Resetting the Balance: Part 1

PART 1: THE COVENANT

Chapter 1

I strip off my clothes within the dimly lit bathroom, and slightly pull back the shower curtain to step inside the tub. Water gently splashes my temple as he turns around to face me, unnerved by my presence as if expecting me to join him when I was done.

His eyes trail along my naked collarbone, all the way down to my full, peaked breasts, my bare, slick thighs; my entire body. I close the distance between us, and he pulls me closer to the shower head, his soaked hands curving along my scarred torso and smoothing around my hips. I caress his broad shoulders as he touches my dips and folds, brushing my bloody fingertips along his muscles—his biceps—with water licking the fibers of his brown skin. The blood from my nails quietly washes away, swimming between our toes, and dissipating into the drain. He strokes my cheek to wipe off the specs, dried blood trickling and fading below my chin.

He then moves us so my back is pushed against the shower wall. I gasp at this, the water now soaking the left side of my body. I feel it drench and clean away my sins, cleansing all that was laced and burned within. He leans his forehead against mine, and we begin to breathe in each other's breaths, listening for the hitches and solemn pauses.

He caves in first.

He presses his mouth against mine, his tongue sweeping along the edges so I can fully taste his need. I meet his demands then, swirling my tongue against his own, moaning when he hungrily tugs and sucks my bottom lip. I lick and tease him like a woman possessed. I lace my fingers around his neck, dipping within the strands of his conditioned hair.

But then he pulls apart.

Disappointment casts in my throat. I am about to get on my knees and swallow him whole in protest, needing to taste his seed, but he surprisingly breaks the silence.

"How was it?" He whispers.

He begins to kiss along the corners of my mouth, then the shape of my jaw.

"Mm," I ponder. "Time-consuming. But not difficult."

"Good," he nods.

He licks along the length of my neck, his fingers drifting below to knead the inside of my upper thighs. I slightly spread them open so he feels the heat, aching for his hand to cup me. He groans at that, playing with me just above my entrance, edging me there.

But then his consciousness breaks through.

"You didn't have to do it," he says.

I sigh. Why did he have to kill the mood?

I bring his head up to meet my eyes, but he fully stands instead. I press my hand against his chest, looking up at him. His fingers continue to taunt my thighs, lazily, one of them swiping across my wetness.

"I–" I gasp, almost breathless at the gesture. But I compose myself like I'm known to be, keeping my control. "I did. A deal was a deal."

I buck my hips closer to his touch, needing his fingers to rub what swelled, wanting them to slip deeply, mercilessly inside of me. But he takes them away.

"He should have asked someone else to do it," he says in annoyance, scrunching his bushy eyebrows. "You’re his fiancé."

I see his jaw tick at the word, still bothered by the proposal.

Irritated, I push my hand against him so he can take a step back. "And he's still my boss. It's business. You know that."

"You don't have to–"

"We had an agreement," I snap. "And you know that too. You were there. So, drop it."

I turn towards the shower this time. I let its streams bathe my body as I puff out a breath, drowning my face to shed the tension. It consumes my long, curly hair, washing the rest of the blood and guts within the strands.

I then feel his chest press up against my back, his fingers dragging down my waist in an apology. I sigh and drop my head. I take one of his hands in mine and press my mouth to his inner palm in acceptance.

"I just care so much for you," he whispers, bending to kiss the top of my shoulder. "I want to make sure that–"

I turn around to face him, stepping forward so the shower no longer swallows my pride. I look up at his glowing hazel eyes, and reach up to cup my palm to his cheek. "I know, my love. I know."

He then reaches behind me for the soap on the shelf and begins to wash the demons away from every inch of my body. He then sinks himself deep inside of me at the end.

Chapter 2

I walk towards my boss's office later that evening, my strappy high heels clicking against the marble floor with poise and purpose. My ruby silk dress clings to my hips as I stride down the hall, lipstick bold and brewing, posture tall and cunning.

The nightclub is booming with socialites and drunk businessman below, women dancing and fucking to the beat of the music; the base seducing all those who dared to seek it. VIP rooms are filled with business deals and meetings, and suites are roaring with lust and sex. I heard threesomes are becoming quite the drug, and foursomes are just the tip of the iceberg.

I slow my pace when I approach the guards. Three armed men dressed in tight shirts and dark jeans barricade the boss's door, their biceps defined and definite, always reeking of intimidation and threats. But they adore the woman their boss caves for, the woman who gives them lip and charm.

"Hello boys!" I beam. "Alan, Markham, Mr. Rex."

Markham smiles at my greeting, about to give in to my charisma. But Alan, sweet Alan, swats him on the stomach with the back of his hand. Mr. Rex glares at both of them, reprimanding them with one look, then stares at me.

I sigh at his serious demeanor, giving a cheeky smirk. "So many years, Mr. Rex, and I still can't seem to break you. Maybe Markham will let me in on a little secret. Give me a little taste of the softy inside your heart." Mr. Rex looks ahead, eyes cold and brooding, not blinking at my remark. "No? Fine," I wink at Markham. "Anyway, I'm here on business. Boss is expecting me."

Mr. Rex nods and looks at Alan. Alan stalks forward and motions me to lift up my arms.

I roll my eyes at this. "Really? You think I'm going to harm my own boss, my fiancé? Come on now, Mr. Rex. We've been through this. You can't just let me in?"

Mr. Rex eyes me, huffs out a breath, and then crosses his arms. He leans his back against the door, his bald head shining from the light above. The defensiveness is baffling, but I suppose he is just doing his job.

"Fine," I say, spreading my arms out wide so Alan can pat down. "You need a day off. Have you gotten laid? Maybe that's what you need."

Alan smirks, attempting not to chuckle as he does a sweep of my body. I watch Mr. Rex's jaw tick and eyes flare, but his cheeks almost redden in embarrassment…or maybe that's anger. It's one of the two.

I smile at that. "Ha, a reaction. I'll take it."

Alan then gestures for me to pull up my dress, feeling the gun strapped to the garter underneath. I flip away the slit of the fabric, exposing my bare thigh. I slide my gun out of the holster and the blade and various small knives fastened within.

It must be clear I came from a job; one of the blades is tinged with blood. I hand them all to Alan.

He then checks the pockets of my oversized leather jacket I'm currently wearing. He reaches inside one of them and pulls out a cauterized body part wrapped in a thin creamed cloth; an emerald ring attached. He cleared his throat when he unraveled it, wishing he hadn't touched it. I watch Markham eyebrows raise upon inspection while Mr. Rex glances, but remains unphased.

I wink at Alan. "For the boss. He likes to collect, as you know." I then look at Markham. "I can offer it to you, if you'd like. For the right price, of course."

He grimaces. Alan then places it back within my pocket and checks the other.

Once I am all clear, he nods to Mr. Rex. Mr. Rex knocks on the door twice, once, then three times; my personal secret signal. I walk towards it, Alan following behind.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Rex," I say as he steps aside. His silence warms my heart.

I hear footsteps on the other side of the door, and Trisha opens it to greet me, wearing a skin tight pencil dress with red bottom heels, cleavage so plump and inviting it's as if she's attempting to seduce my soon-to-be husband.

She holds up a thin leather folder to her chest, and she whips her silky hair behind her right shoulder. It's honestly quite difficult not to be envious of her beauty; her glowing dark skin and her stunning high cheek bones that practically cuts slits into my eyes. And it's absurd that she's more than just a woman who deals with paperwork. She's lethal behind her pen, a genius from deals to details. Although she's a quiet nuisance in my behind, showing up in unexpected places to summon me for a job, she's kept his secrets, and she's kept mine.

"Trisha," I nod.

She nods back, stepping aside so I can come in. "Seth has been waiting," she whispers closely in warning about our boss. "He's been anxious, to say the least."

My boss—my fiancé—Seth, a rugged man with rolled up white cuff links and tattoos inked from his hands to his chest and shoulders, sits behind his black, gold trimmed desk; laptops, screens, and documents sprawled in front of him in organized sections. He's positioning players for assignments, files detailing bodies for his taking.

His office is on the top third floor of the building he owns, barricaded with soundproof windows serving as walls in both the front and corner of the room. They project a total view of the nightclub below, reflective films covering each section. He designed it so he can spy on his locals; on the regulars and partnerships, on the innocent and new, but none of them can witness his show, no one can see within.

A thick crimson carpet covers the full office floor, professionally cleaned every night by Ms. Anora, his most loyal and humble employee in the Crew. Black leather sofas and sectionals sit along the perimeter of the windows, creating an erotic appeal to the luxury of it all.

Two chairs face his desk in innocence, one angling towards the center of his demand. It dares me to take a seat, but after noticing my boss's right-hand man sitting in the corner of the sectional with a computer on his lap, I decide to wait. He looks up to meet my gaze, but I avoid his.

A black linen curtain covers a window screen behind the desk. It's a room, a unique one, tightly locked and secured, completely soundproof from the inside out. Frankly, I've only seen it once, and it became evident during the scene that no one can see or hear out of it. The steel door to that room was to the left of the curtains, tempting me to take a peek. Clearly, if the screen is concealed, it's currently being used.

Alan comes around me to give the boss my weapons, placing each of them on the desk before him.

"Let me know if you need anything, sir," Trisha then says, knowing that is her cue to leave. "I'll book the meeting right away.”

She then shuts the door on her way out with Alan.

The air suddenly shifts inside the room once I look at my boss, his dark, ominous eyes sending ripples along the length of my spine. He stands, his gaze sweeping across my body, asserting dominance in the room. I take in the hard lines of his defined jaw, his rich, clean-cut scruff, his full, pink tinted lips, his black, smooth hair, and his tight, thick muscles. He's wearing a white button-up with the ends tucked underneath his trousers, the collar fully pressed down but loose around his neck. His ink can be visibly seen, beautiful art and languages permanently sketched within his flesh. He told me what they all mean, let me trace the lines with my tongue as if they were mine to taste.

I can see the hunger within him, the tension in his jaw, the flare in his nostrils. He is craving to touch me, to rip my dress to shreds and bend me over his knee. He wants to fuck me against the window wishing for everyone to see. He needs to mark me, to eat me, to make me scream his name as I sink my nails into the sofas with his diamond ring on my finger, pounding me endlessly. I press my thighs together, feeling myself throb and swell just thinking of his sweet tongue flicking against my clit. He notices this, biting his lip.

But he's my boss, and I'm his associate. It's business before pleasure.

"Come," he demands. "Sit."

I glimpse over to the sofa when I hear the laptop shut. But I keep my eyes on my fiancé, hoping he didn't notice my sudden flinch.

I do as I am told, sinking myself into the chair placed in the center of his desk, resting my back against it. I suck in my lip when I watch his thick, tattooed fingers maneuver the paperwork to the side, his hands caressing the handle of my blade still stained with blood. He then picks it up, taking a cloth from a drawer beside him, and begins to wipe it clean. He holds it up to his eyeline, examining it, and my mouth parts once his wet tongue swipes along his full bottom lip.

"Don't do that," he sneers, voice deep and husky. I snap up to look at him. He's been watching me this whole time. "We are not here to play."

"Yes, sir." I reply, swallowing down the lust.

He sits, continuing to wipe and clean the rest of my knives. "How did it go?"

Déjà vu creeps up my bones as my mind flashes to the shower I took earlier today. I suddenly become increasingly aware of the other presence in the room. "Time-consuming," I confirm. "But not difficult."

He nods. "You showered?"

I feel an uncomfortable shift in the corner. I tilt my head, composed. "Yes. I didn't think the guts in my hair paired well with my outfit. Plus, this dress is a statement. I thought you would like it."

He smirks, wetting his lips again as he peers down to the low silk cowl that display my cleavage. "Indeed."

The tension then shifts to focus on the business at hand. I feel the rift, and I completely alter my composure, my demeanor switching to the woman who was highly skilled and trained to reset the balance. I remind myself of my purpose here, the snakes slithering up my spine, scaling and sinking its poisonous, dark fangs back into my veins. I'm reminded of the art of this work; the craving and satisfaction it gives me. This is my profession. These men know what I do and how I do it; they know what I'm here for today.

I let out a breath, my façade dissipating with it. I reach inside my pocket and unravel the thin cloth for him to see. "I did what needed to be done," I confirm.

I set the detached finger from the victim on the desk, the emerald ring shining before us. It's an heirloom, and I noticed this once I inspected its worth.

The finger was cut clean, a perfect slice from flesh to bone. I kept the hand steady with the tip of my heel, and then brutally gutted the target's throat with my blade. A gunshot to the head would have been too easy for this man, my boss had suggested, and surely, it wouldn't have been as fun and playful. According to his file, he was a billionaire with high profiled connections, and a sick fuck who loved to steal, collect, and sniff women's underwear for pleasure.

Once I had slit his neck, thick inundations of blood pooled out of his body like a river on a rocky stream quite quickly. If he wasn't so insufferable, he would have been dead in minutes. Yet, he pleaded and begged like a sad little boy, choking on the blood foaming in his mouth, doing everything in his power not to be murdered by a woman who he called a disgrace, who tricked and seduced him into playing with his meat. Sadly, I needed to do more than I initially had to do, and his chest cavity became a bloody, copious feast by the end of it.

It was messy—his flesh painted countertops—but my boss needed the finger with the ring. It had to be done.

"The body?" He asks.

"Cleaned up. I called the Crew when it was finished. Should be disposed by now," I state.

He hums in approval. He then puts down the knife and swiftly dials a number on his desk phone. It rings on speaker, and someone picks up on the third.

"Sir?" Lana answers.

"The body. Number 3850."

"Disposed."

"The scene?"

"Cleaned. No evidence on sight."

"Good." He then hangs up.

I raise my eyebrows. I lean forward in my chair, completely offended. "Was that necessary?"

He eyes me, flicking his wrist as if it was nothing. "This was a high-profile assignment. I needed a confirmation." He smirks, softening his gaze when he notices my reaction and possible thought process. "Oh, honey. I am not questioning your methods, if that is what you are thinking. Your work is exceptional. It's why I picked you."

I sit back, crossing my legs as the slit of my dress reveal my skin. "I thought so."

My tone causes a stir in my boss's expression. My comment was out of turn. And while I will be punished later for it and be reconditioned to understand who I answer to, I change the subject. "Now, a deal is a deal. Did you do what I asked?"

His jaw hardens at the change of subject.

"Jake!" he calls, looking over at the sofa.

Two can play at this game, my fiancé smirks. Great.

My boss takes the cloth he was cleaning my knives with and uses it to pull the emerald ring off the detached finger. He inspects it as Jake walks towards us.

I glimpse over to Jake and he nods to me, doing his best to avoid gazing his hazel eyes into mine. His dark, curled hair has been styled and slicked back, and I can smell him as he approaches, so fresh…and showered. His black collared shirt has been unbuttoned twice, displaying the hairs on his chest, and a gold chain hangs from his neck.

I see his eyes flash at my empty ring finger. He noticed how bare they were when he filled me from behind against the shower wall. Seth has the ring for safe-keeping, I had told him. He wouldn't want someone else's blood and spit on his diamond.

"Boss?" Jake says.

Seth hands the emerald ring to Jake for inspection. My boss digs out a case from a drawer below and unravels a set of tools. Jake then does what he does best, and within minutes, he detaches the emerald stone from the setting without fully breaking the seal, exposing a microchip within.

I raise my eyebrows as Jake holds up the chip with a tweezer. I don't indulge further, my patience hanging by a thread. My boss knows this though. He loves to toy with my lack of patience between his fingertips.

"Perfect. Now, respectfully, did you do what I asked?" I repeat.

My boss gives Jake an SD card and Jake grabs his laptop from the sectional. He then sits in the chair beside me, placing the microchip within the SD card and inserting it into the computer. He notes the malware protecting it and begins to decode. However, I noticed he's half-focused, glancing at my boss now and again in silence as his fingers type fervidly across the keyboard. He's angled towards me—both of them are—and I'm not sure I am fond of this attention, this foreboding intervention.

Seth leans back in his chair, studying me. "Yes, darling. I did what you asked." I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. He reaches for my gun on his desk and begins to examine the design. "It wasn't easy, you know. Your request." He then checks the load. "I am not sure I understand the reason. I know we spoke about it outside of this office within the confines of our engagement, and I obliged. But I still don’t understand why."

My eyebrows furrow. "Why does there need to be a reason?"

He clicks the load back and resets it. "It was an oddly specific request."

"A deal was a deal," I simply reply.

He takes the cloth and begins to clean my gun. "And yet, Jake and I are concerned."

I huff out a breath in absurdity, smirking at his response. I glimpse over to Jake who looks up from the screen and to my fiancé. "Are you guys kidding me?"

Seth sighs. "We just want to know why. We both care–"

"Who am I speaking to right now?" I snap, leaning forward, my defiance and sudden rage setting both of them on alert. "My fiancé or my boss? Because my boss wouldn't ask fuckin' questions." I get up from my chair, heat steaming my ears. "Now, where the hell is he?"

Seth slowly and dangerously stands up. He puts down the cloth and gun on the desk, placing his fists on the edge of the wood. His expression is calm and serene, as if he was unbothered by what he would call my "temper tantrum," but his eyes are threatening and murderous, warning me to tread very carefully, and to watch who I was speaking to; watch what I say next. His dominance overpowered my own as fiery shakes the windows. I can feel its electric charge within my veins, thundering the bones in my blood.

I feel Jake's soft fingers reach for my wrist. He gestures me to quickly sit. His glowing eyes are loving, caring, but full of concern and worry. Surely, I'm aware I just disrespected my boss, and my future husband, and yet, there is no ounce in my body that cared. I sit back down anyway, pulling my hand away from him. I cross my arms in annoyance, stoic but pissed off.

"I'm going to act like that didn't just happen," Seth clenches his jaw. "I say that as your boss and your fuckin' fiancé." His eyes harden and I see the hurt. I look away. "Since you want to be technical and throw a fuckin' tantrum, let's put it this way. I am your boss. And as your boss, I have the right to question my associate about her professionalism. I can and will revoke your privileges as I fuckin' see fit because you work for me and only for me. I am allowed to be concerned about how much emotional stake you may have with this request. Once I release you to him, it could affect your mental and emotional stability and professionalism moving for–"

I roll my eyes and groan. He raises his voice at my interruption. "Moving forward with other assignments!"

He sighs, lowering his head. He then walks over to stand in front of me. He leans against the edge of the desk, crossing his ankles.

"And as your fiancé," he interlocks his fingers in front of him, and I look at the tattooed letters inked within his knuckles. "I am concerned what this man did to you. We took him by force, like you asked. We tortured him as we saw fit, like you asked." He gently lifts up my chin so I can look at him directly, his eyebrows furrowed in distress. His countenance is completely and utterly perplexed, anxiousness burrowed beneath his eyes. "He hurt you, didn't he? Tell us. Tell me."

I don't respond, my heart pounding inside my chest. The memories begin to appear before me, and I push them back into the shadows as deep as I can, keeping the boulders against them. I look away and stare at the carpet.

"Where is he?" I prompt, my voice lowering.

The darkness begins to pool inside of me, clouding the inner depths of my mind. The snakes hiss and pause at the numbing pain beginning to ooze within past wounds.

Jake responds. "He's dazed and confused. Our men made sure of it. He doesn't know where he is and who we are. He's made a lot of random confessions throughout, none of which were alarming." I feel him press his warm hand against my arm, electricity flowing through the current in my flesh. I'm surprised by his touch, but it causes the darkness to subside, immediate light spreading within. I peek over at him to see his eyes soften in mine. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

I can feel Seth shift in his stature. He must be eyeing Jake's contact on my skin; the affection we currently display. Jake, as if noticing the warning and tension within my boss, swiftly removes his hand, flexing it on the arm chair instead.

"Yes," I answer in confidence. "We speak about resetting the balance. That's what we do." I let my guard down. "So let me do this. I need to do this."

Jake glimpses at Seth, a silent conversation being had between them. Jake then nods. "Then, you know where he is."

I look up at my boss, my eyes pleading with permission—for acceptance. He wants to protest, I see it. He wants to devour me and grip me in his arms, claim me as his, and tell me he'll do it. He would demand me to give him all my pain, and promise he'll do what needs to be done. He would kneel before me and submit to all my wounds, suck them clean and eat away the venom. But after peering into my soul for a second or two, a confirmation was made. He understood my purpose, understood that I must commit and do the deed.

He releases a breath, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders.

"Okay." He nods.

He then walks over to the curtain string behind his desk and pulls them back.

To be continued...