Page 17 of Taking Me

The message is clear—no privacy allowed. I take a deep breath, acknowledging Marklov’s power play, and step back, leaving the door wide open.

As I passed the mirror, I stole a quick glance at myself. Damn, I really pull this dress off well. It’s red and reaches just above my knees, hugging my curves perfectly—if I wasn’t bloated from stuffing my face like a vulture. My face, though, that’s what gets me. The makeup. I never wear makeup; I don’t see the point. But now, staring back at me, it’s like a mask hiding the pain that I am going through.

As a kid, I hated makeup. It wasn’t just a dislike; it was a deep-seated aversion. Every time my mom went out to meet those men, it was like a ritual. She’d dress in the skimpiest clothes, her face painted with layers of makeup. The sweet French vanilla perfume she wore was meant to drown out the stench of cigarettes and the heavy weight of her regrets.

I could always tell when she was about to leave. The way she meticulously applied her foundation, the careful strokes ofmascara, all of it was a mask. It hid the pain in her eyes, the broken dreams she never spoke about. The scent of her perfume would linger in the air long after she was gone, a bittersweet reminder of the life she was made to live.

Those nights were the hardest. I’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was okay or if she’d come back. The makeup that transformed her face also transformed my world, filling it with uncertainty and a sadness that was hard to shake. It was a mask for her, but for me, it symbolized everything that was wrong in our lives.

I turn, facing my back to the toilet, dropping down my lacey underwear while I lock eyes with Marklov.

“You’re a dream, Little Sinister. To have you as mine again is like finding a diamond in the rough.” His voice drips with satisfaction.

The moment those words left his mouth, my blood started to boil. I want to smash the mirror, grab a shard, and gouge out his eyes. The thought of ripping his tongue out, shoving it up his ass, and telling him to fuck himself crossed my mind more times than I can count. Each syllable he spoke felt like a slap in the face, igniting a fire of rage within me.

But I can’t act on it, not yet, at least. I have to bide my time and wait for the perfect moment. So, I force a smile, swallowing my anger, and play along. For now, I will let Marklove think he has the upper hand. Little does he know, his days are numbered.

* * *

The guests are going to be arriving soon. I’m too tired for this shit. I have been sitting here in this room filled with nothing but air for what feels like an eternity. I stared at the walls for so longthat my head started playing mind ticks on me, and they seemed to be moving at times.

I start slowly nodding out. My body is screaming for rest.Finally, I hear the door unlock, and instead of being greeted by the guard who brought me in here a while ago, it is Marklov.

“Are you ready,Little Sinister?” He huffed out.

I sit here in silence.Deep down, a feeling pulses its way through my body.My adrenaline makes my skin feel like it is on fire.

I stand up with my fists clenched, trying to push those feelings down. I need blood. I need to hunt. I would love it if Marklov would just pass out randomly right in front of me, I would suffocate him and harvest out his organs and feed them to wild animals so they could shit him out, and he would have a piece of ass one last time.

Marklov’s eyes narrow at me as he senses the tension radiating from my body’s reaction.

“Good,” he said, a twisted smile forming across his face.

“You’ll need that fire tonight.” He stepped aside, motioning for me to follow him.

I walk out, my mind racing with thoughts of revenge. Once we get to the grand room, it is filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, but all I could focus on was the pounding of my heart.

Marklov leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Remember, Little Sinister, play your part well, or there will be consequences.”

I nodded, forcing a smile as I stepped into the room. The guests turned to look at me, their eyes filled with curiosity and intrigue. I can feel their gazes piercing through me, but I hold my head high, determined not to show any weakness. Marklov keeps his hand on my lower back, pulling me into him. There is no chance that I’d be able to get alone in a place like this.Marklov is well-dressed. He could almost be handsome if he weren’t such a piece of shit.

Power radiates from the individuals in the room, from dark bosses to cartel members. My nerves are shot, every fiber of my being on edge. Panic grips at my mind, thoughts racing uncontrollably. I never handle large crowds well, and this room, filled with Marklov’s“colleagues,”is a nightmare. The atmosphere makes it hard to breathe, and my heart pounds rapidly in my chest. The sheer intensity of the situation overwhelms me, and I struggle to maintain my composure amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Every glance feels like a threat, every whisper a plot unfolding. The low murmur of conversations blends with the clinking of glasses, creating a cacophony that heightens my anxiety. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I can feel my hands trembling. The room seems to close in on me, the walls pressing closer with each passing second.

Marklov’s presence seems the most powerful, his eyes scanning the room with a predator’s gaze and a smile plastered on like a king. I try to steady my breathing, to calm the storm raging inside me, but it’s futile. I force myself to move along with Marklov and blend in, but every step feels like navigating a minefield. Any wrong move is potentially catastrophic.

Marklov senses my panic and excuses us from his conversation with a group of men. “Excuse us for a minute, amigos,” he says, trailing his hand down my arm to my hand. He plasters a fake smile across his face, gripping my hand tightly. We move to the kitchen. He pulls something out of his pocket.

“Take this,” he commands.

It’s a pill.

“No, I just needed a breather. I’ll be okay,” I say, turning down Marklovs offer.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret it instantly.

“Place your hands on the counter,” he commands.

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