in rhythm — chains scraping across the pit’s edge, ropes pulled tight around thrashing bodies.
“Headfirst or feet first, boss?” one of the enforcers called, shovel braced on his shoulder.
I dragged smoke into my lungs. Let it burn down. Exhaled.
“Headfirst. Faster.”
The man nodded, hauled the rival forward. A wet thud, then the scream cut short. Another Friday night in Viin. Another leak to cauterize.
Someone thought they could bleed us without consequence. Leaking manifests before the containers even touched the dock.
Luca was tightening encryption, rerouting everything through offshore shells. I was here handling the other side — the human side. Which meant dragging traitors out of their beds, breaking fingers until they admitted who whispered numbers into ears, and feeding what was left to cement and tide.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
My hand moved before thought. Pulled it out, thumb swiping across.
Veil lit up.
Her.
Fresh post.
Pink clung to her ribs. Light traced her corbone, skin glowing like it had been staged for me. For us.
My thumb tapped open before I could stop it.
@bastioncrow: That dress is a problem.
Behind me, another body hit the pit.
@emiliaadams: Why? Too pink for you?
The corner of my mouth twitched. I flicked ash into the pit instead.
@bastioncrow: Too tight. Can’t stop staring.
“Boss?” another man shouted over the churn of the trucks. “You want the rest bagged or straight in?”
My eyes stayed on the screen. “Headfirst. No bags. Cement’s cleaner.”
“Yes, sir.”
Concrete poured. Screams muffled into slurry.
@emiliaadams: Then stop staring.
I ground the cigarette out against the steel pir, thumb moving before thought.
@bastioncrow: Can’t. Even if I wanted to. You know that.
She made me wait this time. Long enough for the sounds of work to push in — men grunting, chains rattling, the p of boots as they shoved another rival closer to the pit.
@emiliaadams: Maybe I like it when you stare.
Heat hit me harder than smoke.
@bastioncrow: Careful, angel. I don’t stare. I take.
Another rival thrashed, elbows cracking against the concrete edge. My men shoved harder, boots holding his spine down until his voice cut off. The cement rose higher.
@emiliaadams: Then maybe I want to be taken.
My pulse mmed, louder than the trucks, sharper than the groans of dying men.
@bastioncrow: Say it again.
@emiliaadams: Maybe I want you to take me.
My grip tightened around the phone.
@bastioncrow: Good girl. You have no idea what that does to me.
@emiliaadams: What does it do?
The corner of my mouth tugged.
@bastioncrow: Makes me want to ruin that dress. Put you on your knees. Hear you choke on my cock until you cry, and still call you perfect.
“Boss?” one of my men asked, shovel braced in drying cement. “b’s ready. You want us to pour?”
“Do it. I want silence by sunrise.”
“Yes, sir.”
@emiliaadams: Bold words. What else would you do?
My jaw flexed. She knew what she was doing—pushing, teasing, driving me past control with her little blue bubbles while men drowned behind me.
@bastioncrow: I’d tear that dress down the middle. Push you t on your back. Make you spread those pretty legs until you begged me to let youe.
@emiliaadams: Maybe I wouldn’t beg.
I almostughed. Almost.
@bastioncrow: You’d beg, baby. You always do.
Another body thrashed. My men nced my way, waiting for a nod. I didn’t give it. My eyes were locked on the screen.
@emiliaadams: after I beg toe?
My chest tightened.
@bastioncrow: thumb in your mouth, first, then my cock in your throat, I’d ruin you slow, whispering good girl until you broke.
@emiliaadams: You sound like you’ve thought about this.
@bastioncrow: Every fucking night.
@emiliaadams: Then maybe I’ll let you.
I dragged bloodied knuckles down my jaw, the weight of it almost too much. She thought she was in control, dangling those words like bait.
@bastioncrow: Careful, sweetheart. I don’t do maybe.
The screen pulsed. Three dots.
@emiliaadams: Then don’t. Do it.
Cement poured heavy, filling thest grave. Silence spread, thick and final.
@bastioncrow: Keep that dress on. I want to take it off you after dinner.
Almost smiled.
Tonight wasn’t going to end with concrete. Tonight we’d walk into a marble dining room in ck suits, pretend to be businessmen while the city pretended to believe it.<fna3e5> Read full story at find(?)ovel</fna3e5>
And then, when the wine was poured, when the waiter turned away, she finally looked at us the way she used to, I’d make good on every word.
Because this empire wasn’t built for the ports.
It was built for her.