Bond to Break (Stolen Obsessions #4)

18. Fyodor

CHAPTER 18

FYODOR

The doctor and I stand in the kitchen. I’ve known him for a long time, and I’ve never trusted him less than I do right now. He’s never had anything on me worth anything, but the details of my new obsession? That matters.

Katya is settled with the IV in place. Antibiotics, pain medicine, and something to help her sleep steadily drip into her system as I drink a cup of coffee. The doctor rifles through his bag and pulls out an assortment of bottles and needles, and finally a thick stack of papers.

“The infection is severe, Mr. Domalachego.” The doctor shows me the results of the blood panels he ran while he was at the hospital, pointing at words I don’t understand and babbling about levels. “She’ll need a few days of ampicillin. If this were left untreated, she would have likely died from the infection.”

With her soft little voice begging me for death still fresh in my ears, this news isn’t what I want to hear.

“You need to put her on something for depression. She’s suicidal.”

He pauses, true surprise crossing his features. Sex slave owners likely don’t often ask for these types of things.

“I’m not sure I’m qualified, but I can speak to a colleague. Have you heard of Dr. Nelson? He’s willing to bend the rules.” I shake my head, and the fact I haven’t means there’s an important point I need to make to him.

“Everything between us will be done in confidence. No one will know what happened tonight.”

He nods, turning his head to look me in my eyes.

“That’s not a problem,” he agrees. “I can just describe the situation and ask his advice.”

I nod. “My sons may ask you about what went on here.” I worry about them far more than some shrink.

He’s quick to shake his head. “Patient privacy.”

I pull my gun out of the holster and place it on the counter between us.

She wants to die, but I’ll kill for her.

“My sons will know nothing. No one will know anything.”

“Nothing, Pakhan,” he agrees, showing me the respect of the title for the first time tonight.

“If you’re so concerned about her temperament, you could put her back up for auction. The sale wasn’t made in good faith. That Franco was always shady.” He presumes a hell of a lot about my reasons and my person, but I let him since it serves me.

“I won’t be doing that. I’ll need your services on retainer, and I don’t want my business shared.” I gesture to the gun as a reminder. It’s also a dare for him to pick it up and use it on me himself. Proving to a man that he’s not brave enough to act against you can be an intensely powerful message.

“My hourly rate for home visits as well as the supplies?—”

“Did I ask for business advice or for you to administer medical care?” I cut him off before he seriously pisses me off, and he needs replacing.

His hands still on the items he’s sorting. “Ah—medical care, sir.”

“I won’t be returning her. Now, about the matter of your discretion.”

“I won’t be sharing anything I know. I understand there are severe consequences if I do. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Well, in that case. These should see her through until I’m back tomorrow, but it’s a lot of work.”

I don’t answer him. Being involved in organized crime often means a lot of injuries that can’t be brought to hospitals. We all learn pretty basic first aid and field dressing skills after being shot a time or two. But my skills go even deeper. I helped my wife through her chemo and her hospice. She died with me at home. The least I can handle is a few meds pumped into an IV. Killing this girl, however…

Did Katya really believe allowing her wounds to get so infected would result in an easy suicide, or was she just too depressed and hard up to care for herself? I need to know if I’m going to punish her accordingly.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” There’s already a list of medications, doses, and times they need to be administered.

“Thank you. I’m sure. Send the medication when you get it.” I’m worried for her, angry, and downright volatile, but I do appreciate what he’s done tonight.

“Please call me if her condition changes. Infection can turn septic quickly.”

He grabs his things, and he’s quick to leave after that, but I don’t trust that for one minute, he had any good intentions in asking to stay. Very few people have made it into this apartment. I shouldn’t have brought him here either, but I also couldn’t risk taking her to the hospital and have her cry a story loud enough for the Bouchards to hear.

I hate to admit that her pleas got to me. That she’s still in that room not because of what I believed was the right course of action but because she begged . My sons don’t understand my motivation, especially not from me. I taught them so many times how unwise it is to let someone else have too much power over you.

I have enough issues with my boys, and now we’re fighting even worse, and for what? So fucking what if I watched her dance for years? So what if she reminds me of everything good I’ve ever had in my life? I’m acting like a kid, one of my son’s friends, who I would insult for their impulsivity.

I blame my sons for getting me into this mess. Both of whom have texted me several times since they showed up here. I texted them each back only once despite the barrage to inform them that I’m neither insane nor drunk, and everything else is absolutely none of their concern. They have the money I’m willing to pay.

I return to the room where I keep my little prize. She’s too young for me. A lot of things I shouldn’t want wrapped around my dick but do.

This beautiful, pathetic mess of a woman.

The sight of her delirious with a fever, covered in bloodstained bandages and a sheen of sickly sweat doesn’t hinder her beauty, but it makes me more irate than I’ve been in a long time. I’m even angrier that I didn’t realize she was without crutches and couldn’t even hobble her way to the bathroom to piss.

The IV tower stands beside her bed. She’s hooked up and being pumped full of painkillers and antibiotics. After all the crazy shit she said, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone, so I sit on the chair next to the bed, watching the color of her skin turn healthy as the fluids and meds rush into her.

I fucking lied when I told her that I didn’t want her. I want to fuck her so bad I’m going insane at having her in my house but not having her around my cock, but I’m especially glad now I waited.

She’s lying without the boots, finally allowing me an uninterrupted view of her body, and she’s incredibly skinny compared to the last time I saw her dance. Scars, swelling, and bruising cover her legs. The puncture marks are red and raised, the site of the infection that’s making her sick. They don’t look all that bad, but I know they’re deep, and the worst of the infection is probably inside.

She’s so fucking beautiful, and I can’t stop thinking about how serious she was when she asked me to kill her. I’m not tempted to grant her wish at all. Rather, I want to stomp the need to die violently out of her. I want to choke her until she’s so fucking terrified she realizes the last goddamn thing she wants is to die.

I want to scare and fuck her back to life.

I’m not sure why I do it. Maybe I’m fucking insane, or perhaps all the crazy shit she said turned me on. I’ve killed a lot of people, and at times, I’ve enjoyed it, but I’ve never heard someone beg for death like that. Maybe I just know she’s too out of it to fight much, and I want to see her squirm for me.

I take my gun out of the holster at my waist. She wasn’t wrong that I had a gun I could use to kill her. She just doesn’t realize I’m not capable of actually hurting her. I had no intention of buying a human, but just like I couldn’t leave her on that stage to go to one of them, I can’t hurt her.

I pull out the clip and empty the bullets onto the bedside table. I count them all. One is missing from Franco, though his blood has been meticulously cleaned off the surface. The same can be said for Katya, who doesn’t realize I took the time to clean the speckles of dried blood off her.

I check the chamber, then point the gun at the wall and pull the trigger eight times just in case—nothing but a series of empty clicks. One more check and I’ll give her a taste of what she wants. I’m going to scare her so badly she never asks me to die again.

She’s asleep, out of it from the meds, but not forced to remain unconscious.

My hands wrap halfway around her thighs as I slide her legs apart, careful with her calves. A whimper slips free as I place them on the bed in the new position I’ve chosen. They’re hot to the touch, and I decide to bathe her later tonight, but not before I prove my fucking point.

She’s so small. I feel even more like a man at the sight of my hands on her. At fifty-seven years old and with the life I’ve lived, I shouldn’t need that, but don’t we all want to be made to feel like men occasionally? Isn’t it women who do this for us above all else?

She moans and puckers her lips long before I’ve reached anything too sensitive, and even if she wanted to, she’s not conscious enough to stop me. I nearly kiss that pucker, but it softens, and I return my attention to the task at hand.

Her thighs alone are miles long, creamy white, and so fucking soft. I trace the barrel of my gun up one and tease the edge of her panties with the muzzle. My free hand follows it, greedy for the heat of her smooth skin.

“You want to die so badly, Kotyonok?” I press the gun to the tan fabric and watch in fascination as her wetness seeps in, darkening the spot several shades.

“Mmm,” she moans, and I’m not sure which she likes more, my words or the attention to her pussy. Does she hear me, really? Or am I a part of her dreams?

I nudge the fabric aside with the barrel, finding a pile of soft blond curls. I didn’t expect her to shave herself, but I’m glad they didn’t wax her before the auction. I prefer my cunt trimmed but looking fully like a woman.

She’s so perfectly pink, and I’m tempted to lean down and taste her. I tug one of the curls, opening her, and reveal an already shining clit. She’s turned on, and all I want to do is make her feel. My gun slides up the split of her cunt, slickening it with her juices.

“Mmph,” she moans in a combination of pleasure and pain. Her legs jolt at the sensation. I know she’s a virgin, but I wonder how much she’s explored this cunt. It couldn’t be too much if her hymen is intact. Has she even made herself come before?

The cold metal slides up and down, and my cock pulses in time with the strokes. Her pink pussy gleams for me, getting wetter with each pass. I’m not sure if the idea of teaching her a lesson was an excuse at this point because this isn’t about anything other than playing with what’s mine, and fuck, do I like what I’ve bought myself.

Her panties have stolen enough of her juices, and I debate pulling them off and rousing her further. My fingers are already on my pocket knife. I slide it open and carefully fit the blade between the fabric and her skin, pulling away so as not to cut her.

Every bit of her anatomy is revealed now, and I feel like a villain to be touching something so pure, especially at my age, especially with this gun. Perfect lips, tangle of blond curls, a desperate shiny clit needing my attention. Her tight, puckered asshole underneath.

With one hand, I spread her open. The other nudges the gun into her opening. She groans as I push forward, letting her juices coat the gun and ease its entrance. My cock throbs, leaking a wet bead of precum into my briefs.

Her eyes flutter open but quickly fall back closed. “Uh, oh shit, ugh,” she moans as the gun stretches her. She tries to move her legs, but they’re too heavy. She puts up a hand, but it just lands softly on my wrist, and I let it stay there.

“Stay still, Kotyonok. You want to die so bad? Relax while I fuck you on my gun.”

“That’s not what’s inside me right now…”

Rather than answer her, I push forward, letting her feel how the cold metal stretches her virgin cunt. A slight pop draws a bead of precum to the tip of my cock. There went her hymen, and when I pull the gun back for another thrust, my suspicion is confirmed with a flash of red blood.

Fuck.

“Oh God, why does that feel so good?” Her hands grip frantically at her chest. “Fuck.”

I reach out and touch her clit, gently stimulating her and easing her through the experience even though she doesn’t fucking deserve it. When I do, she grows visibly wetter.

“Because you want to be fucked like a naughty little slut on my gun.”

“Fyodor, please.” Her whole body tightens, and I’m not really sure what she’s asking me for.

“Relax and take it. If you’re not afraid to die, relax your legs and take my gun in your virgin cunt.”

She drops her knees to the mattress, beautiful face tipping to the side as her hair sprawls across the pillow beside her, and goddamn, she’s doing exactly what I told her and giving in to the experience.

“I’ve never—” Eye-rolling pleasure cuts her off, and she tips her mouth open and her head back on a silent scream.

I push the gun as deeply into her as I can, trigger resting on her labia as I work her clit in rhythmic circles. This breaks her silence, and her scream is long and drawn-out with her thighs struggling to close and prevent me from stimulating her further.

She’s so close to coming now that the drugs in her system aren’t enough to keep her attention. Gray eyes flash wide, staring down at me as I work. She’s fascinated with the place the gun enters her. This isn’t exactly the reaction I was looking for, and I’m so fucking turned on myself I’m about to lose my mind.

“Kotyonok, you want to die or you want to come?”

She doesn’t get to answer. The gun slips more easily into her as she gets wetter and tries to pull the weapon deeper as her orgasm approaches. Her clit pulses beneath my fingers as I stroke her through it.

“Dear God forgive me,” she screams at the top of her lungs as her wet orgasm floods my gun.

She fucking squirts.

Her body writhes as she screams, and several streams of cum shoot out of her. Her juices stain my shirt, and I’m barely a fucking man, but rather an animal as I stare at the metal filling the pussy made just for me.