Page 10 of Twisted Obsession
The aftereffects of the drug overwhelmed me, and I fought to stay awake. Resting my head on the pillow, I stared at the door until I could no longer keep my eyes open. When I woke, I found a tray of food beside the door on the floor. Instantly my stomach began to protest, reminding me that the last thing I had eaten was half a sandwich Evie and I shared before our shift at Liegi’s.Why hadn’t I heard anyone come in?
Scrambling toward the tray, I took the glass of orange juice and brought it to my nose. I wouldn’t be able to detect poison, even if it were present. If my captors wanted to kill me, I would have already been dead. After downing almost half of the juice, I picked up one of the chocolate-covered croissants and took a healthy bite. The taste was out of this world as the flavors melted on my tongue.
Before I could enjoy my last bite, I heard the lock click. I rose to my feet and backed away from the door. The last thing I wanted was to be within reach of whoever was coming in.
“Good morning.” An older woman greeted me with a thick Russian accent, reminding me of my family’s heritage. “My name is Marta. I was the one who brought you breakfast.”
“Thank you,” I replied, clutching the blanket tighter around my body. “Can you tell me where I am?”
“You are at the Antonov Mansion.” Marta stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. “Mr. Antonov wanted me to take your measurements.”
Antonov Mansion. I needed to get out of here. I moved toward Marta, but she was quick and blocked the door. “Please let me out of here. I’m being kept here against my will. You have to help me.”
“I can’t. Besides, even if I did, you wouldn’t get very far. There are guards everywhere. Even outside this door. Now let me get your measurements.”
“Why would he need my measurements? I’m his prisoner?” I asked, feeling powerless.
“Vy ne mozhete khodit’ v byustgal’tere i nizhnem bel’ye.”Marta threw her hands in the air with frustration.
“Excuse me?” I knew a few words in Russian but did not know what she just said.
“Sometimes I forget where I am. You can’t walk around in your bra and underwear,” she clarified. “Mr. Antonov wouldn’t allow it.”
After getting all the measurements she needed, Marta took the tray and left the room, making sure to lock the door behind her. I should have known it was the Antonovs who kidnapped me. I needed to find a way out of here before they killed me, just like they killed my parents.
There wasn’t anything to do but look out the window and admire the view of the grounds that seemed to go on for miles. But when Marta brought me lunch, with a man carrying four bags behind her, I stepped away from the window.
I hadn’t met Mr. Antonov, but if I had to guess, the man holding the hags wasn’t him. His appearance and size remindedme of my papa’s men that guarded our home. The large man placed the bags on the floor next to the door.
“I’ll be outside the door if you need me.” he gave me a stern look before he exited the room.
Marta looked at me with a sympathetic smile, knowing how scared I was. “You eat. I’ll put your new things away.”
I placed the tray on the mattress and ate my ham and cheese sandwich while I watched Marta put everything from the bags away. As I ate and watched her, not once had she pulled out anything that looked like actual clothes. Mostly everything she unpacked—bras, panties, and camisoles—she placed in the drawers of the dresser. There were a few silk nightgowns with matching robes, which looked very expensive, that she hung in the closet, but nothing else. No shoes, not pants or dresses, nothing a normal person would wear day to day. This man was a sicko.
“You should have everything you need,” Marta said as she neatly folded the bags. “If you’d like, I can start your shower for you.”
“Where are the clothes? I didn’t see you pull any clothes from the bags.” I asked as I watched her head to the bathroom. “I can’t wear only bras, panties, and whatever those are.” I pointed to the closet.
“You will need to ask Mr. Antonov about that.” Marta glared back at me, like it was a big secret and I shouldn’t have asked.
Marta left the room, locking the door behind her. A shower did sound good, especially since I had been in the same bra and underwear for over 24 hours. Pushing from the bed, I walked tothe bathroom and took off my bra and panties. When I stepped under the hot stream of water, a flood of tears, which I had been holding back, poured out.
~***~
For five days, I was locked in that room, and Marta was the only person I saw. Our conversations only consisted of, “Good morning, I brought you breakfast,” or, “Good afternoon, I brought you lunch,” and of course, “Good evening, I brought you dinner.”
Whenever I tried to get information from her regarding Mr. Antonov, she would only say, “You will need to ask him yourself.”
I was going stir crazy, not knowing what was going to happen to me.Was he waiting to kill me like he had killed my mama and papa?Evie must be going crazy with worry, wondering what happened to me. I had to have faith that someone would realize something happened to me and would start looking for me.
The gray hue coming from the parted curtains told me soon Marta would be bringing me my dinner. I knew my time in this room would soon end with my death, and the thought tightened my stomach into knots. It took away any appetite I had.
I sprung off the bed, grabbing the thin blanket from the bed and moving away from the door when I heard the key worked into the lock. Even though I was certain it was Marta, just like every other time, I wasn’t taking a chance it was someone else.
When the door opened, two gray eyes bored into me. The man standing before me was the epitome of what God deemed as perfect. His shoulders were wide and his arms were thick with muscles. Through his crisp white dress shirt, I could see the way his muscles contracted and released as he stepped inside the room. Those large muscles tapered down to a smaller waist. Beneath the two buttons undone on his shirt, I could make out tattoos on his chest. As he stepped closer to the mattress, I could smell his cologne. It was a mixture of cashmere and musk. It was intoxicating.
“Lose the blanket,” he demanded in a harsh tone.
