Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ross paused for a brief moment, turning his head just enough to give her a quick, amused glance. His lips curved into a small, teasing smirk.

"You make me blush, Maya. I hope you enjoy the show, then." His words were light, but the underlying coldness in his tone made it clear he wasn't joking.

With that, Ross raised his hands, and a hammer materialized in his grip.

It gleamed under the dim lighting, its weight evident as he held it casually, almost as though it were nothing more than an everyday tool.

Maya had a fleeting thought—How did he get that hammer?—but the memory of his previous cryptic answers stopped her from voicing the question.

Still, she trembled in place when she remembered something.

Maya could not help but shiver at the memory of this very same hammer.

The sound of it, the brutal impact, the screams—it all came rushing back to her in a tidal wave.

She felt her stomach churn, a wave of nausea rising within her.

For a moment, it felt like the world around her spun, and she almost puked right then and there.

Her throat tightened, and the bitter taste of acid bile rose up, threatening to escape.

But she managed to hold it back, her body trembling as she fought to regain control.

She swallowed hard, the taste lingering in the back of her throat, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, trying to push the memories—and the sickness—away.

Maya stayed silent instead.

"No! No, please!" one of the gangsters shouted, his face contorting with panic as he scrambled to free himself from the ropes that held him.

"Stay back!" another yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.

"Not me! Go to Plum or the boss first!" A third gangster, his hands trembling, looked frantically at Nico, who was sitting, frozen, his eyes wide with fear.

The bravado was gone—replaced with raw, primal fear.

Ross's smirk deepened as he surveyed them, his eyes locking onto the one who had spoken last.

"Oh, don't worry," he said with chilling calmness, his voice dripping with mocking amusement. "I've got time for all of you."

And then, the hammer fell.

The first blow was swift and brutal, and the sharp crack of it echoed in the room, followed by a strangled scream.

"AGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

The sound of it was almost unbearable, but Ross didn't flinch. He didn't even pause as the man writhed beneath his grasp, his face contorted in agony.

Instead, Ross continued, each swing measured and deliberate, each hit a reminder that mercy was not something he offered to those who crossed him.

Maya stood rooted to the spot, her gaze locked on Ross and the gangsters.

She felt a strange mix of horror and awe—horror for the violence unfolding before her eyes, and awe at the sheer efficiency and coldness with which Ross handled it.

The gangsters, who had once been so confident, now begged for mercy. The ones who had mocked him, who had threatened Maya, now screamed in terror, pleading for their lives.

But Ross paid no heed to their pleas. He continued to swing the hammer, each impact accompanied by another scream, another echo of pain.

The air in the room grew thick with blood, sweat, and fear, the stench of it heavy in the small space.

The gangsters' cries filled the room, each one more desperate than the last, but Ross's expression never wavered.

Maya could barely tear her eyes away, her heart pounding in her chest.

Part of her wanted to turn away, to block out the gruesome scene in front of her, but another part—one she refused to acknowledge—couldn't help but be mesmerized.

There was something undeniable about Ross's control, about the way he moved with such precision and purpose.

Each swing of the hammer was like an artist's brushstroke, each hit a deliberate step in a process only Ross understood.

The gangsters, now bloodied and broken, begged for their lives, but their cries fell on deaf ears.

"No, please! Not me!" one screamed, his face a mask of terror. "I'll do anything! Just let me go!"

"Stay back, I said!" another pleaded, his voice frantic. "Go to Plum first, or Nico! Please! They're the ones at fault here! We're just following orders!"

But Ross didn't even flinch. The cries faded into the background as he worked, his focus unshakable. Continue reading at empire

Maya stood there, unable to look away, as Ross carried out his grim work. He was like a force of nature—unstoppable, ruthless, and unrelenting.

The hours seemed to stretch on, each minute more agonizing than the last.

The sounds of the gangsters' tortured screams and the sickening thuds of the hammer filled the room, mixing with the low hum of the lights above.

Finally, when the last of the gangsters had been silenced, their bodies lying in a broken heap on the floor, Ross lowered the hammer with a sigh of satisfaction.

He wiped his brow, as if the task had been a mere inconvenience, and looked at the carnage he had left behind.

"All done," he said softly, his tone casual, almost like he had just finished a routine task.

For eight hours, Ross worked, each strike a deliberate blow meant not just to break their bodies, but to prolong the agony these bastards would endure.

Every scream, every pleading cry, was music to his ears, but he wasn't satisfied with just their screams.

He wanted them to feel it—feel every second of their torment, every ounce of suffering. He didn't rush.

There was no need to.

The hours stretched on as he carefully broke bones, shattered spirits, and pushed them beyond the point of sanity.

Maya was still frozen, her body trembling as she took in the aftermath.

The room was eerily quiet now, save for the soft drip of blood falling onto the floor, the gangsters motionless in their painful defeat.

She had ever seen anything like it once. Even after everything she had witnessed, the brutality, the coldness, was staggering.

Ross turned to her, his expression unreadable for a moment, before it softened.

He stepped closer, reaching out to gently cup her cheek, his touch tender despite the violence he had just unleashed.

What was truly unbelievable was that, despite the hours of brutal torture, not a single drop of blood touched Ross's body or clothes.

"It's done," he whispered, his voice low and soothing.

Maya nodded slowly, her emotions a tangled mess.

She could still hear the echoes of the screams in her mind, but in Ross's arms, there was a strange sense of peace, a feeling that nothing could harm her while he was there.

"Let's go," Ross said, his voice steady. He offered her his hand, and without a word, Maya took it, allowing herself to be led away from the bloodied room.

They walked through the door, leaving the remains of the gangsters behind, their bodies silent witnesses to Ross's wrath.