CHAPTER 1 A LIVING TERROR

"Suck it, bitch. Yeah, take it all in," he said as he pushed his length into her mouth, pounding into her mouth furiously. She gagged as the tip of his length kept hitting the back of her throat, but he didn't give a care in the world. All he wanted was his pleasure and satisfaction.

The woman was kneeling before him, blindfolded, and her hands cuffed behind her back. He grabbed the back of her head to make her steady. When he was satisfied with pounding her mouth, he released her hair and removed his shaft from her mouth. Excess water dropped from her mouth. He carried her to the couch in the room; her legs were bound, too. He put her down, making her kneel on the couch, her face placed on the sofa's leather. He took the whip from his bed and flogged her ass; she gasped in pleasure. He flogged her again, and she let out another moan of pleasure. He kept flogging her until she said her safe word. He dropped the whip and went up to the couch, kneeling behind her, spread her legs, and drew her down towards him. She kept purring, waiting for him to jam her. He tore the sachet of the condom in his hand and wore it.

He spanked her ass, and she moaned sensually. He spanked her again, and she let out a sensual moan. He aligned his throbbing cock with her wet pussy, and in a swift motion, he drove in. She screamed and tried to scramble away from him, but he held her still, plunging into her, not letting her adjust to his size. She kept gasping in pain as he ravaged her, spanking her occasionally. He pillaged her until her painful gasps slowly became moans as she gradually shifted to his size.

"Oh, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck," she purred.

He spanked her again as her voice echoed in the room. After a while of hard sex, he hit her G-spot.

"Yes, yes, yes. Oh, shit," she slurred as he brought her to her climax and gently removed himself from her, leaving her squirting.

He descended from the couch, peeled the condom from his shaft, walked naked to the waste bin, and disposed of it. He shifted his peach curtain and looked out into the beautiful view of the city, glittering with tiny shiny lights from houses and rooftops against the darkness. It was drizzling; the cloud grumbled, promising heavier rainfall later at night. His phone started to ring inside, and he turned, remembering that his submissive was still tied up. It gladdened him she was helpless. He walked back, ignoring her as she still purred softly.

He picked up the phone and put it to his ear, stroking his shaft. "What?"

"Don, we have found the scalawag that stole from us," the voice at the other end said.

"Where is he?"

"We took him to the dungeon."

He turned to look at the woman still moaning on his couch, which infuriated him. "Hold on," he said to the man on the phone, went over to her, and removed her blindfold.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes crinkling into a smile. He ignored her and took off her bondage cuffs.

"Dimitra, it's time to leave."

"What? I want more," she whined.

"Hello," he spoke into the phone again, ignoring her.

"Should we waste him, Don?"

"I will do that myself. Give me five minutes." He turned to the woman. "What are you still doing here?"

She eyed his massive cock and flashed him a mischievous smile. He left her front and walked towards his walk-in closet.

"No way," he said, knowing what she wanted.

"Just five minutes, please."

He loved it when people begged him, but it was clearly irritating him tonight. He had been so lenient with the bitch that she forgot her place with him. She should know her place and know he wasn't in for this shit. He wore black jean pants, zipped up, walked up to her, grabbed her neck, and made her stand on her feet.

"I hate saying the same thing twice. Now pick whatever belongs to you and leave immediately unless you want me to throw you out naked." He pushed her away, and she fell on the couch. Her eyes hurt more from her not getting what she wanted than from the way he treated her.

His sleek black BMW drove into the empty warehouse a few hours later. He left the headlights on for a while, listening to nothing in particular. There was no noise in the warehouse except for the constant rain drumming on the roofs. He dialed the number that had called him. It rang once, and the voice answered.

"Don?"

"Bring the fool out."

"Si jefe," [Yes boss] the voice said.

In no time, two men dragged out a wounded man in chains to the view of his headlights and forced him to kneel. The captive was wounded. He had a deep cut on the left part of his forehead where thick blood trekked down his blinded left eye. His clothes were torn, and other than his tattoo, he had purple marks on his body. Marks of torture. He was whimpering in pain.

The man in the BMW watched them for a while, reached for his .44 Magnum in his dashboard, corked the gun, unstrapped his seatbelt, and left the car, heading straight to the men. He wore a simple black hoodie and jeans with white sneakers; he covered his hoodie as he approached the men. The captive's eyes dilated when he saw him, and he wriggled in terror.

"Ple...please don...don't kill me."

He walked up to the man and pointed the gun at his forehead, his brows drawn into a frown as he placed his finger on the trigger. "Any last words?"

"I can...can explain please..."

"I gave you business, and you dare steal from me?"

"No, that's not it, boss. My wife was sick..."

The man was cut short by a resounding gunshot that resonated throughout the dark warehouse. He fell back, his eyes wide open, looking surprised. The bullets carved a deep hole in his forehead. The man in the hoodie turned on his heels.

"Discard his body and get me his daughters, if there are any."

"Yes, boss," the other two men chorused. He walked back to his car.

Eros Castillo. A living terror, the devil's son, or Lucifer reincarnated were some of the names he was called. The most common was Lucifer reincarnated. Eros Castillo had no feelings for any living thing, and he was feared throughout the town and beyond. He was known for two things. He doesn't smile, and he has the devil's smirk. To people, it was better he frowned than smirked. He was a very formidable young Mafia lord who had defeated his rivals without effort. He was more feared than respected and ran half of the town's political sector, so he was invincible. But one remarkable thing about him was his face and his body.

Like the real Lucifer, he was dangerously handsome and drop-dead sexy, with an innocent face that could get a first-timer arguing he could hurt anything. He only listened to one person in the whole wide world: his grandmother, who was partially blind. She is his only surviving family, the only human he considers worthy. He was a sadist and hated the word 'family' so much. Not many people know why, not even the ones he considers his friends. No one dared ask him questions.

He got back into the car, honked, and drove out of the warehouse in reverse while the two men stood looking at him. They set to work when his car was out of the warehouse. Eros drove over the speed limit because the poliza knew his cars, and no one dared pull him over unless they wanted to be paying with their lives. He took out a cigar, lit it, turned on the trap music, and nodded to its rhythm while he smoked and drove. His phone rang, and he slowed down.

"Spill," he said once he clicked the answer button in his car.

"Mr. Orion just got back."

"Prepare yourself and your men. We will pay him a little visit tomorrow," he said, smirking devilishly, stepping on his throttle again.

Mr. Orion thinks he could run with his money. Pathetic people. They don't know that he would fish them out wherever they run to. When they come to ask for money, they cry and talk about all the problems in the world, but when it's time to pay back, they start to misbehave. It was all in his favor, whether or not they paid. If they paid, they paid him back with colossal interest; if not, he dragged them or their wives or children into becoming his slaves. He smirked again as his car shot forward.