Page 12 of Frozen Obsession

I grit my teeth as Jimmy pushes in deeper, making her gag. But it’s obviously an act. There's no way that small thin dick can make anyone gag, let alone her. My little snake can take a dick down her throat and not gag. I made sure of that. Myhands itch for the feel of a blade, to slit his throat and feel his warm blood coat my skin. But I don’t look away. I can’t. There’s something sickeningly mesmerizing about it—watching her take him, remembering how she used to be mine. How she used to beg for me. Now, here she is, debasing herself for this worthless piece of shit, the same way she did for Steve all those years ago. Deja vu.

But it’s worse this time. She’s broken—shattered by her own choices, her own poison. My little snake has turned into a junkie, her venom eating her from the inside out. I should be happy, should revel in the fact that her life is spiraling into the same hell mine did. But when Jimmy slips that little pill into her mouth after he's done, it stirs something deep and dark inside me. Something I can’t quite explain. How dare he destroy what’s mine to ruin.

Fuck him.

My black heart tightens as twisted empathy creeps in. Even if I break her, I’ll rebuild her. She won’t escape. She’s mine to fix—and ruin.

After Jimmy finishes, he smacks her ass and leaves, oblivious to the death stalking him. Good. He has no idea what’s coming.

I follow him through the woods, silent as the snow crunches beneath my feet. His panic sets in too late. He hears me, slips on the ice, but it’s already over. I grab the collar of his red-and-black hoodie and shove him into the trunk of his own Jeep. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I crank up the engine—the moron left his keys inside—and drive deeper into the woods, his muffled cries barely registering. No one will find him here.

Whistling softly, I pull him from the trunk. He fights, but I make quick work of him, my fist smashing his nose into a satisfying crunch. I drag him back to the old shed and tie him down. Blood drips from his broken face as he trembles, the cold sinking into his bones.

"Ro…" he groans, barely conscious. "You out of prison?"

I grin, leaning closer. "Yeah, Jimmy. And now I’m here for what’s mine."

He whimpers, trying to speak. "Please… I didn’t know…"

"Too late for that," I say, pressing the tip of my knife to his skin. "You should’ve known better."

Fluorescent lights flicker overhead as I carve into him, each cut slow, deliberate, savoring the way his screams echo through the night like a twisted carol of pain. His sobs grow weaker, his life draining away with every stroke of the blade, but I’m far from finished. Not until every ounce of suffering is wrung from him. He needs to be punished—broken, just like she is.

And when it’s over, when Jimmy’s lifeless body lies still, I’ll return to her. To what’s mine.

Because no one escapes me.

Chapter Seven

Xena

Itry to open my eyes, but everything is dark. It must still be nighttime. But I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. What the fuck? My head spins from the pills, my mind fuzzy, disoriented. Warmth pulses between my thighs. For a second, I think it’s Marcos inside me—Jimmy could never make me feel like this. But no… the rhythm is too familiar, too intense. This isn’t Marcos either. It’s too good, too deep, too overwhelming.

My body betrays me, giving into the pleasure as the realization hits me like a punch in the gut. This isn’t Jimmy, and it isn’t Marcos. It’s Roman. His touch is unmistakable, even through the fog of my confusion.

But how?

My traitorous body gives in with each brutal thrust, a twisted mix of terror and pleasure. How is this possible? Romans supposed to be out of reach in prison. The nightmare of his touch overwhelms me, leaving me questioning reality as I’m caught between fear and an unwanted climax.

I try to move, but my arms are locked above my head. Panic shoots through me as I realize my wrists are bound. The cool bite of something twisted around my wrists makes me shiver. The texture is smooth and slightly metallic, but there’s an electric hum beneath it, like faint vibrations against my skin. I can’t see—I’m shrouded in darkness by a blindfold. Yet, the soft, twinkling light against my skin tells me it’s Christmas lights, not just any ordinary rope. Terror swells insideme, but beneath it, that eerie pleasure continues to build. I hate how my body responds, how it betrays me, the climax creeping closer with each brutal thrust.

I know it’s him.

Roman.

His rough hands, his familiar violence, the way he claims me without hesitation or restraint. His grip on my throat tightens, cutting off my air as he fucks me harder. Each breath becomes a struggle, each second a countdown to something darker, something deeper.

"Roman…" I whisper, barely able to get the word out between gasps, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t, not until he gets what he wants.

The orgasm rips through me violently, leaving me shattered beneath him. My body convulses, torn between agony and ecstasy as he holds me captive in that moment, pushing me to the very edge. The pain becomes part of the pleasure, an inescapable torment that wraps around me like the lights binding my wrists. His hand tightens around my throat one last time, and the world goes dark as I lose consciousness.

When I wake up, the room is dark, quiet, and cold.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, realizing I’d slept through the entire day again. My limbs are free, the Christmas lights are still hanging where I left them, and the blindfold is gone. Was it all just a dream? My body aches with the memory of what happened—if it even happened at all. I should really lay off the drugs. Disorientation sharpens the edges of my thoughts, the lingering warmth clashing with the cold emptiness of the room. I sit up slowly, trying to piece together the fragments of my memory when a knock on the door makes me freeze

Sliding out of bed, my body still trembling, I grab the bat I keep behind the door. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I move cautiously toward the door. Only when I’m inches away do I realize I’m holding my breath. I exhale sharply, relief washing over me as I see it’s Marcos standing there, fully dressed in his green Cedarvale hoodie and jeans. Meanwhile, I’m still very much naked as I open the door.

Marcos’s expression is tense, worry etched into every line of his face. His green eyes look straight past me. "Xena, have you seen Jimmy?"

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