Page 63 of Gamble with Me
It was a psychological trick to force them to talk without effort. Mostly they shit their pants just from looking at the suffering, screaming person before them. Witnessing someone die was hard to digest, mainly when they knew they were next.
"Do you think he's involved with Valentino?" Dorian questioned, glancing at Malin, who had picked some instruments from a metal rack.
"I'm not sure," I admitted, lifting a brow at Malin and his choice of toys. His eagerness for some fun filled the room, making Dorian's eyes shine with excitement.
"Let's try to get something useful from him," I suggested, taking iron pliers from Malin. "He won't leave this place alive anyway."
"What is his biggest sin?" Malin asked, standing before me as a priest, ready to give absolution. But it was just a mask, and he really was a devil in disguise. His dark eyes showed no empathy or remorse for what we were about to do. On the contrary, his lips twitched into a tiny, almost invisible smile, which was the only indicator of his true feelings about this situation.
"He disturbed my girl," I replied flatly, clenching my fist. "No one upsets Valeria twice in a row and lives to do it again. I made the mistake of tolerating it once. It won't happen again."
"It's so romantic," Dorian chirped, wiggling his brows playfully, and I snickered.
"Yeah, I should deliver it with a bouquet of black dahlias," I uttered, nodding toward George, who tugged on his restraints. "Maybe that's exactly what I'll do," I whispered more to myself than for them to hear. It would hit two flies with one slam. Valeria would know her stalker would protect her from anyone, and Chester would finally realize that his ass was in grave danger.
What a fantastic idea!
-30-
Valeria
The last night was one giant act of escaping Chester. When we got home, he cooked dinner while I did homework with Zara. She didn't need my help, but I just wanted to avoid him.
After the meal, we talked about her upcoming math competition. Chester was mainly on his phone, not paying attention to Zara's excitement, but I listened to her every word. I couldn't be prouder of her. In her seven years, she competed with nine and ten-year-old kids. She was incredible.
I put her to sleep at nine, staying in her room an hour longer. Chester left somewhere while I was with her, giving me hope he wouldn’t return until the next morning, but he was back shortly after his departure. I took a quick shower, checking my phone, when he opened the door to the bedroom. My eyes widened in surprise because once he left, he had never returned earlier than the following day.
I managed to ditch his every attempt to be intimate successfully. My stomach was in cramps, and my body was in a fight mode when I felt his hands on me. I pretended to be asleep, not moving and holding my breath so as not to give him any hint that I knew exactly what he wanted. It was torturous to feel his touches. They burned my skin like a hot iron.
My resilience to fake that our relationship was okay crumbled like a house of cards when I comprehended the hard truth. I wasn't able to pretend to have feelings for my husband. My heart, mind, and body belonged to another.
If I wanted to admit it or not, Zefarin was deeply engraved in my bones. His possessiveness coursed through my veins, chaining me to him. His obsession with me poisoned my system and restrained any healthy thinking. Whoever he was, he owned me. I realized it the moment Chester touched me. It felt wrong. It was cheating. Nothing on me or in me was his anymore.
I spent half the night thinking about all the real and unreal possibilities that could happen in my life. I dreamed about Zefarin taking off his mask and showing me his face. I wished to talk to him without the makeup. I wanted to understand why all this hiding was needed.
Sleep came unexpectedly, and I woke up with a jolt when the alarm clock cut through the room's silence. Chester cursed under his breath, covering his head with a blanket. I exhaled deeply, calling it a win to manage to spend the night beside him without a fight.
I sat on the bed, putting on fluffy slippers. My mind was preoccupied with the options for breakfast when I walked toward the window and opened the heavy curtains.
At first, I didn't understand what my eyes landed on. It felt like the entire world disappeared, and my gaze zoomed on the monstrosity before me. As if my brain went through a hard reset, my body froze, and a gut-wrenching shriek flew from my mouth. Probably from the balcony of the apartment above ours hung the mutilated, bloody body of George.
His empty eyes were frozen in fright. His mouth was wide open, showing that his tongue was missing, and his chin and chest were covered with dark, thick blood that soaked into his shirt. His face was bruised. He was severely beaten, and he had blade marks on his arms. The rope was wrapped around his fat neck, and his limp body moved slightly from side to side. It was the scariest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
"What's going on?" Chester yelled, jumping from the bed and stopping beside me. "Oh, fuck!"
I covered my mouth with my hand, expecting to throw up in any second. My entire body shook violently, and my empty stomach quivered. I was horrified and frightened to the bones.
"Mommy?" Zara's soft voice cut through my terrified brain, and I whipped my head toward her. Chester instantly pulled the curtains to hide the hanging dread from her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, sweetie." I faked a smile, wriggling my fingers to get rid of the tremor in my hands. "Dad just jumped on me from behind the closet. I almost had a heart attack."
I could see she didn't believe me. Her curious eyes drifted between her parents, but she didn't comment on my statement. She shrugged, leaving for the bathroom, and I turned toward my husband, who was clearly shaken by what we saw.
"We have to call the police," I whispered, inhaling a shaky breath. My heart almost collapsed from the shock I suffered.
"They're already here," Chester replied, peeking outside. He was pale like snow, and his hand trembled. "What the fuck is this?" he ground out, moving his head from side to side in evident disbelief. His gaze found mine, and I noticed fear in his hazel eyes. "He works for your boss, right?"
"Worked," I corrected him, blinking rapidly. The conversation with Zyon about George was on repeat in my head, but I couldn’t remember if George worked for the Zhumagulovs. "And I have no idea about his ties with Zyon."
