Chapter 74: Dariana VS Malcolm
The docks at Aethelburg never slept.
Cargo ships drifted through the glowing canals at all hours, their hulls humming against the dark water. Dockworkers moved like shadows between the containers, their voices low and their footsteps sure. The smell of salt and diesel hung thick in the air, cut occasionally by the sharp bite of ozone from the city's crystal towers.
Dariana Brightone stood at the edge of Pier Seven, her arms crossed, her dark eyes fixed on the figure at the end of the dock.
Malcolm Vane.
He hadn't changed since Nicola's battle. Same shaved head. Same flat, unreadable expression. Same scar cutting across his face like a reminder of something he'd survived and never explained.
She'd watched him from a distance for three days.
She'd studied his habits, his patterns, the way he moved through the city like a ghost who didn't care who saw him. She'd spoken to Nicola. She'd spoken to Patricia. She'd pieced together enough of the truth to know that Malcolm Vane was dangerous in ways that went beyond Pokémon battles.
But she'd also noticed something else.
He was alone.
No Eclipse Squad backup. No Roger. No Callum. No Revan. Just him and six Pokéballs and whatever darkness he carried in his chest.
That made him vulnerable.
And Dariana had always been good at exploiting vulnerability.
---
She stepped onto the dock.
Her boots made soft sounds against the weathered wood—measured, deliberate, the stride of someone who had spent years learning how to move with intention. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, the evening wind tugging at stray strands. Her dark eyes never left him.
Malcolm didn't turn.
"You're persistent," he said.
"I'm patient."
"There's a difference."
"I know."
She stopped ten feet away.
The canal water lapped against the pilings below, black and silver in the lamplight. Somewhere in the distance, a ship's horn sounded—low, mournful, lost.
Malcolm finally turned.
His eyes moved over her with clinical precision. Dark hair. Tanned skin. Slim frame. Small breasts. The kind of body built for speed and flexibility rather than power. He catalogued her the way he catalogued everything—without emotion, without interest, just data.
"You're the dancer," he said.
"Former dancer."
"Same thing."
"No. It's not."
He tilted his head.
"What do you want?"
"A battle."
Malcolm's expression didn't change.
"Everyone wants a battle."
"I'm not everyone."
"No. You're Dariana Brightone. Nine badges. Seven wins. Two losses. You favor strategic play over brute force. Your primary Pokémon is a Gallade you raised from a Ralts. You have a reputation for being clever, adaptable, and—" he paused, "—distractingly attractive."
Dariana smiled.
"You've done your homework."
"I always do."
"Then you know I'm not here to waste time."
Malcolm studied her for a long moment.
"Why?"
"Because you hurt my friends."
"Which ones?"
"All of them."
He didn't deny it.
"Patricia came to you three days ago," Dariana said. "She made a deal. She got information. And now you're leaving the city like nothing happened."
"I'm always leaving cities."
"Not this time."
Malcolm's jaw tightened—barely perceptible, but she caught it.
"You think you can stop me?"
"I think I can beat you."
"You think wrong."
Dariana uncrossed her arms and reached for her belt.
"Three-on-three. No substitutions. No items."
Malcolm didn't move.
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't."
He stared at her.
She stared back.
The silence stretched thin.
Then Malcolm laughed—a dry, humorless sound that scraped against the night.
"Nicola said the same thing."
"And you beat her."
"I did."
"And Patricia challenged you."
"She did."
"And you beat her."
"I did."
Dariana's hand closed around a Pokéball.
"So now you have to ask yourself," she said, "am I the third one? Or am I something else?"
Malcolm's eyes flickered.
Something shifted in his expression—not quite respect, not quite interest. Something colder.
"Fine," he said. "Three-on-three."
---
The sound of footsteps made them both turn.
Axel Dualblade emerged from the shadows of a cargo container, Rotom flickering at his shoulder like a captive star. He moved with the same predatory ease Dariana had come to recognize, his green eyes sharp and calculating.
He looked at her.
Then at Malcolm.
Then back at her.
"You didn't tell me about this," he said.
"I didn't know I had to."
Axel's jaw tightened.
"I'll referee."
Dariana nodded.
Malcolm shrugged.
"Fine by me."
Axel stepped between them, Rotom drifting to hover above his shoulder. The ghost-electric Pokémon's red eyes flickered with quiet curiosity.
"Standard rules," Axel said. "Three-on-three. No substitutions. No items. Send out your first Pokémon."
---
Dariana moved first.
"Shellos."
The ball opened in a flash of blue light and Shellos materialized on the dock. The little Water-type was soft-bodied and gentle, its blue-and-cream body shimmering in the lamplight, its antennae swaying slowly. Its large, warm eyes gave off a calming presence.
Malcolm's expression didn't change.
"Machamp."
The ball opened in a flash of crimson light and Machamp materialized on the dock. The massive Fighting-type towered over Shellos, its four arms flexing, its gray muscles rippling. Its face was stoic, almost bored, but its eyes burned with quiet ferocity.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Dariana moved first.
"Shellos—Mud Bomb!"
Shellos opened its mouth and fired a sphere of dark mud.
It struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp grunted.
It didn't fall.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp lunged forward, one of its four arms swinging in a wide arc.
"Shellos—Protect!"
A shimmering barrier formed around Shellos.
The Karate Chop struck the barrier.
It held.
"Shellos—Water Pulse!"
A ring of water shot forward.
It struck Machamp's face.
Machamp shook it off.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Machamp's arms crossed in front of its chest, and a wave of focused energy rippled through its body. Then it struck.
All four arms slammed down simultaneously.
Shellos had no time to dodge.
The attack ripped through its body and sent it tumbling across the dock. Its soft body scraped against the wood, leaving a smear of moisture and pain.
But it didn't faint.
"Shellos—Recover!"
Shellos's body glowed faintly, and some of its wounds began to close.
Malcolm's eyes flickered.
"Machamp—Rock Slide!"
Machamp slammed its fists into the dock, and a barrage of rocks erupted from the wood.
They struck Shellos's body.
Shellos cried out.
But it didn't fall.
"Shellos—Mud Bomb!"
Another sphere of dark mud.
Another hit.
Machamp staggered.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Another devastating strike.
Shellos collapsed.
"Shellos is unable to battle," Axel said. "Machamp wins."
---
Dariana recalled Shellos.
She whispered to the ball before clipping it to her belt.
"You did everything I asked."
She looked at Malcolm.
His expression hadn't changed.
"Gallade," she said.
Gallade materialized in a flash of white light, its silver-white body gleaming like polished steel. The Blade Pokémon stood tall and graceful, its green blade-like arms catching the lamplight, its deep red eyes reflecting calm intelligence.
It moved like a dancer.
It struck like a duelist.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Malcolm moved first.
"Machamp—Rock Slide!"
Machamp slammed its fists into the dock, and a barrage of rocks erupted from the wood.
"Gallade—Psycho Cut!"
Gallade's blade-arms glowed with psychic energy, and it sliced through the rocks in a single fluid motion.
The fragments clattered to the dock.
"Gallade—Close Combat!"
Gallade shot forward like a bullet, its blades spinning.
It struck Machamp's chest.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Machamp roared.
It staggered.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Machamp's arms crossed, and it struck.
Gallade tried to dodge.
Too slow.
The attack caught Gallade's side.
Gallade grunted.
But it didn't fall.
"Gallade—Zen Headbutt!"
Gallade's head glowed with psychic energy, and it lunged forward.
The attack struck Machamp's jaw.
Machamp's head snapped back.
It fell.
"Machamp is unable to battle," Axel said. "Gallade wins."
---
Malcolm recalled Machamp.
He didn't look frustrated.
He looked interested.
"Impressive," he said. "But that was my weakest."
He drew his second ball.
"Haunter."
The ball opened in a flash of violet light and Haunter materialized on the dock. The ghostly Pokémon hovered in the air, its body a floating head and hands, its eyes glowing red, its grin wide and wicked. It cackled softly, a sound like bones rattling in a dark room.
Gallade couldn't hit it.
Ghost types were immune to Fighting moves.
But Gallade had Dark and Psychic moves.
"Gallade—Psycho Cut!"
Gallade's blade-arms glowed with psychic energy, and it sliced forward.
The attack struck Haunter's body.
Haunter shrieked.
It actually felt that.
"Haunter—Shadow Ball!"
A sphere of dark energy formed between Haunter's hands and shot forward.
It struck Gallade's chest.
Gallade grunted.
"Haunter—Lick!"
Haunter materialized behind Gallade and ran its tongue across Gallade's neck.
Gallade shuddered.
"Gallade—Night Slash!"
Gallade's blade-arms glowed with dark energy, and it spun.
The attack struck Haunter's body.
Haunter shrieked again.
"Haunter—Dream Eater!"
Gallade was weakening.
Its movements slowed.
Its eyes drooped.
"Gallade—Psycho Cut!"
Gallade's blade-arms glowed with psychic energy, and it sliced forward one last time.
The attack struck Haunter's body.
Haunter cackled.
It didn't fall.
"Haunter—Shadow Ball!"
Another sphere of dark energy.
Another hit.
Gallade collapsed.
"Gallade is unable to battle," Axel said. "Haunter wins."
---
Dariana recalled Gallade.
Her hand trembled.
Two down.
One left.
She looked at Croagunk.
Croagunk materialized in a flash of blue light, its wiry body crouched and ready, its yellow cheek markings catching the lamplight. The Toxic Mouth Pokémon was cunning, confident, and unfazed, its sharp eyes sizing up Haunter with calculated precision.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Malcolm moved first.
"Haunter—Shadow Ball!"
A sphere of dark energy shot forward.
"Croagunk—Sucker Punch!"
Croagunk moved before Haunter could react, its fist glowing with dark energy.
The attack struck Haunter's body.
Haunter shrieked.
"Haunter—Lick!"
Haunter materialized behind Croagunk and ran its tongue across Croagunk's neck.
Croagunk shuddered.
But it didn't fall.
"Croagunk—Poison Jab!"
Croagunk's fist glowed with purple venom, and it lunged forward.
The attack passed through Haunter's body.
Haunter cackled.
"Croagunk—Dark Pulse!"
A wave of dark energy shot forward.
It struck Haunter's body.
Haunter shrieked.
It was weakening.
"Haunter—Dream Eater!"
Croagunk was weakening.
Its movements slowed.
Its eyes drooped.
"Croagunk—Sucker Punch!"
Croagunk moved before Haunter could react, its fist glowing with dark energy.
The attack struck Haunter's body.
Haunter collapsed.
"Haunter is unable to battle," Axel said. "Croagunk wins."
---
Malcolm recalled Haunter.
He didn't look frustrated.
He looked amused.
"Two down," he said. "One left."
He drew his third ball.
"Rhyperior."
The ball opened in a flash of brown light and Rhyperior materialized on the dock.
The massive Rock-Ground type towered over Croagunk, its body a walking fortress of gray stone and orange plating. Its drill-like horn gleamed in the lamplight, and its massive arms hung at its sides like wrecking balls.
Croagunk didn't flinch.
"Begin," Axel said.
---
Malcolm moved first.
"Rhyperior—Rock Wrecker!"
Rhyperior's arms glowed with orange energy, and it slammed them into the dock.
A massive boulder erupted from the wood and shot forward.
"Croagunk—Sucker Punch!"
Croagunk moved before Rhyperior could react, its fist glowing with dark energy.
The attack struck Rhyperior's leg.
Rhyperior didn't flinch.
"Rhyperior—Earthquake!"
Rhyperior slammed its fists into the dock.
The earth shook.
Croagunk lost its footing.
"Rhyperior—Megahorn!"
Rhyperior's horn glowed with green energy, and it lunged forward.
The attack struck Croagunk's body.
Croagunk flew backward, its wiry frame tumbling across the dock.
It didn't fall.
"Croagunk—Poison Jab!"
Croagunk's fist glowed with purple venom, and it lunged forward.
The attack struck Rhyperior's chest.
Rhyperior grunted.
It didn't fall.
"Rhyperior—Stone Edge!"
Rhyperior's arms glowed with white energy, and it slammed them into the dock.
A barrage of stone pillars erupted from the wood.
They struck Croagunk's body.
Croagunk cried out.
It didn't fall.
"Croagunk—Dark Pulse!"
A wave of dark energy shot forward.
It struck Rhyperior's body.
Rhyperior staggered.
"Rhyperior—Rock Wrecker!"
Another massive boulder.
Another hit.
Croagunk collapsed.
"Croagunk is unable to battle," Axel said. "Rhyperior wins. Malcolm wins the match."
---
The dock was silent.
Dariana recalled Croagunk, her hands steady despite the loss.
She had lost.
Fairly.
Completely.
Malcolm recalled Rhyperior and walked toward her.
"You're good," he said.
"I know."
"You're also not like the others."
She looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
"Patricia fought me because she was angry. Nicola fought me because she was proud. You fought me because you were curious."
Dariana didn't answer.
"You wanted to see what I was," Malcolm said. "Now you know."
"And what are you?"
He smiled.
"Exactly what you think I am."
He turned and walked away.
---
Axel approached Dariana.
"You okay?"
She didn't answer.
"He was stronger than me."
"He was stronger than you today," Axel corrected. "Tomorrow is a different story."
She looked at him.
"You sound like Briv."
"Maybe he's rubbing off on me."
She didn't laugh.
Neither did he.
"He's leaving the city," she said. "Tonight."
"I know."
"We can't let him."
"We can't stop him."
She looked at him.
"Then what do we do?"
Axel's green eyes hardened.
"We follow him."
---
The two Eclipse Squad members stood on the rooftop across from the docks, watching the battle below.
Roger cracked his knuckles.
"Dariana's good. Better than I remember."
"She's still a thorn," Callum said. "A big one."
"Yeah." Roger grinned. "But thorns burn."
Callum pulled out a lighter and flicked it open.
"They do," he said. "They really do."
The flame danced in the wind.
---
Dariana walked back to the inn alone.
The streets of Aethelburg were quiet, the crystal towers catching the last light of the dying sun. She didn't notice any of it.
She replayed every command she'd given, every move she'd made. Shellos had fallen too quickly. Gallade had landed solid hits but couldn't finish. Croagunk had overwhelmed Haunter but couldn't touch Rhyperior.
Three Pokémon.
Three losses.
She had been outmaneuvered, outplayed, outclassed.
The realization burned like acid in her throat.
She wasn't used to losing.
She wasn't used to being second.
---
She climbed the stairs to her room, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. Pachirisu hopped onto her lap, its bright round eyes full of curiosity and warmth.
She stroked its fur.
It didn't speak.
It didn't need to.
---
The knock came an hour later.
Three sharp raps.
Dariana didn't move.
The knock came again.
She stood, crossed the room, and opened the door.
Patricia stood in the hallway.
Her blond hair was pulled back, her blue eyes tired but sharp. She was wearing a simple shirt and jeans, and her hands were shoved into her pockets.
"You okay?" Patricia asked.
"I'm fine."
"You look like hell."
"Thanks."
Patricia studied her face.
"You lost."
"I know."
"Malcolm?"
"Yeah."
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay."
She stepped inside.
Dariana closed the door.
---
They sat on the bed.
Pachirisu hopped onto Patricia's lap, and she stroked its ears.
"He's leaving the city," Dariana said. "Tonight."
"I know."
"We can't let him."
"We can't stop him."
Dariana looked at her.
"Then what do we do?"
Patricia's eyes hardened.
"We follow him."
---
They stood there for a long time.
The city hummed beyond the window.
The Eclipse Squad was out there, somewhere, moving through the shadows like wolves on the hunt.
Dariana didn't sleep that night.
She planned.
And when the sun rose, she would be ready.
=====
The morning came grey and thin, the sun barely a rumor behind the city's smog.
Dariana stood at the window of her room, watching the docks come alive with workers and cargo. She hadn't slept. Not really. Her mind had cycled through strategies, counter-strategies, and the cold certainty that Malcolm Vane was already three steps ahead of anything she could plan.
Patricia had stayed with her until midnight.
They hadn't talked much. There wasn't much to say. The chips on the table were already played, and the only thing left was to see who walked away with the pot.
By dawn, Dariana had made her decision.
She left the inn before the others woke.
---
She found him at the train station on the eastern edge of Aethelburg.
Malcolm stood on the platform, a single duffel bag at his feet. No Pokémon visible. No backup. Just a man waiting for a train that would take him somewhere else, to do something else, to hurt someone else.
Dariana approached without hesitation.
He saw her coming.
"You again," he said.
"Me again."
"I thought we settled this last night."
"We didn't settle anything."
Malcolm tilted his head.
"You lost."
"I know."
"And you're still here."
"I'm still here."
He studied her.
The platform was nearly empty, just a few early commuters and a station attendant half-asleep behind a glass window. The train was due in twenty minutes.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"A rematch."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't repeat myself."
Dariana stepped closer.
"You're afraid."
Malcolm's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes.
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid I'll figure you out."
"You already did. You lost."
"I lost the battle. I didn't lose the war."
Malcolm picked up his duffel bag.
"Go home, Dariana."
"No."
She reached out and grabbed his wrist.
He stopped.
"You don't get to walk away," she said. "Not after what you did."
"I told you—"
"I don't care what you told Patricia. I don't care what deal you made with her. I'm not here for information. I'm not here for revenge. I'm here because you're a problem, and problems don't get to leave until they're solved."
Malcolm turned.
His eyes were flat, cold, the color of wet slate.
"You want to solve me?"
"Yes."
"You can't."
"Watch me."
The train horn sounded in the distance.
Malcolm looked at her hand on his wrist. Then at her face. Then at the empty platform around them.
"Fine," he said. "One more battle."
---
They found a clearing behind an abandoned warehouse near the tracks.
No witnesses. No Axel. No rules.
Just the two of them and the grey morning light.
"Three-on-three," Malcolm said. "No substitutions. No items."
"Agreed."
"Same Pokémon?"
"No. Different."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting."
Dariana reached for her belt.
"Let's go."
---
She sent out Eevee first.
The little Normal-type materialized in a flash of brown light, its bushy tail wagging, its ears perked. It was small, adaptable, and full of potential. It looked at Rhyperior and didn't flinch.
Malcolm sent out Machamp.
The four-armed Fighting-type flexed, its muscles rippling.
"Begin," Malcolm said.
---
Dariana moved first.
"Eevee—Quick Attack!"
Eevee shot forward like a bullet.
It struck Machamp's leg.
Machamp didn't flinch.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp swung one of its four arms.
Eevee dodged.
Barely.
"Eevee—Bite!"
Eevee's teeth glowed with dark energy, and it lunged forward.
The attack struck Machamp's arm.
Machamp grunted.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Machamp's arms crossed, and it struck.
Eevee tried to dodge.
Too slow.
The attack caught Eevee's side.
Eevee tumbled across the dirt.
But it didn't fall.
"Eevee—Swift!"
Eevee opened its mouth and fired a barrage of star-shaped rays.
They struck Machamp's face.
Machamp shook it off.
"Machamp—Rock Slide!"
Machamp slammed its fists into the ground.
A barrage of rocks erupted from the earth.
They struck Eevee's body.
Eevee cried out.
It didn't fall.
"Eevee—Last Resort!"
Eevee's body glowed with white energy, and it lunged forward.
The attack struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp roared.
It staggered.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Another devastating strike.
Eevee collapsed.
"Eevee is unable to battle," Malcolm said. "Machamp wins."
---
Dariana recalled Eevee.
She whispered to the ball.
"You did everything I asked."
She looked at Malcolm.
His expression hadn't changed.
"Pachirisu," she said.
Pachirisu materialized in a flash of white light, its fluffy body crackling with electric energy. It was small, timid, but its eyes held a fierce determination.
"Begin," Malcolm said.
---
Dariana moved first.
"Pachirisu—Thunder Wave!"
A wave of electric energy shot forward.
It struck Machamp's body.
Machamp stiffened.
Paralysis.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp tried to move.
Its body seized.
It couldn't.
"Pachirisu—Thunderbolt!"
A bolt of lightning shot forward.
It struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp roared.
It didn't fall.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Machamp broke through the paralysis.
Its arms crossed, and it struck.
Pachirisu tried to dodge.
Too slow.
The attack caught Pachirisu's side.
Pachirisu cried out.
It didn't fall.
"Pachirisu—Discharge!"
A wave of electric energy shot forward.
It struck Machamp's body.
Machamp staggered.
"Machamp—Rock Slide!"
Another barrage of rocks.
Another hit.
Pachirisu collapsed.
"Pachirisu is unable to battle," Malcolm said. "Machamp wins."
---
Dariana recalled Pachirisu.
Her hand trembled.
Two down.
One left.
She looked at Combee.
Combee materialized in a flash of yellow light, its three honeycomb faces buzzing with determination. It was small, agile, and eager to prove itself.
"Begin," Malcolm said.
---
Dariana moved first.
"Combee—Bug Buzz!"
A wave of sonic energy shot forward.
It struck Machamp's body.
Machamp grunted.
"Machamp—Karate Chop!"
Machamp swung its arm.
Combee dodged.
"Combee—Gust!"
A blast of wind shot forward.
It struck Machamp's face.
Machamp shook it off.
"Machamp—Cross Chop!"
Machamp's arms crossed, and it struck.
Combee tried to dodge.
Too slow.
The attack caught Combee's body.
Combee tumbled through the air.
But it didn't fall.
"Combee—Air Cutter!"
Sharp blades of wind shot forward.
They struck Machamp's chest.
Machamp staggered.
"Machamp—Rock Slide!"
Another barrage of rocks.
Another hit.
Combee collapsed.
"Combee is unable to battle," Malcolm said. "Machamp wins. Malcolm wins the match."
---
The clearing was silent.
Dariana recalled Combee, her hands steady despite the loss.
She had lost.
Fairly.
Completely.
Malcolm recalled Machamp and walked toward her.
"You're good," he said.
"I know."
"You're also not like the others."
She looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
"Patricia fought me because she was angry. Nicola fought me because she was proud. You fought me because you were curious."
Dariana didn't answer.
"You wanted to see what I was," Malcolm said. "Now you know."
"And what are you?"
He smiled.
"Exactly what you think I am."
---
He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
She didn't pull away.
"Let go of me."
"No."
"Malcolm—"
"You lost."
"I know."
"You know what that means."
She stared at him.
"You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious."
"This isn't—"
"This is exactly what it is."
He pulled her toward the warehouse.
She stumbled, caught off guard by his strength.
"Malcolm, stop."
"No."
"Let me go."
"Not until I'm done."
He pushed open the warehouse door and pulled her inside.
The space was empty—dusty, dark, forgotten. Light filtered through broken windows, casting strange shadows across the concrete floor. It smelled of rust and old wood and something sour.
He pushed her against the wall.
She hit the concrete hard.
"Don't do this," she said.
"You already lost. You know the rules."
"There are no rules."
"There are always rules."
He grabbed her face and kissed her.
She bit his lip.
He pulled back, blood on his mouth.
He smiled.
"That's more like it."
---
He didn't undress her gently.
He didn't undress her at all.
He grabbed the collar of her shirt and tore it open, buttons scattering across the concrete. Her small breasts spilled free, her nipples hardening in the cold air.
She slapped him.
He caught her wrist and pinned it above her head.
"That's enough of that."
"Fuck you."
"Not yet."
He grabbed her jeans and yanked them down her legs, pulling them off with her underwear in one rough motion. She stood before him, naked from the waist down, her tanned skin pale in the grey light, her round ass pressed against the cold wall.
He grabbed her hips and spun her around.
She caught herself on the concrete.
"Don't—"
He kicked her legs apart.
She gasped.
He dropped his pants.
His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already hard. He stroked it once, watching her, and she felt a strange mix of fury and heat.
"You're going to remember this," he said.
"I'm going to forget it."
"Liar."
He drove into her without warning.
---
Dariana screamed.
He was thick—thicker than anyone she'd had before. The stretch burned, sharp and overwhelming, and her cunt gripped him like a fist. He didn't give her time to adjust.
He pulled back and slammed into her again.
Her head hit the wall.
"Fuck!"
He grabbed her hips and set a brutal rhythm.
Each stroke hit something deep and raw. She clawed at the concrete, her nails scraping, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"You like that?" he asked.
"No."
He slapped her ass.
She yelped.
"Tell me you like it."
"Fuck you."
He slapped her again.
She moaned.
"You're soaking wet," he said. "Your body doesn't lie."
She couldn't argue.
Her cunt clenched around him, pulling him deeper with every stroke. She hated herself for it. She hated him for it. But her body had stopped listening to her brain.
"You're going to come," he said.
"No."
"You are."
He reached around and found her clit.
She gasped.
He rubbed it in rough circles, matching the rhythm of his hips.
She came.
The orgasm ripped through her like a live wire, her body convulsing around his cock. She screamed, her voice echoing off the warehouse walls.
He didn't slow down.
He fucked her through it.
"That's it," he said. "Fucking take it."
---
He pulled out before he came.
She collapsed against the wall, her legs shaking, her cunt aching, her thighs slick with her own arousal.
He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her knees.
"Suck it."
She looked up at him.
Her eyes were wet, but her jaw was set.
"No."
He grabbed her jaw.
"I said. Suck it."
She opened her mouth.
He pushed his cock inside.
---
She gagged when he hit the back of her throat.
He didn't pull back.
He held her head and fucked her mouth with the same brutal rhythm he'd used on her cunt. She could taste herself on him—salt and heat and something sour.
"Look at me," he said.
She looked up.
Tears streaked her cheeks.
He didn't care.
"Swallow it."
He came.
---
She swallowed.
The taste flooded her mouth—thick, bitter, salty. She choked once, then twice, then swallowed again. He held her head until she'd taken every drop.
When he pulled out, she fell forward onto her hands.
Her body shook.
He stepped back and pulled up his pants.
"Good girl."
She wanted to kill him.
She couldn't move.
---
He didn't help her up.
He crossed the warehouse and picked up his duffel bag.
She pulled her torn shirt around her shoulders. Her jeans were somewhere on the floor. Her underwear was gone.
She didn't look for them.
She stood on shaking legs.
He walked to the door.
Then he stopped.
"One more thing."
She looked at him.
He pulled out his phone.
"I want to send a message."
He typed something.
Then he turned the screen toward her.
A group chat.
Briv, Patricia, Nicola, Dariana.
The message was already sent.
NOW, IT'S OFFICIAL. I FUCKED ALL 3: NICOLA, PATRICIA, AND DARIANA!
She stared at the words.
Her vision blurred.
"This was always the plan," Malcolm said. "Patricia was a transaction. Nicola was a lesson. You were a trophy."
He put the phone away.
"Tell your friends I said goodbye."
He walked out.
---
The warehouse was silent.
Dariana stood alone in the darkness, her torn shirt hanging from her shoulders, her legs bare, her body cold.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to run after him and break his fucking neck.
She did none of those things.
She found her underwear. She found her jeans. She dressed slowly, methodically, her hands shaking.
Then she walked outside.
The sun was fully up now, pale and distant behind the city's smog.
She pulled out her own phone.
The message was there.
She stared at it.
Then she opened the chat.
And she typed.
He's gone. I'm okay. Meet at the docks.
She hit send.
And she started walking.