Page 16 of Twisted Obsession
Lara tried to squirm from my hold, but she was too weak. But when I pinched the soft flesh on her inner thigh, she held still.
The spray of water felt good against my skin, but what felt even better was holding Larissa close to me. Setting her down, I turned her toward me, before moving her under the rainfall water head. While she stood beneath the water, I squeezed a healthy amount of my shampoo in my hand and worked it into her golden blonde hair in a thick lather.
“Tip your head back,” I ordered her so I could work the lather out of her hair.
As she tipped her head back, my eyes fell to her body, taking in every inch of her perfection. And to think that soon this would be all mine to do with as I pleased. I washed and rinsed her hair again, ensuring all the grime and dirt from the past two weeks was gone.
Turning off the water, I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it securely around my waist. Lara’seyes were on my chest as water droplets ran down the ink before being absorbed by the towel. Without warning, she placed her hand on my chest and traced the intricate tattoo of swirling roses and drops of blood along the right side of my chest. When she lifted her head and looked up, there was something in her eyes that broke through my hard shell. I couldn’t let this woman get to me. She was the enemy.
Drying her off, I lead her out of the bathroom and into my master bedroom. She was going to be my wife, so it was only fitting that she shared my bedroom. After grabbing a soft white t-shirt from my closet, I ordered her to get on the bed. She obeyed me with no backtalk.
Even though there was nowhere for her to go and nothing for her to get into that would aid in her escape, I still needed to show her who commanded her. Retrieving a set of handcuffs from the bottom drawer of my dresser, I walked over to my king-sized bed and sat beside her.
“This is to make sure you don’t do anything foolish,” I said as I snapped one cuff on her wrist and the other on the headboard of my four-poster bed.
“But what if I need to pee?” she asked, pulling against the cuff.
“Yuri will be standing right outside the door. Yell for him and he will uncuff you.” I kissed her on the forehead before pushing off the bed. “Marta will bring you something to eat.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have something to take care of. I won’t be long.” I kissed her on the forehead again, guilt burning inside me when I left.
~***~
“You have been quite the busy boy,” I remarked, gently lifting Drago’s bruised and bloodied head, the result of the relentless beating he had suffered at the hands of Stepan. The metallic scent of blood permeated the air as crimson rivulets trickled from his battered face, cascading down his bare chest to pool on the cold, unforgiving cement floor between his trembling legs.
“I haven’t done anything, Mr. Antonov,” he stammered, his voice quivering as the blood continued its relentless journey, staining his skin and the ground beneath him. “I would never betray you.”
“There is one thing I despise more than a thief. Do you know what that is?” I fixed my gaze on him as he weakly shook his head, a silent plea in his eyes. “It’s a liar. You can choose to tell me what I need to know and receive a swift death, or I can extract the truth from you slowly and painfully. What will it be, Drago?”
Turning my back to him, I approached the wooden table behind me, fingers curling around the hilt of my favorite knife. Its blade gleamed wickedly under the dim light, sharp as a razor, precisely how I preferred it. Pouring myself a glass of deep red wine, I took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the rich flavor linger on my tongue as I savored the torment and uncertainty etched on Drago’s face. Fear was a powerful, intoxicating thing. As I turned to face him once more, I noted with disdain the dark stain spreading across his trousers. Why did they always have to piss themselves?
“Tell me who you are working with?” I commanded.
“I’m not telling you shit,” he mumbled defiantly, drool mixing with the blood that painted his chest in an even, relentless stream.
“That, my friend, is not what I wanted to hear.” I pressed the tip of the blade against his right nipple before dragging it in a precise, unerring line across his chest to the left, leaving a thin trail of crimson in its wake.
“Ugh. You motherfucker,” he growled, pain and fear splashed across his face.
I knew Drago had leaked information about the shipment arriving at our warehouse, enabling our enemies to strike with precision. He had been a trusted ally for years, and it was difficult to believe he could turn against me. Yet, the evidence was damning—another shipment vanished under his watchful eye.
“Give me a name and this could end,” I demanded, the cold steel of the knife glinting in the dim light as I twisted it in my grip. I seized his greasy, matted hair, yanking his head back with a force that exposed the sinewy tension in his neck.
“Keep your eyes open. There is a bad grape among the vines,” he taunted, his voice a rasping chuckle as he spat a mouthful of blood onto the stained floor, the crimson droplets splattering like dark rain.
In one fluid, resolute motion, I drew the knife’s blade across his throat with precision, slicing from ear to ear. His eyes rolled back in a grotesque dance, and a torrent of blood erupted from the severed arteries, cascading down his chest in a ghastlywaterfall. Though he withheld a name, his cryptic warning told me enough.
“Have one of the men clean this mess up,” I ordered, turning away from the lifeless body. “Bring the car around. There’s someone I need to see.” The urgency in my voice cut through the room like a knife, as I knew the path ahead was now clearer.
Chapter Nine
Lara
Despite my improved situation with Dmitri, I remained his prisoner, and he would soon force me to marry him. The thought twisted in my gut like a knife, but unless I wished to be dragged back down to the dark, shadowy torture chambers and subjected to starvation, I had no other choice. He might claim me as his wife, but he would not be getting the heir he so desperately desired—at least not for another three years, thanks to the Nexplanon implant beneath my skin.
His bedroom was nothing short of magnificent. Dominating one side of the room was a grand four-poster bed, its massive frame intricately carved from rich, dark mahogany. Two elegant steps at the foot of the bed invited one to ascend into its luxurious embrace. Every piece of furniture in the room shared the same exquisite mahogany craftsmanship, from the stately dresser and the towering armoire to the pair of nightstands that flanked the bed. Near the expansive Frenchdoors, which opened out onto a private terrace, stood two sumptuous wingback chairs. They were upholstered in a deep, lush red velvet, exuding an air of regal opulence, and were positioned on either side of a dainty table, perfect for intimate conversations. The room was truly fit for royalty, though in this case, it was the domain of aPakhan, a monster.
