Stoneheart's Game

Eden
0



Summary: When her father sends her to assassinate the man she’s secretly loved for years, Neeta finds herself trapped in a ruthless game of power. Two powerful men use her as a pawn—but with August Bateman, every move is as delicious and intoxicating as it is deadly.


Content Warnings: Violence, smut, criminal underworld themes, power play.


The vibrator buried deep inside Neeta hummed at intervals. She had already learned the rhythm. Thirty seconds of silence, then that shiver-making pulse again. She braced for it now, muscles tightening before it even came.

How had she ended up like this?

There was a reason her father had chosen her for this mission. In a world of cutthroats and highly trained assassins, she was his executioner. Her kill count was unmatched, her name whispered like a ghost story in the underworld. So it was no surprise when he handed her the impossible: kill August Bateman, Stoneheart, the man her father hated most.

The assignment had lit a strange fire in her.
One: it would finally put her father at the head of the table, uncontested.
Two: it would make her the number one operative in the underworld.
Three: it would bring her face to face with the only man she had ever truly loved, unrequited or not. Maybe, just maybe, when his blood was spilling, he would finally tell her he loved her back.

So she prepared as she never had before. A skintight black leather jumpsuit, boots, and gloves. Her finest knives, chosen like jewels for a special occasion. Her Glock, oiled, polished, fully loaded. And her signature: a coiled whip at her hip, a nod to the nickname the boys had given her. Wonder Woman.

Getting in was light work. The silencer on her gun hissed quietly as she took down two guards in front, one on the roof, another in the hall.

By the time she reached his bedroom door, a little voice whispered how ridiculously easy this was. August Bateman was the wealthiest, deadliest man she knew. He had more enemies than some countries. And although everyone knew the man himself was a weapon, even he needed security.

She pushed that voice down and worked the lock. It gave instantly. She lifted a brow. Shrugged. His mistake was her luck.

She stepped into the dark room and flicked on her night-vision goggles, letting her eyes adjust. There he was, flat on his back in the center of his massive bed, wolf-cut hair dark against the pillow, the blanket low enough to show a bare chest dusted with dark curls tinged in grey.

He was so beautiful.

She stalked closer, silent as a shadow. The Glock slid back into its holster; this wasn’t a job for bullets. Not tonight. She wanted it personal. Her knife gleamed in her hand as she climbed onto the bed, every muscle coiled tight.

God, he was beautiful. The rise of his chest. The way his lips parted slightly in sleep. She wanted to lick him, taste the salt of his skin, press her body into his warmth. But she reminded herself: this wasn’t love. This was loyalty. And tonight, loyalty meant killing the only man who ever made her heart betray her.

The blade hovered at his throat. One easy push and it would be done. One breath. One flick of her wrist.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted. Just slightly.

She froze.

His eyes stayed closed, his breathing even, but every instinct screamed at her—he was awake. Dreaming, or pretending, she didn’t know.

That hesitation cost her. His hand shot up, clamping her wrist. Her knife tumbled uselessly onto the sheets. His other hand slammed into her shoulder, numbing it in an instant, and before she could recover, he rolled her beneath him with terrifying ease.

The breath left her lungs.

Blue eyes burned into hers, sharp as blades, cold as winter.

“Hi, Neeta.” His voice was deep, casual, like she had walked in on him at breakfast. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

It had to be his man cave. Where else would he take her?

The moment he had disarmed her in the bedroom, he hadn’t wasted time. Every weapon stripped, every trick in her arsenal neutralized. His fingers had found pressure points on her arms and legs, leaving them limp and useless without ever causing pain. She hated how efficient he was. Hated how easily he unraveled her.

And yet he hadn’t touched her—not the way she secretly wanted him to.

Instead, he slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing, carried her into a private elevator, and pressed a code that delivered them straight into his lair.

He dropped her at the base of a steel pole bolted into the floor and ceiling, no illusions about how impossible it would be to break free. Then came the ropes—silk, of all things. They slid smooth over her skin as he bound her wrists and arms, tightening the knots with patient precision.

The whole time, all she could think about was his bare chest, the flex of muscle in his arms, the heat of his body so close to hers. He could take his time killing her, and she would let him, as long as he stayed that close.

When he finally stepped back, she was strung up in a position that forced her chest out, her arms pulled tight behind the pole. It looked obscene, felt even worse, and she bit her lip hard enough to sting.

“Hi, August,” she giggled, the sound betraying nerves she didn’t want him to see.

“Hello, Neeta.” His smile was all edges.

He dragged a chair over and sat across from her, unhurried. “Took you long enough.”

She lifted her chin. “So there’s a mole in my father’s army.”

That earned a laugh. “Army? Don’t flatter him. He’s a man with dogs, nothing more. And no, there’s no mole. Don’t waste bullets killing his men.” He leaned back, watching her. “After the way our little chat ended last week, I knew he’d send someone. And I knew it would be you. You’re predictable, Neeta. I know you like the back of my own hand. This was inevitable.”

Her heart twisted. “Fuck you, August.”

His grin widened, devilish and sure. “Say please.”

He rose in one fluid motion, disappearing from her line of sight. A rattle of metal and drawers opening told her he was searching for something. When he returned, his presence behind her was a shadow, fingers sliding beneath the back of her jumpsuit, finding the line of buttons tucked between her thighs.

“I want to tell you I won’t enjoy this,” he murmured, popping each button open one by one, “but I’ve never lied to you, Neeta. I won’t start now. I’m going to enjoy this, very much.” His breath skimmed her jaw, warm enough to raise every fine hair on her skin. “And so will you. When we’re done here, we’ll both have exactly what we want most.”

She turned her head sharply toward him, catching that grin she loathed almost as much as she craved.

“You don’t really want to kill me,” he said softly. “If you did, you wouldn’t have come to me like this. You wanted me to catch you.”

She bared her teeth in a smile that tasted of venom. “You’re already dead, August. The second you fuck me, you’re gone. I’m your black widow, and I’ll make sure of it.”

His laughter was low, indulgent, and it only made her wetter. Her nipples strained against the leather bodice, betraying every ounce of defiance she tried to hold.

“In that case…” Something cool and smooth pressed against her swollen folds, teasing, circling, tracing the slick evidence of her arousal. She knew what it was even before the bullet-shaped device found her entrance and slid inside, burying itself with a merciless slowness.

“Let’s delay the actual fucking,” he whispered, his mouth close enough to taste her trembling, “for as long as we can.”

He pulled a console from the shadows and keyed in a command. Then he stretched, slow and deliberate, as though the whole evening had been nothing but a warm-up.

“As much as I’d like to stay and play,” he drawled, “it’s been a long week waiting for you, and I’m exhausted.” He tapped the glowing screen. “Sam here will keep you company.”

As if on cue, the vibrator hummed to life inside her. Her body clenched hard, straining against the silk bonds.

He was halfway to the elevator when she spat, “So you sacrificed your men just to feed me to your automated toy?”

His laughter was sharp and unhurried. “Oh, those men were already on death row. I merely borrowed your gun for their execution. After all, you are the executioner, aren’t you?”

Before she could form a retort, the elevator doors closed around him. He threw her one last look and a mocking smile. “Goodnight, Neeta. We’ll chat tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

The toy hummed again, pulsing inside her, and she cursed under her breath. She had come to kill him. She had braced for torture. But this—using her infamous appetite against her—was lower than low.

Another vibration tore through her, and this time a moan broke free. She hated herself for it. It was going to be a long night. She might as well survive it the only way she could.

Upstairs, August slid into his bed, setting a MacBook beside his pillow. With one hand he opened a live feed of her writhing body, the other already stroking himself beneath the sheets.

This was one prisoner he intended to interrogate slowly, and savor every second.




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