Chapter 21
ISABELLA
Ever since I had that meeting with my team about the book being similar to what’s happening in the news, I’ve been doing my own research.
I’m on my computer right now and Slade is next to me, reading.
Since he’s been helping me with my writing, he’s been next to me. He started reading my books recently. He bought them himself and has a few of them on his bookshelf. He’s read most of my books and sometimes he’ll ask me questions about them and whatnot.
The videos I watch about the missing people and the murders make me feel like bugs are crawling on my skin.
The way the bodies are disfigured and the torture methods the reports describe are so similar to my book, it is genuinely concerning.
Comparing my book to the news makes me think that I could have committed the crimes even though I know I didn’t.
Now I understand why Miranda and Matthew were staring at me weirdly.
There was a recent murder two weeks ago.
He was stabbed over thirty times in the stomach and his organs were basically splattered all over the floor.
His name was Nicolas Venedi and they say that he was a guard for Sydney Bianchi. She is the daughter of Lorenzo Bianchi.
He owns multiple businesses around the world and is a tycoon. He is known for possible mafia relations but everyone is too scared to go after him because of how powerful he is.
I research more about the other victims that were killed recently.
There is one where a club owner named Mitch died after being cut everywhere on his body, similar to what Slade told me about for my book.
His club was next to the place where I was cornered by the guy in the alleyway before I was saved by that masked man.
A man who’s eyes I can’t get out of my head.
“What are you looking at?” Slade asks and I hide the tab, going back to the document where I’m outlining my book.
I look at him and put on a smile. “Just thinking of what to add for my next book.”
“Do you need help? What were you thinking?” he asks, placing a bookmark in between the pages and resting it on the coffee table.
“Well, I think in this book I’m going to have both of the main characters take down the whole human trafficking organization. In the last book, he saved his girl and now the girl wants to help him destroy the organization.”
“Sounds like it will be good.”
I smile and nod. “Yea, I’m just trying to figure out what will be in each of the chapters.”
“More torture?” he jokes with a playful hint in his eyes.
His dark eyes with the scar near one of them.
It’s hard to try and pin where I’ve seen his eyes before but I can’t think straight when it comes to Slade.
For the past week I’ve been looking at him differently, especially after every news video or report I read, since he was the one who gave me the ideas for chapters and scenes in the book.
I’m suspicious but for some reason I still enjoy every second with him.
The dinners, the rides to and from work, the moments where all we do is kiss and touch each other.
I don’t want to think of Slade in that way but how else would he know about these murders and torture methods?
You’d have to be deranged to come up with this kind of stuff.
But when I stare into his eyes I can’t help but think he can’t be capable of doing all that.
I shrug. “We’ll see.”
Slade rests his hand on my knee and my core tingles.
Every single time he touches me, even if it’s innocent, my body automatically reacts and wants him instantly.
There are times in bed when I’ve wanted him to just break his control and thrust into me and sometimes I beg for it but he just ignores me and makes me come with his tongue or fingers instead.
I think he might be scared. I don’t know why he would be, but I have a feeling he is. Why wouldn’t he have sex with a girl who is literally begging for it?
I don’t think Slade is a virgin like me. He doesn’t seem like one especially since he knows how to play with my body so well.
But why else would he be scared?
“I have a question,” I say, putting my computer to the side and turning to face him on the couch. “Where did you get all of those ideas for the torture and murder scenes?”
His eyebrows twitch but he looks calm and his hand on my thigh doesn’t tense.
Instead he runs his hand up and down my thigh, stroking the inner part, dangerously close to the spot between my legs.
He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’ve seen what’s been happening on the news so I thought back to that and twisted it into my own way.”
“What do you think about it?” I ask curiously.
Slade shrugs. “I don’t know. Shit like that happens every day.”
“But it’s scary that things like that are going on here. Like aren’t you scared of him breaking in and murdering you next?”
Slade shakes his head lightly. “I don’t think he would murder us.”
I furrow my brows at him. “Why do you think that?”
“Because from what I’ve been seeing, he’s only murdering bad people. Like pedos, traffickers, or people who have also killed, so I think you’d be fine.”
I tilt my head to the side a little. “You think?”
“Yes, avtor. You’re safe.” He grabs me by my thighs and makes me sit on top of him.
His erection presses up against the spot between my legs and I almost roll my eyes from how good he feels against me.
“Why are you asking me these questions?” he asks, running his hand through my hair and trailing his eyes all over my face.
I shrug, giving him a small smile to cover up the real reason. “I don’t know. I’m just curious about your thoughts on certain things. You have an interesting mind.”
Slade raises an eyebrow at me. “An interesting mind, huh?”
I nod and wrap my arms around his neck. “Yea, I mean you have intriguing points of views on certain things. Sometimes I wish I could go inside your mind and know what you’re thinking about.”
“What do you think I’m thinking about?” He lifts his chin with a smirk on his face.
I blush. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think you're thinking about how dirty you are.”
He looks at me with amusement. “Dirty?”
I laugh. “Yea, like how you have to take two showers every single day, sometimes three.”
“I like being clean. Is that so wrong?” he defends himself.
“You probably think about what to cook for dinner.”
“I want to make sure you’re being fed right, avtor. Nothing wrong with that,” he answers, twirling a strand of my hair with his finger. He adjusts his hips under me and I immediately blush when his erection presses hard against me. I can feel every ridge of him through his sweatpants. “What else?”
I look down at his lips and when I look up to meet his eyes, they are on my lips.
His jaw ticks and he leans closer to me but I don’t let him touch my lips.
“I feel like you sometimes think about what you want to do to me.”
“Yea? Like what?” he asks, his eyes filling with lust and that same darkness I keep seeing.
I gulp and say, “Like fucking me.”
“I do.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Because I don’t want to hurt you. All I do is hurt people. I can’t be gentle. You’re the only person I want to be gentle with and sometimes I can’t even do that with you.” He runs his hands along my bare thighs almost teasingly.
“What if I don’t want you to be gentle?”
His erection grows beneath me when I say that. “You have no clue what you’re doing. You have no idea what kind of person you’re tempting, Isabella.”
“I feel like I know you pretty well,” I say while playing with the small strands of hair at the back of his neck.
He’s been growing out his hair.
It’s still pretty short and you can’t really style it but he doesn’t have a buzz cut anymore.
“You really don’t.” He leans in, his lips hovering over my own. “And if you’re not careful, I’ll take advantage of what you're offering.”
Maybe it’s because I feel daring, maybe it’s because I’m fed up with him pushing himself away from me, or maybe because I’m just stupid, but I grind my hips against his.
“I do.” I press my lips to the side of his and start trailing them down his neck slowly. “I want you, Slade.”
“Blyad'. Ty ponyatiya ne imeyesh', chto sobirayesh'sya trakhnut' ubiytsu, Isabella,” he says. Even though I can’t understand anything he says, I feel needy for more. Whenever he is talking in Russian on the phone, I can’t help but watch and listen.
Him speaking Russian makes me want to do anything he says without question.
“Ty khochesh' trakhnut' ubiytsu, Isabella?”
“Yes, please,” I beg, not even knowing what I’m agreeing to.
“Just remember you asked for it,” he says before grabbing my throat and crashing his lips down on mine.