Page 12 of His Hold

Here’s the thing they never tell you about obsession.

It doesn’t come all at once, crashing down like some kind of divine punishment. No, it seeps in slowly, consumes you, and eats away at your sanity piece by piece until you're nothing but a mess of raw nerves and unfulfilled cravings. Then it spreads until everything you are is stained with it.

I’ve only been obsessed twice in my life.

The first time was when I was fifteen, watching my father burn alive while I held a knife to the throat of the man who lit the match—his brother. The two of them abused me until I was old enough to fight back. And I made them turn against each other when I figured out how easy it was to manipulate people. It doesn’t take much to create an illusion in someone’s mind and make them see what they thought they wanted to see.

Their deaths should’ve made me feel something—grief, rage, something—but all I felt was the rush of finally being in control. That tremendous satisfaction of power.

The second time... is her.

The girl who thought it was okay to hunt me. Stalk me. Invade my life like some kind of martyr on a fool’s quest.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t kill her when I had the chance.

Because I need her, too.

It’s sick. Twisted. But here I am, staring at her like she’s some kind of forbidden prize I have to ruin to claim. Like the only way to possess her is to break her first.

She’s standing there, wrapped in nothing but a towel, and her chest is heaving from the surprise of finding me in her apartment. Those big, accusing blue eyes glaring up at me like she’s got me figured out.

Too bad for her, that part of me died a long time ago.

“What makes you think I'd give you either?” she challenges.

I smile slowly, my grip tightening just enough to make her gasp. “Because,” I say softly, my voice almost inaudible, “right now, I have all the leverage.”

Her throat flexes beneath my hand, and that single gesture makes my cock twitch.

“You really think I’d beg for anything from you?” she tries to hold her own, even though her pulse is thundering so loud I can feel it beneath my fingers.

“Begging’s just the beginning. By the time I’m through with you, you won’t remember what it felt like before you met me.”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s all bark and no bite, Nikolai.”

“I will ask you one last time. Why are you following me, Katya?

She tightens her grip on the towel, chin lifting, bold despite her vulnerability. “Wow, you really think you can scare me, don’t you? That’s bold, even for a Bratva dog.”

“You’ve been playing spy, malyshka. Stalking me through the streets and the gutters. Tell me why, or this gets uglier.”

“Uglier? You’re already ruining my decor with that scowl. Maybe I just like the view—those tattoos do scream trouble.”

My jaw tightens, but her sass pulls at me, her towel slipping slightly, revealing the curve of her breast. I force my eyes up, ignoring the pulse in my groin. “Don’t play cute. Irina, your sister—she’s why, isn’t she? You think I took her?”

She steps forward, towel shifting, her skin glistening, and I swallow hard, my focus fraying. “You know something, don’t you?” she snaps, voice steady despite her near nakedness. “Men like you don’t prowl for nothing. Spill it, or I’ll scream.”

I laugh, low and rough, leaning in, our faces inches apart, her scent—soap and defiance—hitting me hard. “Scream, and I’ll gag you, printsessa. But I’d rather you talk. What’s Irina to you, besides a reason to haunt my steps?”

Her eyes narrow, but a flush creeps up her neck, betraying her. “She’s my blood, not some pawn in your vodka-soaked games. And you—what’s your excuse for breaking in? And don’t give me that nonsense that you wanted answers. You already told me that you know everything about me. Were you hoping for a show?”

I grin, teeth bared, my hand twitching to brush that towel aside, but I keep still, control tight. “You’re giving one already, Katya. Keep tailing me, and you’ll see more than you bargained for. Now, answer—why me?”

She tilts her head, towel slipping another inch, her voice a taunt. “Maybe I’m drawn to danger, Nikolai. Or maybe you’re just too pretty to ignore.”

My cock strains, her words a hook, but I step back, danger outweighing desire, for now. “Careful, malyshka. Pretty can bite.”

She holds my stare, the towel clinging precariously, and I know this dance is far from over. Because she’s beautiful. Fucking perfect, really. And it pisses me off. Pisses me off how much I want to rip that towel away just to see her shatter.

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