The weight of the world hung on my chest. Every breath I took felt shallow, the pressure of it all suffocating. My aunt's words replayed in my mind, each syllable heavy with foreboding. She was crying—tears of fear, of certainty—and it left a mark on me that I couldn't quite shake. Her voice had trembled, her composure shattered, as she spoke of him and his family. A name London confessed she had only heard a handful of times, whispered like a curse in a dark room.

And now I knew too much. Too much about something that could cost me everything.

I wrapped my arms around London instinctively as my own tears spilled over. "I'm crying for you, yet you comfort me," she said softly, her voice tinged with a bitter chuckle. She pulled away a moment later, her face streaked with tears that mirrored my own.

Her words stuck with me: entire families disappear, Lerato.

They are Mateo's brothers. They are Gods.

"What do I do, guys?" I asked, my voice barely audible. I didn't want to believe any of it, but the weight of it felt too real, too close. My stomach churned. This couldn't be happening.

Hope tried to calm the storm in her own way, though her words were just as unsteady as her voice. "Okay, let's calm down. Let's... explore our options. We go to the police—"

"And say what, Hope?" London snapped, panic flaring. Raw fear glazed her eyes, I have never seen such raw emotion of fear displayed ever before. It didn't help in de-escalating the situation. "We were literally just told not to do that. These people are dangerous. We'll disappear."

The room fell silent, the truth of her words suffocating any further protests.

Hope nodded in agreement, her face pale but determined. "Then we do nothing," she said finally. "That's the only option. They haven't done anything to you, right? Just act oblivious. Sit through the sessions. Recommend someone else down the line when things die down. But for now, you stay in your lane."

There was something about her calm, calculated tone that steadied the chaos inside me, even if only slightly. I nodded, though the fear still lingered, clawing at the edges of my sanity. I felt cold. I hoped I would wake up at any second.

"In fact, you have an advantage now," London added. "You know to play it safer than ever."

I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her. But the image of my aunt's tears and her broken voice still haunted me. "How will I even face them again?" I whispered. They already scared me even with my policy of hearing out people before judging them which was required in my line of work. But the aura they carried made it impossible the dark void in their eyes made matters worse. I have never seen their smiles but I'm sure their eyes never changed.

"You'll have to," London said firmly. "After everything cools down, we leave. Not just the city—this country. But only after we're sure it's safe." London emphasised the danger of the Marino's and if we could I would suggest we leave the planet.

Her reassurance felt hollow, but it was all I had. A bitter laugh escaped me as I thought of how surreal this all was. Was this my life now? Tiptoeing around invisible landmines and hoping for the best?

"What about my aunt?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Do we just... leave her to deal with this? Do I pretend it never happened?"unwinding my arms from my chest as I stood straight on alert.

Hope hesitated, the weight of my question settling over her. "It's safer if we don't get involved," she said finally. "Maybe I can ask someone I trust to call the police anonymously—just to check in on her. But it can't come back to us."

It wasn't a solution, but it was better than nothing. I nodded, my shoulders sagging with exhaustion. London stepped out to make the call, her no-nonsense demeanor both reassuring and intimidating.

Back inside, Hope pulled me to the sofa and handed me a glass of water. "You need to calm down. For now, we pretend this conversation with your aunt never happened. Next week, you go back to work like normal."

Normal. The word felt foreign now.

The days ahead loomed over me like a dark cloud. My fear only grew as I imagined walking back into that room, sitting across from them, and pretending I knew nothing. It was like stepping into a lion's den, knowing one wrong move could cost me my life.

And yet, I had no choice.

...

The days blurred together after the incident with my aunt, a constant haze of fear clouding my thoughts and judgment. My friends, London and Hope, had done their best to distract me, pulling me out of my head with endless activities—movies, coffee runs, anything to bring a semblance of normalcy back into my life. I laughed when I could, but sometimes the laughter felt hollow, forced and other times I forgot everything and got lost in the moment with them. It felt like I was grieving.

The weight in my chest never left. It pressed down on me every second, a constant reminder of everything I couldn't understand, couldn't control. The nightmares didn't help. Each night, I relived that phone call, my aunt's trembling voice, her warnings.

London's friend had promised to "look into things," and though I tried to hold onto that sliver of hope, I couldn't shake the sense of dread. My return to work loomed just days away, and I feared I wouldn't be able to keep up the act. How could I sit across from them and pretend everything was normal?

But tonight, London refused to let me wallow. "We're going out," she'd said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. She was insistent that we needed this, that I needed this. And to be honest, a part of me was looking forward to it. After days of feeling like I was suffocating, I needed to breathe, even if only for a few hours

The club was exactly what I expected—chaotic, crowded, loud. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. The bass thumped so loudly it felt like it was vibrating through my bones.

For a moment, as I let London and Jane drag me into the crowd, I thought I might be able to lose myself in it all.

We ordered drinks first, the cold liquid burning as it went down. The buzz hit me almost immediately, numbing the sharp edges of my thoughts. By the time we hit the dance floor, I wasn't thinking about my aunt, the Marinos, or the looming return to work. I was just... here.

London threw her arms up, letting the music take her, while Hope twirled like she didn't have a care in the world. I envied their ability to let go, but I tried to follow their lead. I swayed to the rhythm, my movements awkward at first, but the longer I stayed, the more natural it felt.
For a moment, as I let London and Hope drag me into the crowd, I thought I might be able to lose myself in it all. Slowly, I let the music pull me in, my body moving almost on autopilot. By the time we were in the middle of the dance floor, I wasn't thinking about my aunt, the Marinos, or the looming return to work. I was just... here.

It was easier than I expected to lose myself in the rhythm, to pretend for just a little while that everything was fine. Everything fell away and I was just with my best friends on one of our night out dancing away and enjoying ourselves.

Then he appeared.

The first man was young, his boyish smile disarming. He moved with confidence, his hands finding my waist as he swayed in time with me. He was charming, his aura inviting, and for a moment, I let myself go with the flow. We found each other on the dance floor and we started dancing together. I took comfort in the thought that he was just a stranger for the night. After this I will be gone with my girls and never have to see probably most of these people ever again.

But then he was gone. One minute we were dancing front to back and the next he was gone.

I blinked, turning to look for him in the crowd. One moment, his hands were on me, and the next, he'd disappeared. My stomach churned uneasily, but before I could process it, another man stepped into his place. Maybe he had went to the bathroom I had thought to myself as I didn't let that ruin my mood.

This one had the same easy smile, the same inviting energy. He was warm, magnetic in a way that made it impossible not to smile back. I let him pull me into the rhythm of the music, his presence comforting in its familiarity. As we danced and stayed in sync he leaned in, his voice a murmur against my ear. I couldn't hear what he said over the music, but his breath was warm, his tone teasing. I gave him a half-hearted smile, not committing to anything, but not rejecting him either. I just wanted to dance.

And then he, too, vanished.

A cold dread settled in my stomach. I looked around, confused, my eyes scanning the crowd. It didn't make sense. People didn't just disappear, even if they decided to go to the bathroom they would be back by now or at least alerted me. I looked around for my friends they were far from me with their own worlds. I was comforted at their smiles, they were having fun.

I calmed down a bit but I was still trying to make sense of it when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Two men stood behind me, their faces unreadable, their suits immaculate. Around their necks hung pass cards bearing the club's logo.

"Miss Nkosi, Mr. Marino would like to speak with you," one of them said, his tone polite but firm.

The blood drained from my face at the mention of the surname. The thought of maybe still sleeping and having a nightmare crossed my mind but I remembered clearly waking up. Thus couldn't be happening."I—I don't think—"

"This isn't a request," the second man cut in stopping my backward movements.

My legs moved before my brain could catch up. Fear gripped me, tightening around my chest as questions swirled in my mind. I had to not be afraid even though my stomach said otherwise. I had to pretend everything was okay but I could not help but wonder why they wanted to see me.

By the time I reached the office, my heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

The room was nothing like the chaotic club outside. It was immaculate, luxurious. Dark leather chairs were arranged around a sleek glass table. A massive desk dominated the space, the polished wood gleaming under the soft light of a chandelier. Papers were spread across the surface, neat and orderly, as if someone had been working moments before I arrived.

And then there was him.

Even before I stepped through the door, I felt his presence. It was overwhelming, suffocating. He sat behind the desk, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He easily dominated the room without uttering a single word. I noticed his shirt sleeves were rolled up as if he had been busy with something other than paperwork.

Maddox Marino.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man I had ever seen— learning about the truth about him didn't change that. There was nothing warm nor human about him. I could feel the power radiating off him from a mile away. My eyes moved from him instinctively. Landing on something that made my lips tremble and freeze.

A body.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes assessed on the man sprawled on the floor. It was the first man I had danced with, — his lifeless— headless body. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the expensive carpet.

I felt like I was going to faint. I could suddenly smell the metallic scent of blood that was thick in the air, my eyes followed the trail of blood my gaze landing on the small side table near the wall, I blinked once, twice thrice... my hand covered my mouth to silence my cries, I felt like my eyes were deceiving me — A severed head rested on the table, propped up like some grotesque display next to it sat a half-filled bottle of amber liquor, the glass beside it holding only a quarter of the same liquid. The casual placement of the items-luxury mingled with death-made the scene even more horrifying. My stomach churned, a wave of nausea sweeping over me.

I questioned myself on how I didn't notice —before my entire being had been consumed by him.

My knees buckled, and I gripped the doorframe for support. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, a lump forming in my throat as the room started to rotate. The pretending game wouldn't cut it, should I pretend not to see the dead body. Should I run. My mind felt like it was deteriorating.

"Come in," Maddox said, his voice deep and calm, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. As if there was no severed head on his side desk. This couldn't be real.

I thought back to how much I had longed to hear him speak. Amidst it all I realised it was the first time I heard him speak, his voice was smooth, deep, and controlled, yet carrying an undercurrent of menace that sent shivers down my spine. There was a rasp to his tone, a slight roughness that added to its weight, like gravel sliding over silk. When he spoke, it was as though the world itself paused to listen, and even in the most terrifying moments, it was impossible not to obey.

I gulped.

"Now, Lerato." His tone left no room for argument. My legs carried me forward on instinct slowly as I reminded myself how to breath as if it was a new gained skill. My legs obeyed, though every fiber of my being screamed at me to run. Even before seeing the dead body my body sensed the darkness and danger from a mile away.

He stood as I approached, and I realized he was even taller up close . His presence consumed the space around me, his scent—clean and masculine—wrapping around me. He closed the distance between us in two long strides, his grey eyes boring into mine everything else fell away as he dominated my entire mind. I didn't know what to say, my tongue felt heavy and I couldn't stop crying. What if he also wanted to kill me.

I involuntarily repeated that I won't tell anyone shaking my head my voice low and soft tears flowing down my cheeks.

I have never seen a dead body before let alone a severed head and here we were and it was as if it was just another day for him. What made me cry more is the realisation settling in that I couldn't go to the police.

"I don't like other men touching what belongs to me, little butterfly," he said, his voice calm yet commanding. It didn't need to rise or shout to command attention; it simply existed in a way that silenced everything else. His words were deliberate, each syllable laced with quiet authority that made it clear he expected no resistance. Despite the chaos and fear my body listened.

I couldn't breathe, let alone respond. His words replayed over my mind as I registered what he had said. I couldn't make a sound I felt numb although my emotions were all over the place. His. I didn't like using names but this man wasn't okay in the head. I had refused to judge them but now it's confirmed. I wasn't going to tell him that to his face, you don't tell a crazy person that they are crazy it never ends well. But what worried me wasn't the crazy part it that crazy was mixed with power and only trauma came from that. 

And I usually wanted to help the challenged misunderstood yet when it came to him, I wanted to hide under a big rock. I wanted to disappear, I have never met anything like him.

One of his hands wrapped around my waist, making me hitch my breath as pulled me closer, while the other tilted my chin up, making me meet his gaze. His touch was firm, unyielding, and I felt like a marionette in his hands. My temperature rose at his body against mine and my stomach dropped. I was scared.

"I won't tell you again," he continued, his tone deadly calm. "The next time we are in this predicament you will end up in need of a fucking doctor." Each word was branded into my soul. I was frozen my eyes wide looking into his grey ones as I nodded tears running down my cheeks his scent filling my nostrils as my breathing got a little heavy. I knew he meant every single word — he didn't seem like a man who made threats— he seemed like the kind of man that only spoke once. My tongue was numb but I made sure to peak into his eyes while variously nodding my head to make sure I don't piss him off and make sure that he understands that I understand. I just wanted to go home.

"Do you understand, little butterfly?"

"Yes," I whispered, a whimper escaping my lips, my voice barely audible. "-Yes I-I understand."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, his hands tightening around my body, I could not breathe fear drowned me. The kiss was possessive, dominating, leaving no doubt that he thought — no believed he owned me. Against all logic, my body responded, melting into him, I could feel his approval at my reaction. Which made me cry even more.

Tears burned in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks, because I knew what this was. I knew exactly what was happening to me. Trauma bonding. My mind screamed at me to pull away, to fight, but my body, desperate to survive, had chosen submission. It was a survival response—a twisted attempt to align myself with the predator, to appease him, to make myself less of a target. My body was seeking safety in the only way it could: by surrendering.

When he finally pulled back, leaving me breathless and trembling, his voice dropped even lower. "Now go home before I kill your friends and make you bury them. This is not a place for you." His voice calm as if he didn't say anything out of the norm.

He stepped back, and I didn't dare linger. I fled his office, my legs moving on autopilot while my mind struggled to comprehend what was going on even though I was already crying, my heart racing. Goosebumps my constant friend. My lips tingled with the ghost of his touch, and my fingers instinctively brushed against them. I stumbled into the cool night air and hastily texted my friends, telling them I had to leave for work— to collect an important file of course looking at the time to make it more believable. A lie.

I couldn't face them, not now. I needed to regroup with my mind. I felt like I needed a good cry and assess every single thing that happened tonight prove it together and try and understand what was going on. Find a solution —otherwise I would go mad.

I barely made it to my apartment before the tears came. My hands trembled as I unlocked the door, my thoughts a jumbled mess of fear, confusion, and something else I didn't want to name. The moment I closed the door, the metallic tang of blood hit my nose. My heart sank. I could the dark aura in the room, I froze. Not again. Whimpers filled the room at thought of going through what I had just went through again.

"Ah, little one," a deep, raspy voice drawled, pulling me out of my frozen state. I turned slowly, my back pressed against the wall, and saw him.

Malachi Marino.

He was a vision of chaos. Blood painted his white shirt and hands like an artist's brushstrokes, dripping onto the floor in small, deliberate splatters. His dark hair was clean although everything else bloody, and his impossibly sharp beautiful features were illuminated by the dim light. Despite the violence that clung to him, his smile was casual, almost mocking, as if this was just another day for him. Even covered with blood he was still one of the most beautiful men I have laid my eyes on.

He was holding something in his hand, twirling it lazily while whistling an eerie tune. My stomach twisted when I realized it was a severed tongue. My breathing turned into short pants.

Not again.

"You're back from making death wishes, I see," Malachi said, his voice thick and velvety, with an edge that sent a chill down my spine. He walked toward me with the casual grace of a predator, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. My back hit the wall, my knees weak. My breathing irregular, tears my only form of strong communication. This was no longer my space, I immediately became an outcast in my own apartment. It felt like his territory.

"Mr. Marino," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My chest tightened, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might give out. "What... what are you doing here?"

"Don't amuse me, little one." His dark eyes glinted with something between amusement and menace as he stopped a breath away from me. His scent was intoxicating, a mix of blood and something darkly addictive. I craned my head to look at him instead of his eyes I focused of his neck. He was as tall as his brother, and just as unhinged—clearly cut from the same cloth of chaos. Their physiques mirrored each other: lean and honed, like coiled machines built for precision and destruction. They weren't the type to flaunt bulging muscles, but their strength was no less intimidating. The hard, unyielding lines of their bodies spoke volumes, a silent promise that any resistance would be swiftly and efficiently crushed. Every movement they made was calculated, deliberate, and predatory, leaving no doubt that they were built for dominance.

"It will be in your best interest to stay away from men. Or you can continue I can always use the fun." His tone was casual, but his words were anything but. His voice has a sick playful edge.   Where Maddox was cold and calculated, Malachi's voice held a wild, unpredictable energy, as if every word teetered on the edge of amusement and destruction. My eyes moved to his hand, I couldn't look away from the grotesque sight in his hand. My body trembled, tears spilling down my cheeks silently. I nodded my head I have never felt so alone in my apartment even when I was alone. I was scared.

"I'm still contemplating," he continued, his voice almost playful, "if I should make you wear this as a necklace or make you swallow it." A choked sob escaped me as I shook my head violently, unable to form any words. Malachi's smile widened, but there was no kindness in it. Fear gripped me. My body trembled producing no sounds. It was one of the most beautiful yet scariest thing I have ever feel.

He reached out and grabbed me, pulling me flush against his blood-soaked body. I bit my lip to stop the sobs from leaving my mouth as I was flush against him some of that blood now on me. His hands held me like they have before as if I belonged in them. His lips met mine, the kiss rough and dominating taking my breath away, leaving no room for hesitation. I surrendered letting him possess my entire being as my stomach dropped fear clutching onto me. His hands gripped me tightly, and the sheer force of his presence made my knees weak.

When he finally pulled away, his dark eyes bore into mine. "I can't believe I've been swayed," he murmured, more to himself than to me, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, almost tender kiss to my forehead before stepping back. "I'll take my leave now, little one," he said, his tone still thick with menace. "But the next time... I won't be so kind."

He left without looking back, the minute my door closed I sank to the floor, my body trembling uncontrollably. My mind was a mess, filled with the images of Maddox's office, the dead body, and Malachi's blood-streaked hands. My lips tingled from their kisses, but my heart was heavy with terror. I had no clue what was going on in my own life. I felt like someone else was in the passenger seat.

...

Tell me what y'all think.