Bond to Break (Stolen Obsessions #4)

12. Fyodor

CHAPTER 12

FYODOR

I really wanted to fuck her, but it’s wrong to do it now if she thinks that means she gets to go free. There isn’t a world where she gets to live without me now, and we’ll both have to live with that disappointment. Though my cock is far from quiet about what a hardship this is for him.

Listening to her cry isn’t on my to-do list for the evening, especially when I could be dick deep inside of my favorite ballerina, but neither was buying that same twenty-two-year-old ballerina, and both things have come to pass.

Is she my sex slave? My cock grows even harder and heavier at the thought.

I suppose so. That’s what she was sold as and what I agreed to take her as in front of all those people. Owning her is one thing, but I have a hard time thinking something so vulgar about her, especially knowing she’s a virgin.

I wish I wasn’t so tempted by that knowledge, and I could pretend I’m a better man than I am. That’s not why I did this, but damn, do I want her. She continues to cry for longer than I expect, but eventually, she quiets.

My office sits on the floor above, and I move through the house carefully, the same way I always do. It’s foolish to expect I’m truly safe anywhere. Far too many people would like to see me dead for that. I learned that lesson as harshly as possible when I made the mistake of marrying my second wife. I let the devil right in the door and shared my bed.

I don’t intend to do that again. Sitting at my desk, I pull out my phone and call the chief of police with whom I have a good working relationship, thanks to the Bouchards—another reason my sons are stupid to want to rock the boat with them. I’m concerned that a family member or someone might pop up looking for her.

I first explain the situation with a very dead Franco and that I’ll be paying him handsomely for all the odds and ends that come with covering up a very public death. While I can tell he’s frustrated, he won’t show it since the money is well worth it.

Then I get to what I really want to talk about—Katya.

“Sad state of affairs for that girl, both parents dead, no siblings. She was in a major accident with her boyfriend, and he died too. No records, no missing persons, nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Steven. For everything.” I end the call and pull up everything and anything I can about the accident that killed her parents and the one that killed Pietro.

Digging through her life and social media, I find she doesn’t have a lot of friends. Plenty of people popped up after Pietro died to say how sorry they were on social media, but before that, there was only one person she really seemed to have a relationship with. A girl named Natalia.

After another call to Steven, I find her number. The hospital discharge notes say Katya went home with her. I’m incredibly curious about what happened between then and now for her to wind up here with me.

Calling her friend can wait, though I suspect I won’t get a full picture of events until I do. It will sit in my back pocket, depending on whether I need leverage against Katya or a bargaining chip, which are similar but ultimately very different. At least she hasn’t tried to report her missing yet, and if she does, the police will know not to listen.

Katya is as good as entirely alone in the world. I would be sad for her if I weren’t so greedy. If I wasn’t buzzing with the thrill of not just buying her but killing a man and taking her, especially a man so deserving to die. Instead, I’m pumped up on adrenaline like an animal.

That constant fear of betrayal is momentarily calmed. Given what I’ve found, there is no good reason to believe that Katya is anything but a victim. But the details of how she came to be in that auction will decide whether or not I trust her. For now, it’s close enough.

Walking back through the apartment, I find the room I put her in. The sound of her sobs has subsided. The sleeping pills I gave her are strong, and I’m already surprised by how long she held on before succumbing to them. She’s all mine, and no one is looking for her. Anger and an insidious thrill of power rush through me as I gently push the door open and look at what I’ve bought myself.

An unfamiliar pang of guilt hits my stomach when I realize she didn’t even try to change into something else. There are plenty of clothes in the closet and dresser, but she cried herself out in the disgusting dress my son’s workers stuck her in.

She’s asleep on her stomach, so it’s easy enough to undo the zipper and reveal the perfect expanse of her back. The drugs have taken full effect, and even though I have a harder time maneuvering the dress the rest of the way off, she doesn’t wake up.

In the closet, I find a pair of underwear that are likely too large for her and a loose nightgown that I can put on without too much hassle. There’s another dresser full of men’s clothes, which I’ll empty and replace with things for her, but any guest would be comfortable here if they were to spend a night, and I’m glad my decorator insisted all guest rooms should have essentials.

I’m already tempted to do things I shouldn’t do to her while she sleeps. I can’t leave her here naked and ready for me to use, or that’s exactly what I’ll do. She at least needs tonight to rest. Back in the room, there’s no way I can help but stare at her.

The idea that I have to put clothes on her at all seems like a sinful waste. So many nights I spent watching every twist and turn of her body, and while it wasn’t necessarily sexual then, it’s impossible to keep the urges separate with her lying on the bed in front of me with her little virgin cunt exposed.

First, I put on her panties, which isn’t easy over the braces on her legs, but since they’re too large for her anyway, I manage. I’m not sure what about the sight of her in a pair of too big underwear turns me on, but I’m even harder than I was when I started. I pull the band up around her waist and nearly salivate as the fabric slips between the lips of her cunt.

Her perfect tits sit only inches from my face, small and perky with the pinkest nipples on top. Without giving myself permission to do so, I lean forward and taste the rose tip, sucking it into my mouth and savoring not only the taste of her but the little moan in the back of her throat as I lavish it with my attention. My cock threatens to burst the seam on my slacks.

“I needed to prove a point, Kotyonok,” I tell her sleeping form. “But I want to fuck you so badly.” A few more soft kisses and licks for each of her tits, and then I get control of myself and put the nightgown on her. Once she’s covered, I feel each one one last time, then I have to leave her there before I fuck her while she’s unconscious and don’t even regret it.

I’m not sure when I lost all my senses, but I’m sure the last of them is gone. My cock rests hard and heavy in my hand, and I’m jerking it like the cure for world peace is in my balls as I stare at the surveillance footage of Katya drugged and sleeping. I hit rewind and take it back through the entire experience of stripping her naked, putting on her panties, sucking on her tits, and then dressing her.

I’m close to coming, and I’m angry about it. I’m not the type of man who needs to drain my own balls, especially not the same night I brought home a sex slave, but I don’t want anyone else right now. I’m not ready to take it from her and let her know just how badly I want her, to make her think there’s a chance for her to get free.

I haven’t felt like this in years. I’m so fucking horny I could explode, and I resent the little bitch for making me rub my dick so desperately for her.

Before I find my release, and a little relief from all this insanity pulsing behind my eyes and deep in my balls, my phone goes off. Someone is calling me. I ignore it in favor of my cock, but they call again, and again, so finally, I yield.

Checking the screen, I see it’s my eldest son. There isn’t a chance in hell I’d answer him right now, but I don’t have to wait long to see what he wants since his text immediately follows.

Irakily: Where is my money?

The text stares at me from the screen, and I debate with myself whether I’m impressed with his nerve or pissed off. I stuff myself back into my pants, irritated with myself for getting into this situation to begin with.

Me: What money, Irakily?

Irakily: The three million you were supposed to pay before you left a corpse to clean up in my club.

Me: It’s not three million if he’s dead. Is it?

Irakily: You bid three million, you pay three million.

Me: To whom, son? Because if you think I’m paying you three million when your cut was eighty thousand, you can keep dreaming.

Irakily: I’m not kidding.

Me: Whether or not you’re kidding doesn’t change the facts. I’m not paying you three million dollars.

He calls me one more time, and I send it to voicemail. I have no interest in listening to him yell. He’s insane to think I ever intended to pay the money to begin with, let alone with Franco dead. I might have killed him just because I didn’t like the prick, and I wanted the ballerina.

I’m not exactly the type who avoids playing dirty. I’m also not the type of man who accepts critiques of my behavior, especially not who I decide to kill. I’ve already had a talk with and paid off the police chief, though that was one of the easier parts of the day.

Irakily: This is your fault. It’s a fucking mess down here, you cost me big.

While I didn’t stay to see how things went after I shot Franco, I can’t imagine all those men just went home empty-handed because of one dead fucker.

Me:Your cut is eighty thousand. Take it or leave it.

Irakily: I’m not in the mood to play games, Papa.

Me: Eighty thousand and the bill to polish the fucking floor. We’ll call it one hundred total. I already spoke to the police chief for you.

A long time passes, and I don’t hear any more from him, but that’s okay. I’m reaching out to my contacts to find out what actually happened after I left. Without much effort, I discover they didn’t lose out on a single sale. The rest of the girls went with Franco still dead on the floor. I don’t know who they think they’re kidding, but it’s not me.

Irakily: What if I come by and take back the ballerina you bought for yourself since you can’t pay your debts?

My sons aren’t without money. They have no good reason to need this so badly, and it can’t be about respect because people wouldn’t know whether I paid them or not. Three million is a lot of money, but why are they so willing to fight for it?

Me: Irakily, do not test me. You didn’t find that girl, and I won’t be paying you more than your intended cut.

Irakily: You owe me.

Me: Maybe I’ll pay God or her mother for pushing her out of her pussy then. They both are owed more than you, son.