Chapter 2: Trigger and Chains

Iskander watched Elara's eyes fix on the revolver. She hadn't blinked in what felt like minutes. Survival kicked in fast when death stared back that close. He nodded sharply to the guard posted near the wall, the one with the scarred knuckles who always carried that utility knife.

The guard moved quick, blade flashing under the bulb. He sliced through the wrist straps first, leather parting clean. Elara's hands came free, fingers flexing like she forgot how they worked. Victor started up right then, his voice cracking through the quiet. "Don't do it, Elara! We can talk our way out. Please."

She snatched the revolver off the scarred table, metal scraping wood. Her grip shook at first, knuckles whitening as she tightened hold. Iskander noted how her nails dug into the grip, chipped polish from whatever normal life she thought she had. Victor kept pleading, words tumbling faster now. "Think about the kids' accounts we set up. Everything we built. Don't throw it away for him."

The guard knelt next, sawing at the ankle straps. Leather gave way with a soft snap. Elara stood up unsteady, knees buckling once before she caught balance. She leveled the revolver at Victor's chest, barrel steadying inch by inch. Iskander stayed back, arms still folded. He wondered if she'd hesitate long enough for him to end it himself. People broke different ways under pressure like this.

Victor's face twisted, sweat mixing with the fear lines etched deep. He thrashed against his own restraints, chair legs scraping concrete in short bursts. The torso band held him firm, but his shoulders heaved with every jerk. "Elara!" That scream came out raw, final, like he finally saw the math didn't add up anymore.

She squeezed the trigger. The gunshot cracked through the warehouse, louder than Iskander expected in that tight space. Echoes bounced off the walls, fading slow. The bullet punched straight through Victor's sternum, fabric ripping open around the entry. Blood welled quick, dark red spreading across his shirt.

Victor's body jerked hard once, head snapping back against the chair. A spray of blood hit the floor between them, splattering concrete in uneven arcs. He slumped forward after that, straps the only thing keeping him upright. No more thrashing. Just dead weight now, eyes open but empty.

Iskander let the silence settle for a beat. Smell of cordite hung thick, mixing with the metallic tang from the blood. Elara stared at the body, revolver still pointed. Her chest rose and fell fast, like she ran a sprint. Iskander felt nothing for Victor, just the satisfaction of one loose end tied. Betrayal like theirs deserved quick ends, even if messy.

The captain stepped up then, grip firm on Iskander's arm. He pulled him into the shadows near the far wall, away from the light pool. Whispers came low, urgent. "Two bodies bring too much heat right now. Cops already sniffing around those compromised raids. We dump one, questions pile up fast."

Iskander glanced back at Elara, still frozen with the gun. Captain kept going, voice steady. "Their haul covers losses tenfold. Offshore accounts, properties, vehicles. We liquidate that, empire grows instead of bleeds. Keep her alive, use her as leverage. She knows too much already."

He weighed it quick. Money rebuilt operations, sure. But trust stayed shattered. Still, captain had a point. Two corpses meant forensics teams crawling the docks by dawn. One missing accountant? Easier to spin as flight. Iskander nodded curtly, eyes narrowing on the slumped form. "Fine. But she earns it."

Captain released his arm, stepping back into dimmer light. Iskander turned toward Elara, boots echoing soft. She dropped the revolver then, clatter loud on the table. Her knees gave out, body collapsing to the floor. Hands pressed flat on concrete, smearing through Victor's blood. "Spare me. I'll be your eternal slave. Anything you want, every day. Just let me live."

Her voice broke on those words, sobs mixing in. Iskander looked down at her, skirt hiked from the fall, thighs marked with strap indents. Desperation suited her, stripped away the logistics facade she hid behind. He thought about the codes she leaked, how those raids cost lives on his side. Slave? That fit punishment better than quick death.

He spoke cold, no room for debate. "Dispose of the body. You handle it solo. We take your passport, all evidence files from your safehouses. Leverage keeps you breathing." She nodded fast, wiping face with a bloody sleeve. Guards hauled Victor's chair upright first, straps cut to let the corpse slide free.

Iskander watched them work, directing with short gestures. One guard fetched tarps from the supply crates stacked nearby, heavy plastic unrolling across the floor. Elara stood slow, legs wobbling as she helped drag the body onto it. Victor's head lolled awkward, arms flopping limp. She wrapped him tight, folds overlapping to contain the blood pooling underneath.

Captain handed her keys to the blacked-out van parked outside. "Drive it yourself. Guards follow in the sedan." Iskander added his piece. "Dump site coordinates loaded in the GPS. Weight him down proper, no traces." She bundled the tarp roll with ropes from the wall hooks, hefting it toward the side door. Guards flanked her close, rifles slung low but ready.

Outside air hit cooler, warehouse district fog rolling in off the docks. Elara struggled with the weight, tarp dragging sparks on gravel. One guard grabbed an end, helping load into the van's rear without a word. She climbed in after, doors slamming shut. Iskander slid into the front passenger seat of the same van, engine turning over rough.

They rolled out slow, tires crunching pavement. Guards tailed in the sedan, headlights off for now. Iskander checked the mirror, Elara huddled in back with the body. Thoughts turned to what came next. Her offer lingered, body his now by default. Betrayal demanded payment in full.

Van hit smoother road after ten minutes, heading inland toward his stronghold. Iskander tapped the driver to pull over at a wide shoulder, empty stretch flanked by chainlink and scrub. "Wait here." He climbed into the rear, door clicking shut behind him. Elara shrank back against the tarp bundle, eyes wide in the low cab light.

He pinned her down quick, knee pressing her thigh to the metal floor. Her skirt bunched up easy, hands pushing weak at his chest. Iskander ignored that, fingers ripping blouse buttons open. Skin exposed pale under the dim glow, breasts heaving with each breath. She gasped as he shoved her legs apart, zipper already down on his pants.

His hand gripped her throat light, just enough pressure to still the fight. She went slack then, body trembling under him. Iskander thrust in hard, no prep, her wetness surprising even through the fear. Walls clenched tight around him, heat pulling deeper with every push. Elara bit her lip, stifling a cry that turned moan halfway.

He kept rhythm brutal, hips slamming against hers. Van rocked slight with the motion, tarp bundle shifting beside them. Her nails dug into his arms now, not pushing away but holding on. Iskander leaned close, breath hot on her neck. Betrayal's sting faded a bit in that grip, replaced by raw ownership.

She arched up sudden, meeting one thrust full. Wet sounds filled the tight space, her breaths coming ragged. Iskander gripped her hip harder, bruising likely, pounding faster as tension built low. Her eyes locked on his, plea turning hunger somehow. He felt her tighten again, body shuddering through release.

Sweat slicked between them, shirts sticking. Iskander drove deeper, chasing his own edge. The van's confines amplified every slap of skin, every hitch in her voice. Victor's tarp loomed silent witness, blood scent faint but there. Iskander growled low, slamming home one last