His Tiger

"Yes, Tsar. We have a few weapons you might like."

A/N: 'Tsar' is the title used for the head of their Mafia family, Psyke's father.

Psyke smiled, phone pressed to his ear. He stood outside the basement hosting the Underground Auction, the low thrum of the event vibrating beneath his feet. Sebastian was inside, negotiating. The air hung heavy with expensive perfume and something darker… something primal.

["You, brat. Why so happy?"] His father's voice, sharp and suspicious, cut through the air.

Psyke chuckled, a low rumble. Leaning against the cool stone wall, the strange smile on his lips deepened. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

"You're mistaken, Tsar. I'm simply anticipating the pleasure of feeding my hungry tiger." The words were carefully chosen, a veil over the raw hunger that consumed him.

A faint chuckle from the other end. "I see. Still cautious? Get back to Moscow. Mikhail's causing a ruckus. I'm leaving this to you."

"With pleasure," Psyke said, his voice hardening. "I'll make sure he regrets crossing me." The threat hung unspoken, sharp and chilling. He hung up, his gaze sweeping the basement entrance.

Sebastian emerged, his usual languid grace replaced with a predatory gleam in his eyes, mirroring Psyke's own.

"Aren't you going to check on your 'hungry tiger'?" Sebastian asked, amusement in his voice.

"Hmm…" Psyke hummed, pushing open the heavy basement door. The air inside was thick with sweat, fear, and something faintly metallic.

Several men hovered around Leonariz, carefully dabbing her body with damp towels. The contrast between their gentle ministrations and her brutal situation was jarring. Bruises bloomed across her skin.

"You like it clean, right?" Sebastian's voice cut through the hushed atmosphere.

"Clean," Psyke agreed, his voice low and dangerous. "It makes the violation… more unpleasant." The words were devoid of remorse.

Sebastian laughed, a chilling sound. "Enough. Let's leave them to it." The men quickly withdrew, leaving only Psyke and Leonariz.

Psyke approached Leonariz, her back to him, her hands bound. He knelt, his gaze falling on her bruised ankle. A surge of cold anger pierced him.

"How dare they give me a defective item," he murmured, stopping inches from her.

Leonariz slowly turned, her gaze meeting his. Her eyes, a mesmerizing blend of amber and green, held a disconcerting calm. Her delicate beauty highlighted the brutality of her situation.

"Your eyes… they fascinate me," Psyke whispered, gently lifting her chin. His thumb traced her blood-stained lips.

"Should I simply kill you now and add your eyes to my collection?" The threat was casual, almost playful, yet menacing.

Leonariz remained silent, her composure a mask. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she understood.

A slow smile curved Psyke's lips. He found himself captivated by her defiance, her quiet strength. He saw a beauty in her resilience as captivating as her physical attributes.

"Never mind," Psyke said, releasing her chin. "You'll be a useful doll… when the time comes."

He turned and walked away, Leonariz following silently, the clinking of her chains a counterpoint to the heavy silence. The scent of blood and fear clung to the air. Her body ached; her head swam with dizziness. A few more steps, and her vision blurred. The last thing she felt was the impact of her face against the cold stone floor.

Psyke stared intently at Leonariz, her face serene in sleep. Four hours had passed since she'd fainted; he'd caught her just before her head hit the floor. He sat beside her on the plush sofa in his Moscow mansion, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to the brutality of the situation.

"Here's your coffee, sweetie."

A woman, her body a weapon, approached, a tray of coffee balanced in her hands. She wore a short skirt and off-shoulder top, her seductive smile a calculated performance.

Psyke stood, shrugging off his coat, the movement casual yet commanding. "Strip," he ordered, his voice devoid of emotion. The woman laughed, a throaty, confident sound.

She obeyed, moving with practiced ease, positioning herself before the opposite sofa. Psyke smirked. She knew the game.

He approached, his fingers closing around her wet pearls.

"O-ohh…" she moaned, her voice a mixture of pleasure and submission.

"I only told you to strip," Psyke murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "But this… this is a bonus." He pushed himself inside her, the act brutal and efficient. His arousal had begun the moment he saw Leonariz's innocent face.

He imagined that innocent face contorted in pleasure, her lips wrapped around him. The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through him. He pulled her hair, increasing the pace of his thrusts. Her moans escalated, a crescendo of pleasure and pain. He felt her climax, but his own release remained elusive.

He grabbed her arms, spinning her around to face Leonariz. Leonariz was awake, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and chilling curiosity.

Psyke grinned, her awakening fueling his excitement. "W-what the—why are you getting b-bigger?!" the woman shrieked, her voice laced with fear and disbelief.