Page 26 of Twisted Obsession
“Yes, boss,” Stepan replied with a curt nod, his obedience unquestioning as he turned away, leaving us alone once more.
Dmitri extended his hand toward me, an unspoken demand for trust. “We are going to settle this once and for all,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of finality.
Uncertain of his intentions, I hesitated, ignoring his outstretched hand. Instead, I pushed myself up from the floor,first to my knees, then to my feet, determined to stand my ground.
Without another word, Dmitri moved to his ornate desk, the dark mahogany gleaming under the soft glow of the lamp. He poured himself a glass of vodka, the liquid shining like liquid crystal in the dim light.These Russians and their vodka, I thought wryly.What I wouldn’t give for a shot of tequila right now. Taking advantage of the brief silence, I pressed him further. “What happened earlier that made you lock me in the bedroom?”
His jaw tensed, muscles flexing with a mix of frustration and regret. “A group of men breached the property’s perimeter. We stopped them from reaching the mansion,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of self-reproach for allowing the lapse in security.
“Do you know who they were?” I asked, my heart fluttering with a fragile hope that perhaps my father, biological or otherwise, was attempting to rescue me.
“No,” Dmitri replied, slamming his glass down on the desk with such force that the vodka splashed over the sides, pooling like a small shimmering lake. “The men we didn’t kill fled,” he added, his tone cold and final, leaving no room for further questions.
An hour later, Dmitri seized my hand with an iron grip and led me out of his study toward the dining room. His strides were long and purposeful, forcing me to take three hurried steps for each of his. I struggled to keep pace as he dragged me behind him with an intensity that left no room for protest. Upon reaching the dining room, I was met with the penetrating gaze of twelve men seated around an imposing table, their eyes fixatedon me with unsettling intensity. To the uninitiated, the men gathered at the long table might have appeared as respectable businessmen, their suits crisp and their expressions composed. Yet beneath the veneer of civility lay a chilling truth: each man was a seasoned killer, having tasted the intoxicating rush of power that came with ending a life.
Dmitri released my hand, the sudden absence of pressure leaving a tingling sensation on my skin, and pulled out a chair at the head of the table. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding.
“I’m not a fucking dog,” I retorted, yanking my hand away from his grasp defiantly.
His response was swift and brutal—a single, steely glance followed by his hand clamping around my throat, forcing me into the chair with undeniable authority.
Dmitri remained standing, surveying the room with a piercing gaze, ensuring he locked eyes with each man present. “I apologize for the abrupt summons,” he announced, his voice carrying a weight that demanded attention. “But it is time to demonstrate to my beautiful wife that I am not a liar. I request that all of you raise your right hand for her to see.”
I lowered my head, dread coiling in my stomach at the prospect of what I might witness. My reluctance only served to stoke Dmitri’s simmering anger. He hauled me upright by the back of my neck, lifting me from my chair with a force that brooked no argument.
“It appears my wife requires a closer inspection,”
“Stop, Dmitri,” I pleaded, humiliation washing over me in waves as I stood exposed before the snickering assembly.
Dmitri was relentless, ensuring I scrutinized the right hand of every man encircling the table as he held me by the neck and presented me before each man. Their laughter and mocking whispers in Russian filled the air like a noxious cloud, words like, ‘glupaya suka,’ ‘igrushka,’ and‘tugaya pizdad,’rippling with disdain. Despite my limited Russian, I understood their contemptuous insults: “stupid bitch,” “toy,” and “tight cunt”
“Tishina, silence,” Dmitri bellowed, his voice cutting through the room like a knife, commanding the immediate attention of the men. “If any of you disrespect my wife again, I will have your tongues cut out and shoved so far up your asses you’ll feel it the back of your throats and choke on it. Now get the fuck out.”
His words were clear and sharp, echoing with a menacing promise that even I could not ignore. Dmitri’s anger was palpable, a storm brewing beneath his calm façade, directed at his men for their earlier chastisement of me. Yet, despite his furious defense, the monstrous shadow he cast was undeniable. None of this would have unfolded if he hadn’t yanked me from my chair with the brute force of a beast, compelling me to scrutinize each of their hands. Perhaps he wasn’t physically present the night my mother was murdered, but that didn’t absolve him of potentially giving the order.
The men of the Bratva brotherhood filed out of the dining room in a swift, obedient exodus, leaving only Dmitri and me in the oppressive silence that followed. It was in that moment of solitude, with only his formidable presence looming nearby, that I found myself wishing for their return.
Dmitri turned his gaze to me, his eyes ablaze with an inferno of rage. “On your knees,” he commanded, his voice a low, menacing growl.
“What? No!” I protested, my voice quivering as I edged further away from him, the cold hardwood floor creaking beneath my feet.
“I am not going to ask you again, Lara,” he warned, his voice a deadly whisper. “On. Your. Fucking. Knees.”
Defiant, I refused to comply. With a swift and brutal motion, he reached behind my head, his strong fingers tangling in my hair, and forced me to my knees. The impact sent a jolt of pain through my bones as they collided with the unyielding floor. His other hand, large and calloused, wrapped around my throat, his grip tight and dominating. He unbuckled his belt, the metal clanking ominously, and lowered his zipper. Pulling out his already hard cock, it jutted forth, a weapon meant to intimidate and control.
He looked down at my helpless form, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and malice. “Lick your lips,” he ordered, his voice dripping with cruel anticipation.
A fresh tear escaped from the corner of my eye, tracing a warm, wet path down my cheek. I knew what he wanted, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I had only seen his cock once before, but to have it rammed down my throat, the thought sent a shudder of revulsion through my body.
“Please, Dmitri. I’m sorry. I should have believed you,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper.
“Open your mouth,” he demanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“If you put that thing in my mouth, I’ll bite it,” I fired back, my teeth clenched with determination.
The bulbous head of his thick cock hovered less than an inch from my lips, a menacing threat.
“Try it and see what happens,” he challenged, his voice a low rumble. “Now open your fucking mouth.”
