Page 31 of Gamble with Me
“I’m prepared for a fight,” I stated, clenching my palm into a fist just thinking about my husband. “I found an apartment on Staten Island that is available immediately, and tomorrow, I have a meeting with a divorce lawyer. I won’t let Chester ruin my and Zara’s future.”
“I see you have everything sorted out.” Lisa smiled sadly, hugging her torso and hanging her head low. Her grey shoulder-length hair fell into her face, and I noticed her shoulders tremble. She was crying.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, pulling her into a hug. Chester was an asshole, but he was still her son. “I just can’t live like this anymore. He’s sucking the life out of me. Zara is afraid of him. It’s not healthy for any of us.”
“I understand,” she breathed, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “I only wish I’d raised him better. That’s all.”
“It’s not your fault,” I repeated with all the seriousness I was capable of. “He’s an adult and makes his own choices. You’re not responsible for anything he does.”
Lisa acknowledged my words with a slight nod, yet I knew she was thinking otherwise. But I didn’t hold her accountable for Chester’s behavior or gambling habits. He was a forty-five-year-old man who should know that every action had consequences. He was mistaken if he thought he could behave like a mannerless monkey, and I would bear with him. I stayed because I didn’t have money, and he scared the shit out of me, but I wasn’t afraid anymore. The new job and knowledge that Lisa was on my side gave me the strength I needed to fight.
I left Lisa’s house feeling lighter and with a slight smile on my lips. Her pain bothered me, but her support meant the world to me. I thought I was alone, but thankfully, I wasn’t.
In the following hours, I signed the contract for the new three-room apartment and packed all the necessary things from my old home. Clothes, toys, a few flowers, and some paintings were safely stored in boxes, waiting for the moving services to pick them up first thing in the morning.
In the evening, I called Chester to check up on him and find out when the doctors said he would leave the hospital, but he didn’t tell me anything useful. He barked at meand accused me of not caring for him because I didn’t come to visit him. He was right, but I played the excellent wife role and apologized, promising I would definitely come tomorrow.
I decided to spend the first night in the new flat alone. The place was calm and empty, furnished only with a queen-sized bed in the bedroom and a sofa in the living room, but I’d already ordered a new bed for Zara, two closets, and a TV.
Zyon gave me enough money to arrange it to my liking, but I didn’t want to invest everything in furniture. I needed to save something just in case the new job blew into my face. One could never know what working for Mr. Zhumagulov would bring.
I quickly showered, grinning happily at my reflection in the mirror. It’d been a long time since I felt so good. Like a heavy boulder was lifted from my shoulders. I knew Chester would rain fire on me for daring to leave him, but I was too ecstatic to care. It was over. I ran away from his claws, and I would never come back.
My phone ringing disturbed my musing, and I answered it, checking my appearance in the mirror. It was Alice who had ignored my calls all day, but with her father in the hospital, it was understandable. Briefly, I told her the news, and she squealed in happiness at my decision. I gave her my new address, and she promised to visit me soon and catch up. I had so much to tell her that couldn’t be discussed over the phone.
At eleven pm, my phone beeped again when I was comfortably lying in my new bed, listening to calming music and thinking about Zyon and his dark eyes. An incoming message interrupted my fantasy, and I groaned, retracting my hand from my pussy. I glared at the screen, rolling my eyes at a text from my stalker.
Unknown Number: You had a busy day, mon cœur. You must be exhausted. Do you want a massage?
Valeria: Don’t you have better things to do than watch me?
I turned on my stomach, pressing my face into the cushion. My ears expected to hear the sound of another text, but it was dead silence in the room. A few long moments passed, and when nothing came, I returned to my previous activity.
An image of Zyon, dressed in all black with an axe in his hand, danced before my eyes when my fingers teased my pussy, and I moaned into the mattress. Spreading my thighswider, I put pressure on my clit, and a wave of delight shot through me. I wriggled my hips against my hand, drawing more pleasure from my movements, my body singing in satisfaction. The knot in my lower abdomen was tightening, and I expected an intense climax with Zyon’s name on my lips.
But just when I was about to reach my peak, my cover was thrown off me, and a low chuckle echoed around the walls.
“Do you need a hand, mon cœur?” my stalker asked, his deep voice cutting through my skull like a screwdriver. Mortified, I turned on my back, pulling my hand, moistened with my juices, out of my underwear.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hissed, glaring at him as he tilted his head. His massive figure threw a shadow on my bed. The street lamp enlightened the room dimly, providing my stalker with a perfect hideout. I didn’t see his eyes or the mask on his face while he could see me clearly.
“Enjoying the show,” he replied matter-of-factly, coming closer, and I moved away. “Did I interrupt you at the finish line?” he mocked, kneeling on the mattress. I gulped, trying to get from his reach, but he was quicker and stronger than me.
“Where are you going?” he asked innocently when I wanted to run away, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. Within three seconds, I was pinned to the mattress with my hands above my head, wriggling.
“Let me go!” I yelled, but he only chuckled; a smell of mint hit my nose, and I realized he wasn’t wearing a mask. Tilting my head to both sides to catch a glimpse of him, he laughed at my pointless attempts to see him. His face was merely an inch from mine, but the darkness and the hoodie pulled over his head completely covered him.
“Who were you fantasizing about, Valeria?” he asked with his lips on my cheek. I groaned, trying to free my hands and kick my legs to get him off of me. But he was as heavy as a truck.
“Not you!” I spat, squirming as much as I could.
“Then who?” he hissed, holding my wrists with one of his hands dressed in leather gloves and the other taking hold of my throat. His profound voice sent shivers down my spine, and fear overcame my every thought.
“Was it one of the mob triplets?” he continued, the unfamiliar heat spreading from my lower abdomen. His obvious jealousy and insane possessiveness stirred something crazy inside me. “I saw him leaving your apartment. Was. It. Him?”
“None of your fucking business!” I shouted right in his face, gasping when he pressed his hips into my core. I felt his erection through his pants, discovering the immediate danger. Yet instead of being frightened, my pussy clenched, and I almost whined in irritation. This couldn’t be happening!
“Was. It. Him. Valeria?” my stalker growled like a rabid animal, reminding me of his hand on my throat with a light squeeze. I was confused because he was angry but wasn’t hurting me. He surely could beat the answer out of me, yet he only barked but didn’t bite.
