Page 37 of Frozen Obsession

Vik moves toward the window, his impatience growing, glancing outside at the snowstorm. I pray Roman is on his way, but knowing my shitty tires, he might be stuck—or worse.

"He might not be coming," I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll die, and I won’t even know why."

Vik turns, his cold blue eyes boring into me with disgust. He marches back toward the bed, yanking at the lights wrapped around my legs, freeing them. The moment I feel my legs loosen, I kick with all my strength, landing a blow right between his legs.

"BITCH!" he roars, doubling over in pain.

I smile grimly and bite harder at the cables around my wrists. The final strand snaps, and I free one hand, but before I can reach for the other, a Doc Marten slams into my face. The world spins, and everything goes dark.

The cold hits me first—piercing, sharp, sinking into my bones. It's wet, too. Freezing water laps at my feet, my body shivering uncontrollably. I try to move, to break free, but the numbness is overwhelming. When I finally manage to open my eyes, the world around me spins in slow motion. The blurred image of myself tied to a tree almost submerged in the freezing lake slowly comes into focus. My stomach clenches, nausea clawing at my throat.

"Nice of you to join me," Vik's voice cuts through the haze, distant and muffled like he's talking underwater. My head throbs with the effort it takes to focus on him. He stands in front of me, towering, but he’s nothing more than a ghostly figure in my spinning world. My limbs are heavy, my body unresponsive, and my thoughts are slipping further away, tangled in a drugged fog.

His hand makes contact with my face in a light slap, dragging my focus back, just for a moment. "Don’t die yet. You’ll miss the best part." His words sound almost amused, but there’s a venom beneath them, like he’s savoring the torment. He lets go of my face, and I can’t stop my body from tipping sideways, the world tilting with me. I’m tied to the tree—fuck—he’s cut it up, and I know what’s coming. The lake will swallow me whole, and I'll be too out of it to even fight back. My chest tightens, panic clawing at the edges of my mind.

But it's too cold, too slow. My teeth chatter uncontrollably as I struggle to breathe. My head swims, light and airy, like I’m floating away. "Ro..." I manage to whisper, my voice slurred, barely audible. It feels like my heart’s skipping beats, stuttering in my chest. I’m not going to make it—Roman won’t even know what happened to me. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I feel the heat of tears streaming down my ice-cold cheeks.

"Why?" I whisper again, the word barely forming as I shiver violently. I can’t stop it. My body’s shutting down, but I can’t stop the flood of emotions pouring out. The tears feel like fire against my frozen skin. Everything’s becoming so distant. Vik’s attention is elsewhere now, his figure moving in and out of focus. I try to hold onto the moment, to stay aware, but my body betrays me. I can hear a chainsaw somewhere, the harsh buzzing sound a distant threat.

My body lurches to the side, and I vomit, the sudden motion wracking my entire body with pain. My throat burns, my stomach twisting and convulsing. I chokeon the bile, coughing and spitting, the bitter taste lingering. My vision swims again, blurring as I gasp for air, tears mixing with the vomit staining my chin.

So cold. So fucking cold.

I try to cling to consciousness, but it’s like slipping underwater. My skin is ice, my fingers are numb, and my mind is retreating into darkness. Vik is still talking, still pacing, but his voice is just a hum in the background, barely audible. My breath is shallow, my heart sluggish. The pills are taking me under, dragging me down into the black abyss, and I can feel it—the end.

"Roman," I try again, but it’s barely a whisper, barely a sound at all.

The world tilts again, and I can't fight it.

Chapter Twenty- Two

Roman

Idon’t know what the hell makes me pull out her phone and dial 911, but I do. I’ve always been the type to say, "Fuck twelve," but the truth is my girl is an addict, and every Xena-sense in me is screaming that something’s wrong. I’d rather be safe than sorry, and given how slow I’m moving, it's better to be safe than sorry. I’d much rather have her embarrassed than OD'ing somewhere all alone.

"911, what’s your emergency?" the operator’s voice cuts in.

I hesitate, the words caught in my throat.

"911, what’s your emergency?" she repeats.

I hang up, cursing myself. I don’t want to sound like a fucking idiot, plus I’m almost there. She’s fine. I’m just freaking out. But the closer I get to our property, the stronger the feeling gets, twisting in my gut like a knife. My eyes start scanning the area for any hints of danger, and that’s when I spot it—histruck. Tucked behind the rocks, hidden in the snow. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but I do because prison trained me to always be on guard. For ten fucking years, I stayed in fight mode, eyes vigilant, body ready to attack.

I’ve always been a "bite first, ask questions later" kind of guy, and that attitude saved my ass a few times on the inside. Not always though—it didn’t save me from getting jumped and raped. But that was on me. And I swore, never again.

I slamon the brakes, my truck skidding slightly as I pull over abruptly. If this asshole is lurking around, I’m going to kill him. The thought is cold, steady, and I’m grateful I didn’t call the cops. The last thing I need is for them to interrupt what I’m about to do. Because Tony’s goon is a dead fucking man.

I jump out of my truck, adrenaline pumping, and sprint toward the house. Bite first, ask later. But when I get to the truck, it’s empty. No tracks. No signs of life. Just snow... endless fucking snow.

Then I see it.

A newspaper, folded and tucked under a hat inside the truck. My blood runs cold as I open the door and pull it out, the paper crinkled. My stomach sinks when I notice it's not just any newspaper. It’sthatnewspaper. A clipping from ten years ago, plastered with my mugshot, hands behind my back, covered in blood, as I was brought into the station.

"Fuck!" I snarl, my fist smashing into the truck’s window. Glass cracks under the force, and pain shoots up my hand, but I barely register it. My stomach drops, a heavy, sickening weight.

"Xena," I growl, her name falling from my lips as I take off toward the cabin, leaving my truck behind without a second thought. No way am I alerting anyone to my arrival.

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