Welcome back, Wicked Ones!

Glad most of you liked the last chapter! I'm sure it came as a bit of a shock to a lot of people, but that's Isabelle, right? Expect the unexpected!

A few people asked if she is lesbian or bisexual, and the answer is, I haven't really labeled her. Isabelle is just Isabelle, and personally, I think she's more interested in taking what she needs from whomever she can get it from.

Thank you to my beta, Fran S. Sunflower, and to my prereaders PearlyFox, DaniDarlingxx, and Lily Jill. I can throw all sorts of... ahem... sourness...at them out of context, and these ladies don't miss a beat!

Last Time:

"Lick me off your fingers and remember who your queen is."

Edward's throat bobs with a heavy swallow, but he slowly lifts his hand to his face. His eyes meet mine as his tongue comes out, swiping across his palm, and I've underestimated how turned on this would make me. Fuck.

He groans as he licks his palm, his eyes burning into mine.

I suck in a breath, willing my body under control. Anger and arousal have merged, and if I don't fucking leave right this moment, I'm going to tear this man apart with my need to devour him.

"Remember your fucking place," I spit, somehow managing to turn from him.

I make it back to the Rolls, making sure the tinted divider is up before I pull my phone out.

Isabelle

I'll be back in 20 minutes. I want you naked in my room when I return.

I only have to wait three seconds for Leah's response.

Leah

Yes, Mistress.

X

Le Nectar

Edward

Elle était trempée, débordante de nectar, et il souhaitait se noyer en elle.

fuck

Fuck

FUCK

I'm dizzy as fucking hell, the taste of Isabelle's scorching cunt still burning my tongue. I have never met a soul like her. She is otherworldly, bordering on the divine.

My cock is weeping, screaming with need, and steadily draining my brain of its much-needed blood supply. I can't think, can't reason. I want to follow her to that Rolls and worship her.

My eyes track her as she slides into the back of the car, looking almost completely unaffected.

Except I can still feel her swollen cunt on my hand, and I know.

Some part of her wants me. Whether she wants my body or my blood, I'm not quite sure, but at the moment, I'd happily give her both.

The door to the Rolls snaps shut, and the view of her is gone, lost behind a tinted window. My cock is aching, pulsing so aggressively, it actually hurts. I can't help myself as I slip around the building and palm myself, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

I have faced death many times in my life, but never, never has it tasted like that.

I lick my lips, groaning as I catch traces of the dark musky flavor of her cunt. What I wouldn't give to be buried in that divine sin.

I need to get my shit together, clear my mind, fucking focus on my damn job, but all I can think about is her.

I suck in a deep lungful of briny air, and it catches in my throat, making me shudder and cough. I can feel her, buzzing under my skin, burning me from the inside out.

My eyes screw shut, and I shudder as I try to steady my breathing.

The sound of the warehouse door opening strikes me like a bolt of lightning. I'm fucking working; I can't afford to lose my head.

I take another breath of sea air, and my head starts to clear. My cock is still screaming, but steadily, I'm able to breathe again.

One final breath, and then I'm pulling myself away from the side of the warehouse, turning the corner again to meet Jasper and Felix.

Felix looks me over but thankfully doesn't say anything as I rejoin them. Jasper is too busy charming the drug lord from Argentina to even notice me.

I'm familiar with Herrara's name, though I haven't ever met the man. As far as I knew, he didn't do much dealing north of Mexico.

It looks like that's about to change.

The two SUVs in the warehouse are filled with illegal weapons, a signing bonus, it would seem, from Isabelle. I wonder yet again what the hell her connections are. How does this woman have so much power, and yet no one has heard of her?

The Rolls is gone, and it's a little bit easier to think when Isabelle isn't around, even behind glass.

I stand and wait at attention for Jasper to need something, but he never does. Eventually, he and Herrara shake hands, wide grins on their faces as they joke together in Spanish.

I make a mental note to add the language to Jasper's dossier.

When the deal is finally settled, Jasper turns back to the large black SUV Felix, and I drove over. Felix gets behind the wheel, and I sit next to him up front while Jasper climbs in the back.

"Well, boys," Jasper says, sounding amused as we exit the docks and pull onto a highway leading us back to the city. "Call her what you will, but Isabelle sure as shit gets stuff done."

Felix doesn't respond, and the curiosity is killing me, so I glance back at him. "What do you mean?"

Jasper looks all too delighted to share his news. He leans forward, his arms resting on his knees.

"Isabelle doesn't play well with others. She typically just scares the shit out of people. Herrara isn't much of a fighter; that's why he hasn't gotten into too much trouble over the years. He keeps his head down and doesn't cross dangerous paths."

"That's why you brought Isabelle?" I ask. "To frighten him?"

Jasper chuckles. "One dealing with Isabelle, and most people don't want another. Herrara was willing to do just about anything to make sure he worked with me and only me." He leans back, his face smug. "Got him to sweeten the pot quite a bit. We're going to be richer than God himself." He chuckles quietly, then shakes his head. "Don't tell Isabelle I said that. She'd skin me for blasphemy."

I don't understand that. How can a woman so dark believe in God?

"Congratulations," I tell him, turning back front. Jasper hums.

"Just wait, Edward. This deal going through is going to make Isabelle's week. You haven't seen her in a good mood yet." He laughs, and I glance back at him. "There are bound to be a few visitors to her rooms this week."

Felix chuckles lightly beside me, and I frown. What does that mean? Does Isabelle fuck when she's in a good mood?

I hate the sick sense of hope in me at the thought.

Jasper's hand comes up, clapping my shoulder hard, and I look at him again. "Watch your back, Masen. You're just her type, and she is in no way gentle." He winks at me as he leans back again.

I have nothing to say to that, and even if I did, I'd not be able to voice it because my throat is suddenly tight.

I face forward, concentrating on breathing and willing my body to forget about Isabelle or the potentially wicked things she could do to me.

-V-

The next day, there is a commotion at the compound. I've been up, working out, and trying to write a few notes down for Sam before I interact with everyone, but the disturbance becomes too great to ignore.

I make my way out toward the courtyard, where a group of people has gathered around a blonde woman. I don't recognize her, but it's clear by the reception she's receiving that she's respected around here.

People are talking to her, one on top of the other, and she grins, clearly soaking in the attention. She's joking and laughing, which is not something I often see at the compound, and my curiosity is piqued.

"I know, I know," the woman jokes, holding her hands up. "It's been miserable around here without me." She cracks a wide smile, and people around her laugh in response. It's more noise than I've ever heard in the compound, and the sound carries through the stone courtyard, bouncing around the ancient stones.

People are still clamoring to talk to her when a hush falls over the crowd. Instinctually, I know why, even though I can't see her yet.

Isabelle appears, parting the crowd without any effort. People trip over each other to get out of her way.

The blonde woman sobers up when she sees Isabelle, and the women stare at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Isabelle nods. "Irina."

The new blonde smiles then, her body relaxing.

"I've brought you a present," she says, a wicked smirk on her face. Isabelle's eyes narrow, and I've come to learn that look on her face. She's intrigued.

She nods, and Irina turns, heading toward the car she'd pulled into the courtyard. Isabelle doesn't need to tell people to get lost; they start dispersing on their own.

I'm about to turn to leave when Irina pulls the trunk open, and I watch Isabelle's face. Her expression changes when she lays eyes on whatever is in the trunk. Her eyes narrow, sharpen in their focus and lighten with what could be delight.

It both thrills and terrifies me to see the look on her face.

Her eyes lift from the trunk, and she pegs me with her gaze. She summons me without words, and I'm utterly powerless to resist.

My feet carry me to her before I'm sure what is happening. My eyes stay fixed in her gaze until I'm right in front of her. She glances down at the trunk, breaking me from her spell, and I look down, taking a breath.

Despite what I've witnessed around the compound since my arrival, I'm still surprised to see the man bound and gagged in the trunk.

I look up at Isabelle and Irina. Irina looks positively giddy.

"Isabelle, I'm sure you remember Jay Jenks," she says, motioning to the portly man in the trunk. Isabelle's eyes fall to him.

"Get him inside."

I know the order is for me; I can't imagine Irina hauling this man over her shoulder. As it is, I'm wondering how she got him in there in the first place.

Jenks looks up at me, his gag muffling his cries of protest.

With a deep breath, I reach in to pull the man out. It's awkward; he's heavy and struggling, and it takes a few minutes to get him secured over my shoulder. When he's finally there, I turn to Isabelle.

"The Pit."

My stomach drops.

I can't imagine what this man has done to deserve the Pit, and my pity for him increases.

I start across the courtyard, grunting as I carry him. Thankfully, he's not struggling all that much. It seems most of the fight has drained right out of him.

I consider the types of crimes one would have to commit to be sentenced to the Pit. I have to remind myself that Isabelle operates on her own sense of justice, and she wouldn't arbitrarily torture a man.

At least, I hope not.

-V-

Jenks is a rotund but otherwise small man. He looks even smaller in the chair I've bound him to in the Pit. It brings me some degree of comfort that Isabelle had me secure him to a chair rather than the rack. Isabelle watches Jenks from across the room, her eyes dark and focused on him. I don't know if I'm supposed to stay or leave, and I hesitate by the door. Not even Irina is here, though I don't know why. Wouldn't she want to be the one in charge of delivering justice to Jenks, or is that strictly Isabelle's role?

"Stay."

Isabelle's voice is low, the power a seductive purr, and I look at her, realizing she's speaking to me. I take a deep breath and nod to her. Part of me is curious to stay; my natural curiosity pushing me to figure out Jenks' role in all of this.

But the memories of Gelson's death still haunt me. Can I bear to witness such a thing again?

Isabelle pulls a metal chair from the wall and sets it in front of Jenks.

"Mr. Jenks," she says, reaching forward and ripping the gag from his mouth. He whimpers as she yanks on his head.

"P-please," he sobs.

"Come now, Jenks," she purrs, sitting back. "I just want to talk." She leans back in the chair, her long legs crossing in front of her. "You remember me?"

He glances at her, nodding, before casting his eyes again to the ground. He can't look her in the eye for more than half a second. His fear is everywhere, clouding up the room.

"Lady," he mutters, ducking his head slightly. "I would have happily come had I been invited for a meeting." His voice is shaking, and the lie is evident.

I glance at Isabelle. The corners of her lips are curled into a small, cruel smile. "Would you now," she muses. "I suppose my team didn't want to risk it."

On the surface, she's being civil, almost friendly, but there is an arctic current running through her that is chilling the room.

Jenks is nearly cowering in the chair. "P-please. I-I don't know anything else."

Isabelle moves so fast, I miss it. One minute she's lounging in the chair; the next, she's leaning over Jenks, who is screaming, a fresh blade implanted in his thigh.

"I don't want games," she snarls. "You don't strike me as a man who can endure much," she says, leaning over him. "Tell me what I want to know, and your pain will be minimal." She reaches down, her fingers wrapping around the handle of the blade. "Lie to me," she twists the knife, and Jenks lets out a horrible shriek. "And there will be no end to your suffering. I am very skilled; I could keep you alive for weeks."

Jenks looks like he's about to pass out, and Isabelle nods to him. She rips the knife from his thigh and sits back as he cries. "W-what do you want to know-w?" he sobs.

She looks satisfied. "When we met, you told me you were an accountant," she says slowly. Jenks nods. "Tell me about Aro's organization."

Jenks looks confused, his eyes flickering to mine. "A-aro P-passon?" He blinks and swallows hard. "There is nothing to tell. He runs one of the leading tech companies in the world. His books are spotless, checked and triple checked by multiple third parties."

Isabelle holds the blade up again, her eyes narrowing. "And off the books?"

Jenks shakes his head. "There is nothing off the books," he insists. "Passon Industries is an upstanding company. Aro himself is set to be honored at the White House next—" his sentence is cut off when Isabelle slams the knife into his other thigh. Jenks screams so loud; I feel it ringing in me.

"What did I say?" Isabelle snarls, twisting the blade. He's thrashing against his restraints, but they are secure, and he doesn't go far.

"P-please!" he wails. "If you are talking about the prostitute, it's only the one!"

Isabelle rolls her eyes, ripping the blade from him again. "Jenks, I don't care about a single whore." Her eyes narrow. "I want to know about his illegal dealings."

Jenks sobs hard. "There are none!"

He's a blubbering, inconsolable mess, dripping with blood and snot. It's pathetic, and I feel pity for the man.

"This prostitute," I say, speaking before I can think better of it. Isabelle's head snaps in my direction, and there is murder in her eyes. I ignore her, looking at Jenks. "She goes to Aro?"

Jenks nods, his lips quivering. "She has been for some time," he confirms. "They have a set schedule, twice a month and no more."

I glance at Isabelle, who I can feel glaring at me. "So she knows Aro fairly well," I say slowly. "If she's a regular."

I can't read her face beyond her anger.

"What is this woman's name?" I ask, turning back to Jenks.

He hiccups. "I-I only know her by a single name," he whimpers. I nod for him to continue. "T-Tanya."

"When is Aro set to meet Tanya again?" I ask.

"T-thursday night," He whimpers. "At the Astoria."

I glance at Isabelle but then decide she's likely to try to kill me already for interfering, and this good cop, bad cop bit seems to be working on him, so I turn back to Jenks, stepping closer. "How did you come to find out about her if Aro's records are spotless?"

Jenks swallows. "Aro Passon is a very wealthy man. He has many accountants who cover many different aspects of his wealth." He pauses, glancing at Isabelle. "I am his public accountant. I don't know what goes on in his other books, though I know there are other books." He looks scared admitting this to Isabelle. I don't blame him. "Aro keeps me far from the illicit activity," he pauses, wincing. "Just for this very reason."

It makes sense. Jenks is not a strong man. Just by looking at him, it's easy to tell where his pressure points are. It would be too easy to break him.

Isabelle huffs. "So you are useless," she snaps. Jenks flinches, and I wonder just how deep a wound those words have struck.

"That's all I know, I swear it."

He looks hopeful that she'll let him go, and I feel pity take over me. Jenks, no matter how twisted his employer, is a decent man, it seems.

I wonder if Isabelle sees it too.

She lets out a breath, and it sounds like she's swearing in French before she looks up at Jenks.

"En votre honneur, St. Julian."

Before I can figure out what she's said, she is by Jenks side, stabbing him in the jugular. It's a spectacular hit, and he dies within moments.

Isabelle's eyes lift to mine, and it shouldn't turn me on to see her with murder in her eyes, knife in her hand, and covered in a man's blood, but it does.

"How dare you." Her voice is velvet poison, and it makes me shiver. "Did I ask you to fucking speak?"

She stalks toward me, Jenks blood still dripping from her blade. Instinct forces me to take a step back from her, even though I know it's pointless. "Did you learn nothing yesterday?" She snarls, backing me into a wall, the tip of her blade pressing against my chest.

I barely breathe.

"Maybe I'm just looking for another taste of that nectar." What the fuck did I just say?

Isabelle looks like she's about to skin me alive, and God help me, I welcome it.

She reaches up, grabbing my throat. I've never had a woman grab me by the throat before, but it fucking thrills me.

"You are recklessly close to death." Her voice is a whisper, but I feel it in every nerve in my body.

I want more.

"I'm liking the way it feels," I confide. If I am a dead man, at least I'll go out being as honest as I can be.

Isabelle trails her knife up my chest, and she steps into me so that our bodies are pressed together.

It's perverse to be turned on with a dead man in the room, but I already know I'm a twisted son of a bitch.

"And what would you do," she murmurs. "For another taste?"

The blunt edge of her knife scrapes against my throat, not enough to break the skin but just enough to light me on fire.

"Any number of depraved things," I tell her, ruthlessly honest. Her hips flex against mine, and my thigh lands between her legs. Even through the tight restriction of her skirt, she burns me.

"Hmm," she moans, and the sound carries through my soul and down into my aching cock. "You're a wicked creature."

She is every unholy sin, every unspeakable pleasure. Her words surge through me, and without conscious thought, my hips flex against her again, desperate.

She can feel me. I know she can. Her hips shift in response, and she undulates over me, somehow managing to reach parts of me that feel as if they've never been touched. Her blade scraps my throat again. "Tell me what you want most." Her poisonous tongue drips honey, and I want to lap at her.

"I want to slam you into this wall," I tell her, surprised at the candor she's pulled from me. "I want to fuck you until you can't breathe."

Her breath catches ever so slightly as her eyes flicker to mine. "Is that all?"

I smirk at her, and a confidence I didn't know I had comes forth, being unleashed by this woman.

"No, that's where I'd start," I correct her. "I'd use that wicked little knife of yours to show you how exquisite the edge of death can feel." My hips flex again, and I feel her grind herself down on my thigh just a little harder. "Then I'd wrap my hands around your throat and fuck you until you knew why they call god a man."

Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the burning need in her. This woman wants me to dominate her as much as she wants to dominate me.

There is nothing in this life I want more.

"You're an arrogant ass," she grunts, grinding her hot cunt onto my thigh one more time before stepping back from me. "Get out of my sight before I kill you too."

I lick my lips and consider pushing it. I can see her on the edge of giving in, but there's a fucking dead man in the room, and I'm only now remembering that.

I suck in a deep breath and turn to leave the pit, with the resolve burning through me.

Soon.

Whew! Things are heating up between these two! As a reminder, I am running a NSFW Vengeance chat on FB where I post naughty teasers, and we talk about a few of the more... intense moments of the story. If you are interested in joining, just let me know!

Translations:

1. Le Nectar - The Nectar (French)

2. Elle était trempée, débordante de nectar, et il souhaitait se noyer en elle. - She was drenched, overflowing with nectar, and he wished to drown in her. (French)

3. En votre honneur, St. Julian - In your name, St. Julian. (French)