Captive Of The Ruthless Warlord Boss

Chapter 4

Word Count: 908 | Released on: Today at 10:33

edatory eyes cut through the space between them

immediately dropped her gaze, staring hard at the tips of her bare, dirty toes on the marb

rned his head, following the exact trajectory her eyes had j

yanked her out of the line. Haley lost her footing on the polished marble, a stifled gasp escaping her lips as her knees hit the hard floor with a sharp crack. The impact left her disorient

marble floor made his stomach turn. He was about to turn away. He was about to tell his men to clear the portico. But the image of her eyes from a moment ago flas

ce was low, but it carried across the

ed together, producing a faint, clicking sound. When she didn't answer immediately, Bea raised her ha

d threatening to fall from the girl's lip onto his pristine floor. But the absolute, freezing lethality in his tone-his utter intolerance for min

wnward field of vision. The shadow of his tall frame fell over her, blocking out the

ands, using the pain to force her vocal cords to work. "The... the map." Her voice was a brok

ble shift occurred in Axel

rely on the next few seconds. "It's... it's a dr

ley, her mouth slightly open. No one expected the girl

oed loudly. "Go on," Axel said. The killing intent in his posture

oportions on the bottom left are wrong. And the oxidation on the edges of the parchment... it's artificial. It was chemically aged." She gather

king a step back. To insult the warlord's private collection

ke a physical weight. Then, a low, dark sound rumbled in Axel's chest. He laughed. It wasn't a warm sound. It was a short, sharp

rning his broad back to her, and resumed his walk into the foyer. "Keep her

o a mask of ecstatic relief. She bow

against her ribs, entirely unsure if her knowledge had jus

Chapter End

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Captive Of The Ruthless Warlord Boss

Dionisio Wambold Mafia

“Betrayed by my own uncle for a stack of hundred-dollar bills, I was drugged at the Miami airport and trafficked to a heavily armed mercenary compound in the Darien Gap. Stripped of my dignity, I was scrubbed with industrial bleach and graded as an "A-class asset." I was supposed to be a gift for Axel Sterling, the ruthless warlord who owned the estate, but he took one look at our trembling line and coldly declared he had no interest in women. To vent her frustration, the estate manager, Bea, decided to make my life a living hell. She locked me in a pitch-black solitary cell, starving me for days. She dragged me out only to force me to watch runaway girls get torn apart by massive mastiffs and swamp crocodiles. She wanted me completely broken and begging, a mindless toy ready to submit the moment the warlord returned. Sitting in the freezing mud, covered in blood, I was pushed to the absolute brink of madness. I couldn't understand why I was being kept alive while the others were sold off to the cartels. Was it really just because I had recognized a fake 1792 colonial map in his foyer? When Axel finally returned, Bea shoved me onto the burning asphalt, throwing an oil-stained rag at my face. "Wipe them clean! Or I'll throw you back in the pit!" She hoped my clumsy panic would trigger his extreme OCD and get me killed. But I didn't cry, and I didn't beg. Recalling my university antiquities restoration classes, I treated his mud-caked combat boot like a priceless 16th-century manuscript, perfectly lifting the dirt without a single scratch. The warlord stared at my filthy, battered body, his dead eyes finally sparking with a dark, calculating interest. "Stand up. Come inside."”