Panther In The Dark

A week had passed since Leonariz last saw Psyke at the mansion – a week heavy with the unspoken implications of the word she'd overheard him utter that fateful night. The word hung in the air, a chilling echo in the silence of her own thoughts.

Leonariz had lingered for ten minutes, an eavesdropper in the shadows of the living room, absorbing the hushed conversation of the three men. Those ten minutes yielded a harvest of unsettling revelations, each detail adding to the growing enigma.

Firstly, she discovered the trio were members of the Mafia, a chilling confirmation of her suspicions. The casually discarded severed head on the floor served as a grim testament to their brutal efficiency. She learned the name of the unfamiliar man: Yakov, another cog in Psyke's ruthless machine, his deference to Psyke evident in the respectful 'boss'.

Leonariz's understanding of the Mafia remained rudimentary, yet the knowledge, however fragmented, filled her with a strange sense of purpose. It was a crucial piece of the puzzle, a justification for her escape from the forest, a reason beyond the desperate worry for her tribe's safety.

Justice for her sister's murder consumed her. She craved a confrontation with her sister's killer, the man who'd not only ended her life but jeopardized her entire tribe. She yearned to hear, from his own lips, the explanation for such a senseless act of cruelty, a justification for the murder of a woman who had offered him only kindness.

The adequacy of his explanation, the possibility of forgiveness – these questions burned within her. Only by facing him could she hope to find the answers, to reconcile the brutal reality with the possibility of peace.

Now, Leonariz knew she could gather information, even within this gilded cage. The man she sought might be closer than she imagined, perhaps even within the walls of Psyke's mansion, a den of shadows where she was, ironically, a captive.

But what did the word 'Mafia' truly signify?

If only she could speak freely, her questions would be answered. But her tongue was bound by necessity, her silence a crucial element of her survival under Psyke's watchful gaze.

"Fuck, this is all your fault! If only you hadn't hurt Shelly, there wouldn't be a double workload for these chores! For fuck's sake! This is bullshit!" Anastasia's rage exploded, the spatula a weapon in her furious hand as she lashed out at Leonariz.

The Amazonian woman flinched, but her hands moved with practiced efficiency, washing the dishes with a speed that belied her inner turmoil.

Leonariz sighed, enduring the barrage of kicks and punches that rained down on her arms, legs, and ribs. Anastasia's fury was palpable, each blow a testament to her simmering resentment. Yet, Leonariz remained resolute, refusing to escalate the situation; the consequences of her last outburst were still fresh in her mind.

She wouldn't risk incurring Psyke's wrath; the price of defiance was far too high. She would endure the abuse, a silent prisoner in her own gilded cage.

"Stop it, Anastasia. Her bruises are showing. Psyke will notice." Edna's voice, calm yet firm, cut through the air, halting Anastasia's assault. Edna, entering the kitchen to assist with the cooking, had witnessed the scene unfold.

"I hate this filthy creature so much, Edna, I could kill her." Anastasia's hatred was a tangible thing, her eyes blazing as she glared at Leonariz, who remained impassive.

Edna sighed, picking up a knife to begin preparing vegetables. "Hate her all you want, but you can't kill her. She's… important to the boss. Kill her, and you'll face his wrath." Edna's words were a stark warning, a revelation that sent a jolt of surprise through Leonariz.

The implication was clear: Leonariz's life held unexpected value in Psyke's eyes. The irony wasn't lost on her; Psyke himself was the most likely candidate to end her life.

"Argh, I get it! Fuck this life! Why hasn't Headquarters contacted us? We've been here five years! One of us is dead!" Anastasia's frustration boiled over.

"Quiet! He might hear you." Edna's caution was sharp.

Anastasia frowned. "Hear us? Who?"

"His butler. He's been lurking since the boss left. He's dangerous. We need to avoid him, or we'll all be dead."

—

Another day bled into night. Leonariz, carrying a heavy sack of refuse, moved through the darkened mansion. The unspoken rule was clear: disappear before Psyke or Sebastian returned.

Initially, these rules had been unclear, gleaned from overheard conversations between Edna and Anastasia. Now, she played the part of the uncomprehending captive, her silence a shield, a carefully constructed facade. For a week, she'd maintained the charade, her only companion the rhythmic clinking of her chain.

The darkness of the mansion held no fear for her; her eyes, accustomed to the shadows, adjusted easily. It was during these nocturnal excursions that she glimpsed the world beyond the mansion walls, a world she now recognized as a dense forest. The towering trees, a silent sentinel, formed a natural barrier, concealing the mansion's existence.

Leonariz paused, tilting her head back to gaze at the luminous full moon, the sole source of illumination in the inky blackness. The scattered stars above evoked memories of her life in the forest, a life of freedom and camaraderie with her tribe. A bittersweet ache settled in her chest.

A sudden tightening of her chain nearly sent her tumbling. She recovered her balance instantly, whirling around, a primal sense of danger flooding her senses.

She watched, frozen, as a figure approached, carrying something utterly unexpected.

It was Sebastian, Psyke's butler, and in his hands he held a severed human head. Blood stained his white gloves, and crimson droplets marred his gray sweatshirt. His expression was unnervingly calm, almost serene.

Leonariz barely recognized him; his usual coat and polo concealed the intricate tattoos that now snaked across his arms.

Leonariz's gaze dropped to the chain, which Sebastian deliberately ground beneath his heel. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto hers. He was assessing her, judging her.

"Hmm… what do we have here? The source of that unsettling sound these past few nights?" His voice was a low murmur, carrying a hint of chilling amusement.

He stopped directly in front of her, one hand casually in his pocket, the other still clutching the grisly trophy.

Leonariz remained silent, playing her role.

"Those women have been bothering you, haven't they? Why don't you simply… eliminate them? Psyke has shown them far too much leniency." His words were a suggestion, a challenge.

He chuckled softly, glancing up at the moonlit sky. "Ah, you don't understand, do you?" He turned back to her, his expression now openly menacing.

He withdrew his left hand, extending his thumb in a chilling gesture, tracing the line of her throat, a silent command to kill.

Leonariz's eyes widened, the full weight of his lethal intent crashing over her. The danger was palpable, a suffocating presence.

A cruel smile stretched across his lips before he moved past her, taking the garbage bag from her grasp.

—

"Boss, fifteen eliminated. Disposal in progress."

"A-hmp!" Psyke's gaze remained fixed on the woman kneeling before him, servicing him. His eyes were devoid of emotion, his attention seemingly divided.

He held his phone to his ear, speaking to Sebastian, who was on the other end of the line.

"Hmm… who was it?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"The usual suspect, boss. He's been testing our patience. Yakov and I have dug up some intel. He's in the Philippines, controls major smuggling routes in France. Seems he holds a grudge over that job we finished last week."

A faint smile played on Psyke's lips. "Lucky him… he's caught my attention." He ended the call abruptly.

He violently yanked the woman's hair, his anger erupting. She'd been servicing him for an hour, and his frustration was boiling over.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Can't you do your job properly? You're the one who offered yourself, yet you can't even satisfy me?" Psyke's voice was a venomous hiss, his icy gaze fixed on the woman, who was on the verge of tears.

She sobbed, her eyes squeezed shut.

"B-but sir… I've been trying for almost an hour… I-I think… it's… yours… that's the problem…" she stammered, her words barely audible.

Psyke stood, throwing her to the floor with brutal force. He zipped up his trousers, donned his coat, and exited the VIP room of the nightclub. He was in England, attending to unfinished business.

He slumped into his car, the weight of the woman's words settling upon him.

For days, his arousal had failed him, a baffling and unsettling development.

The ringing of his phone shattered his contemplation. He answered immediately.

"And your tiger is covered in bruises. Seems she's been… tamed. Afraid of your punishment, huh?" Sebastian's voice was laced with amusement before he cut the call short.

The image of Leonariz, her face stained with his semen, flashed vividly in his mind.

Psyke stared down at his crotch, a slow smile spreading across his face as he felt his arousal return.

"Fuck this shit."