Page 18 of Frozen Obsession

Outside, the snows already started covering him, his face all pale and frozen. The storm’s doing its thing, but I’ve got to finish the job. I grab him by the ankles and drag him through the snow. The crunching sound is muffled, but I can still hear his bones scraping against the ice. It’s a noise that’ll probably haunt me later, but right now, it’s just background noise.

I toss his body into the storage, shoving him behind old tools and boxes. It’s not a perfect job, but it’ll do for now. I’ll deal with it properly later, once Xena’s completely broken.

With the storage locked up tight, I head back to the house. Xena’s still in bed, bound up and looking like a messed-up Christmas decoration with the lights all around her. The storm’s still raging outside, but in here, it’s just us and my plans.

I stand over her, watching her sleep, a cruel grin spreading across my face. My hand drifts to my cock, and I start stroking slowly, enjoying the sight of her tied up and helpless. When I’m ready, I finish on her stomach, the warm liquid spreading over her sun-kissed skin. I lean down, licking it off, feeling a twisted satisfaction as lap off the salty remnants of my cum. Once I’m done, I quietly unbind her, making sure she’s comfortable as she sleeps. My fingers graze over her pierced nipple, and I pause, realizing she still kept them—my mark. A faint smile tugs at my lips as I step back, careful not to wake her. I close the door behind me with a quiet click, locking it from the outside, trapping her in once again. It doesn’t bother me. As long as she ends up clean, nothing else matters.

With everything in place, I leave the house, my thoughts already shifting to what needs to be done next. I head back to the old hunter's cabin where I used to stay with my dad, the place now holding darker memories. Jimmy’s body needs to be dealt with, and I can already feel the thrill of planning our next game.

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Back in the shed, I get to work on Jimmy’s faceless body. The plan’s simple: pull his teeth, chop off his hands, and dump him in the lake. Lucky for me, I’ve got all the tools I need thanks to the trucker and my old man.

I start with the teeth. Pliers in hand, I yank each one out, dropping them into a bowl with a softclick. It’s gross, but it has to be done, can’t have him being identifiable if they ever find his pathetic body.

Next up are the hands. I grab the saw—the same one I used on the trucker—and get to it. The cabin fills with the grating sound of metal on bone, but eventually, the bone gives way, and each hand hits the floor with a solidthud. It’s messy work, but I keep going, whistling "Jingle Bells" like some twisted soundtrack to the whole thing. You know, keeping the Christmas spirit alive.

Once the hands are off, I take a look at what’s left of Jimmy and decide his legs are next. He’s going to the bottom of the lake, but not in one piece. As for his buddy Marcos, he’s set for a fiery dive down the mountain, too high to even notice as the flames consume him. That’s the plan.

I grab the saw again, the handle slick with sweat and grime. I take my time, sawing through Jimmy’s legs while whistling a tune that keeps me focused. Once done, I head to the shed for the wheelbarrow and lye—no clue why Dad kept it around, but it’s damn useful now. I toss Jimmy’s limbs into heavy black bags and load them into the wheelbarrow, each one heavier than any Christmas present.

The icy wind bites as I lug the bags to Jimmy’s car, humming "Frosty the Snowman" to keep my head in the game. After a few trips, I’ve got everything loaded up and ready to go. Before I head to the lake, I grab the lye—gotta make sure I wipe out any trace of DNA inside the car.

I take the long way to the lake, knowing the snow will cover my tracks. Coming from this direction will make it seem like he came from somewhere else, distancing him from me. The idiot had a burner phone for hustling, so I toss it down the snowy mountain road as I drive.

The drive to the lake is quiet—just the crunch of tires on snow and the low hum of the engine. I glance in the rearview mirror at the bags, but there’s noregret. Jimmy got what was coming to him. At the lake, I drop the body parts in different spots, making sure nothing will float up later. I spread the lye in the car, then push it toward the water. As the car breaks through the ice, I watch the headlights fade until the lake swallows everything.

I look up at the sky, letting the snow hit my face. My dick is rock hard, the adrenaline still pumping. There’s nothing like the thrill of ending a life. Under the stars, I feel invincible. The rush is everything, and I laugh, the sound getting lost in the snowy silence.

I feel alive.

I palm my cock, groaning with the urge to bury it in Xena. But I can’t leave any evidence here, so I head back to the cabin. There’s still more to do.

Chapter Ten

Xena

Iwake up the next day with the sun shining on me, everything feeling like a fever dream. The fact that I’m not bound makes me question whether everything I remember was just a hallucination. Maybe the pills were laced with meth again. It wouldn’t be the first time I had a bad reaction. All that happened—Marcos—had to be a nightmare. Jimmy.

"Roman!" I scream, my heart hammering in my chest as I leap out of bed and rush to the window. But there’s no blood, no bear trap, no car. Everything looks perfectly in place.

"What the actual fuck," I whisper, staring out the window, waiting for something—anything—to be out of place. Something to prove it was real. But there’s nothing.

I should really lay off the drugs, I think, but this is my life. This is my therapy—my way of dealing with the shitty hand I’ve been dealt. It’s just another excuse I keep feeding myself to make it okay to numb everything. Maybe if I can’t feel, I can’t remember. Not that it’s worked yet, but a girl can dream.

The cold air hits me, reminding me I’m still naked. I cross the room to my dresser and grab one of Roman’s old band shirts, slipping it on along with a pair of black leggings. The soreness between my legs tells me last night wasn’t just some twisted fever dream.

I catch my reflection in the mirror, running a brush through my tangled hair, but the gnawing feeling in my gut won’t go away. Something feels off. My heart picks up pace, and the anxiety that’s always lurking in the back of my mind starts creeping in.

I shuffle to the door and try the handle, praying it’ll open. But it doesn’t. It’s locked.

Panic flutters in my chest.

"Fuck. What the fuck?" I mutter, yanking at the door over and over, but it won’t budge.

Fucking Roman.

"ROMAN!" I scream, pounding on the door. "No... no... no locked doors!" Panic claws at my chest as I start pacing, my breaths coming faster. Not again. I can’t be locked up again. Not after being held captive for days, trapped in that nightmare, raped over and over until my mother’s boyfriend was finally caught.

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