The convoy finally reached the Voss estate just after midnight. While Lauren was still painting the city red, the guards had made their own assumptions.
They dragged Ryan out of the SUV by his hair and threw him into the underground "slave quarters" ...a grim, windowless block beneath the main mansion that everyone in the organization simply called The Kennel.
Concrete floors stained with old blood, iron bars, dim red emergency lights, and the constant smell of fear and piss. A dozen other broken souls were already chained to the walls or locked in small cages, some sobbing, some staring blankly at nothing.
The guards laughed as they shoved Ryan inside a bare cell and slammed the heavy door.
"Another pretty toy for the boss," one of them sneered, locking the chain around his ankle. "He'll learn quick. They all do."
Ryan collapsed onto the cold floor, glasses still missing, vision blurry and terrifying. His whole body shook uncontrollably. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks as he curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around his knees.
"I-I didn't do anything…" he whispered, voice cracking. "Please… I just want to go home…"
No one answered. The other prisoners only looked away. In this place, hope got you killed faster.
Meanwhile, on the top floor of the mansion, Lauren Voss kept her promise to the Grigori.
Exactly fifty-three minutes after the call, she personally delivered the gift.
A black velvet box, tied with a blood-red ribbon, was left on the doorstep of Grigori's private villa.
Inside: his eldest son's severed cock, still warm, placed neatly beside two of the boy's fingers arranged like a bow. A small handwritten note in Lauren's elegant script rested on top:
"Next time it'll be yours.
... The Ice Queen"
Grigori's screams could be heard three blocks away.
Satisfied, Lauren finally headed to her private residence wing the sprawling penthouse suite that took up the entire top two floors of the mansion. She shrugged off her blood-speckled coat, poured herself a glass of 30-year-old scotch, and pressed the intercom.
"Bring me the boy. The soft one from the apartment tonight."
Two minutes later, three guards burst into her living room, faces pale.
One of them cleared his throat nervously. "Ma'am… the new kid… we put him in the Kennel with the others. Thought he was just another slave for the gambling debts."
Lauren turned slowly. A low, dangerous laugh slipped from her lips... cold, amused, and completely without warmth.
The guards froze. In their world, when Lauren Voss laughed, someone usually died screaming within the hour.
The lead guard started stuttering, sweat beading on his forehead. "M-m-ma'am… d-did… did we do anything wrong? We didn't know... he looked like every other worthless piece of shit we collect..."
Lauren's laughter faded into a sharp, icy smile. She set her glass down with a soft clink and walked toward them, heels clicking like countdowns.
"I want him in my apartment. In my spare room. Five minutes. If he has even one new bruise that wasn't there when I took him, I will personally remove your spines through your throats and use them as coat hooks. Understood?"
The guards nodded frantically, already backing toward the door.
"Yes, ma'am! Right away, ma'am!"
They practically sprinted out.
Lauren walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at her glittering empire. Rain still fell in sheets.
She took another slow sip of scotch, the corner of her mouth twitching.
"Not yet, little rabbit," she murmured to the dark glass. "Your cage is much prettier than that."
Exactly four minutes and forty seconds later, the guards returned dragging a shaking, barefoot Ryan between them. His ankle was raw from the chain, face streaked with dried tears, body trembling so hard his teeth chattered.
They had thrown a thin blanket over his shoulders but nothing else. He looked even smaller under the bright lights of her penthouse.
Lauren didn't move from the window at first. She simply watched him with those frozen steel eyes, calculating, possessive, already deciding how many pieces of him she would claim.
Ryan lifted his blurry gaze, voice barely a whisper, cracked and terrified.
"P-please… I don't know what I did… just let me go home…"
Lauren finally turned fully toward him. Just the same ruthless queen who had ordered a man castrated less than an hour ago.
>>>>>
The guards practically shoved Ryan through the doorway of the spare bedroom and vanished the second Lauren's cold voice cut the air.
"Get out."
They didn't need to be told twice. The door slammed shut behind them. A heavy click echoed as Lauren turned the lock from the inside, sealing Ryan in with her.
The room was massive bigger than his entire shitty apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the rain-drenched city, a king-sized bed with black silk sheets, dark wood furniture that probably cost more than his father would ever see in his life. Everything smelled like expensive leather and cold power.
Ryan stood in the middle of it all, barefoot, trembling so violently his knees knocked together. His arms wrapped tightly around his chest as fresh tears slipped down his cheeks.
Lauren leaned against the locked door, arms crossed, watching him like a predator studying a wounded animal.
"Bathroom," she ordered, voice flat and sharp.
Ryan's head jerked up. "H-huh…?"
"I don't like repeating myself."
He nodded so hard and jerkily it looked painful, a broken little whimper escaping his throat. He spun around, eyes wide and blind, and stumbled toward the first door he saw. His shaking fingers fumbled with the handle. The door swung open.
Soft lights flickered on automatically, revealing an enormous walk-in closet lined with designer dresses, coats, and heels all in blacks, deep reds, and silvers. Everything screamed Lauren Voss.
Ryan froze, confused and terrified.
A low, dark laugh rolled from Lauren's throat behind him. "Not that one, little rabbit."
He whipped around, face burning with humiliation, tears spilling faster. His hands were shaking so badly he almost missed the second door.
When he finally pushed it open, cool marble and soft lighting greeted him the actual bathroom. A massive glass shower, black marble counters, a tub that could fit four people.
Before he could take another step, Lauren moved.
She stepped in right after him and locked the bathroom door with a decisive click. The sound made Ryan flinch like she'd fired a gun.
He backed up until his spine hit the cold marble wall, breathing fast and shallow. "P-please…" he whispered, voice cracking pitifully. "I… I don't know what you want…"
Lauren didn't answer with words.
She closed the distance in two slow steps, gloved hands rising to the collar of his dirty, torn shirt. Her fingers began unbuttoning it one by one with deliberate, unhurried precision.
Ryan's breath hitched. His hands came up hesitantly, hovering near her wrists but too scared to actually touch her. "P-please…? D-don't… I-I…"
Lauren's head snapped up. Her steel-grey eyes locked onto his with a glare so cold and ruthless it felt like a physical slap. The words died instantly in his throat.
Ryan's gaze dropped to the floor. Fresh tears rolled down his flushed cheeks as he stood there, trembling, letting her unbutton his shirt without another sound. His shoulders shook with silent sobs he tried desperately to swallow.
The fabric slid off his thin shoulders, revealing pale skin already marked with fresh bruises from his father's fists and the rough handling of her guards.
Lauren's eyes traced every mark, every tremble, every tear but her face remained hard, unreadable, the same ice queen who had ordered a man's cock delivered in a gift box barely an hour ago.
She tossed the dirty shirt aside like it offended her.
Ryan stood there half-naked, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, crying quietly, too terrified to look up, too broken to run.
Lauren's voice finally cut through the heavy silence, low and commanding.
"Keep crying like that… and I might actually enjoy breaking you."
She reached for the buckle of his belt next.
The rain hammered against the windows outside, but inside the locked bathroom, the only sounds were Ryan's soft, terrified whimpers and the steady, ruthless click of Lauren's fingers claiming what now belonged to her.