Page 19 of Savage Obsession

I have the uneasy notion that if his hands weren’t occupied, he might be squeezing my neck. Even when we were at each other’s throats before he left, I can’t recall ever seeing him so angry, so white-hot livid with rage.

“I was an idiot.” I’ll concede that much. “I should have realised, I see that now, but?—”

“But what? Was he so good in the sack that you’d ignore anything else?”

“No, not really.”

“What? A pervert who wasn’t a good fuck? Why doesn’t that surprise me? You were just too old for him.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Me? I’m disgusting?” He swerves the car through the gates of one of the city’s more upmarket hotels and rams it into a parking space. He turns in the seat to glare at me, his expression one of utter loathing. “I’m not the one who put our little girl on offer. Who didn’t protect her, even when she begged you. I’m not the one who let that pervert into her home to terrorise her.”

“That’s not how it was. I never thought?—”

“Yeah, right.” He slams out of the car and marches to the hotel entrance, leaving me to trail along behind him.

I catch up with him at the front desk.

“Reservation in the name of Bazyli Bartosz,” he tells the immaculately turned-out receptionist. “It was for one guest, but my wife is with me. Yes, a premium double suite will be fine.”

“I’m not his—” I begin.

“No, we don’t want a restaurant reservation. Yes, two nights initially.” He talks over my objections and tosses a credit card onto the desk. “No, no luggage. But I need access to a computer. Do you have retail outlets in the hotel?”

“Of course, sir. The mall is through there.” She gestures to her right with a perfectly manicured hand.

“I can’t stay here,” I protest. “What about…? What about my dog?”

He turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No.” I glare back at him. “I need to go home.”

He picks up the keycard which the receptionist slides across the desk, a puzzled expression on her exquisitely made-up features.

“Third floor, did you say?” He grabs me by the elbow and steers me across to the bank of elevators. Only when we’re safely inside does he release his grip.

“What do you think you’re doing? That receptionist must think we’re both mad.”

“Who gives a fuck what she thinks. We’ve shit to do.”

“What shit?”

“Finding our daughter would be top of my list.”

“But how can we…?”

The lift arrives at our floor, and the doors glide apart. He manhandles me out into the hallway, checks the key card, then shepherds me along the corridor to number three seven one. Once inside, he closes the door behind us and pockets the key.

“You wait here. Don’t even think about leaving. Make yourself comfortable, order something from room service.”

“I’m not hungry. You can’t make me stay here.”

“If you want my help, and if you don’t want to spend the next twenty years in jail, you’ll do as I say.”

“I just think?—”

“That’s the choice. Take it or leave it,” he snaps. “I’ll be back soon.”

---