Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Silas
That dinner was over. Anthea left me. Chose to let that lawyer drive her home. After the bodyguards took Olei away, my eyes locked onto Julian's car. Anthea sat inside, breathing the same air as another man in that enclosed space. Jealousy seized my chest.
Julian's car drove smoothly. I kept three cars back, watched them cut through downtown streets, then vanish around a corner. I pressed the gas.
An hour later, Julian's car stopped outside Anthea's building. I parked in the shadows down the street, killed the lights. Through the windshield, I watched Julian get out, circle around to open her door like some goddamn gentleman.
Then they stood under a streetlamp, chatting and laughing. Anthea's blonde hair caught the light, soft and glowing. Her smile bright enough to burn. Julian said something. She laughed harder. Then I watched that glasses-wearing piece of shit reach out, trying to touch her hair.
My palm slammed the steering wheel. The horn blared, sharp and loud.
"Fuck!" I cursed under my breath.
Anthea and Julian both turned, looking my direction. But with the distance and my lights off, they couldn't see who was inside. I watched Julian's hand freeze mid-air, then drop awkwardly. Good. He didn't try again, just talked with Anthea a bit more, all proper and stiff.
Finally, Anthea hesitated, said something, then turned and went inside. Julian stood there watching until a light flickered on the third floor. Only then did he reluctantly get back in his car and leave.
I pulled out my phone. The screen glow lit my expressionless face.
"Do it." Just those two words into the phone.
I hung up and looked up at that third-floor window. Warm yellow light in the darkness, almost cozy. I got out, crossed to the building opposite. Elevator straight to the third floor. Opened the door, walked straight to the telescope already set up.
Through the lens, Anthea had already kicked off her heels. She paced around the living room, looking restless. She raised a hand, rubbed her temple tiredly. Then she stopped, shook her head, and started unbuttoning her blouse. I held my breath.
The white blouse landed on the couch. Black lace bra underneath. Black fabric against her honey-toned skin, the visual hit like a punch to the skull. Her breasts full and high, rising and falling with each breath. Her waist still slender but no longer fragile. Christ, she'd been working out.
My throat worked hard, swallowing. Her skirt slid down her legs. Black thong. Fuck, that's what she'd been wearing to dinner with that lawyer—barely anything at all. But heat flooded my groin. My cock surged, already hard.
My gaze roamed her body, licking over every inch of skin. She lingered in the living room a moment, then headed toward the bathroom.
"No!" I adjusted the telescope frantically, trying to see through that goddamn wall. Useless.
The helplessness, the loss of control—it made me rage. We were so close. I couldn't fucking see her, couldn't control every second of her existence.
"Fuck!" I kicked over the chair beside me.
I stared where Anthea had disappeared, my mind filling in the gaps. Her naked under the spray. Head tilted back, exposing that vulnerable, tempting throat. Water running through her hair, down her collarbones, over her breasts, pooling between her thighs...
My throat burned. My cock throbbed. Six years I hadn't touched another woman. My body, my heart—both turned into a tomb. But now, something stirred inside. Six years of buried need erupting all at once.
I reached for my belt, pulled out my cock already leaking at the tip. Veins bulging, aching to sink into something warm and wet, aching for Anthea's heat. But all it had now was cold air and my rough palm.
I gripped it tight, started stroking. My imagination filled what I couldn't see.
I imagined Anthea's soft lips wrapped around me, tongue teasing, giving me wet heat and friction. Or her warm, tight pussy sucking me in, silky and slick but so tight I couldn't breathe.
Those wild nights came back sharp and clear.
Her straddling me, eyes hazy, calling my name.
Me slamming into her, each thrust making her shake and moan.
Her on her knees, ass high, me taking her from behind, each slap obscene and wet.
Her moans getting faster, begging me deeper, harder, to fuck her raw.
"Anthea." I forced her name through clenched teeth, voice wrecked.
Sweat dripped from my forehead. My breathing roughened. I moved faster, brutal and desperate, each stroke pain and pleasure mixed. Minutes later, I groaned and came, white streaking the floor, the smell thick and musky.
I sagged against the wall, gasping. The high faded fast, leaving only deeper emptiness and rage. Not enough. Nowhere near enough. I wanted her to love me again, to come to my bed willingly, to let me fuck her.
My phone buzzed. A message.
"Pakhan, got him in the alley."
I glanced at the window. Anthea's lights were off now. Perfect timing. By the time I finished this, she'd be asleep.
I strode out of the apartment, headed to the alley I'd designated. Narrow and dark, tucked behind Anthea's building. One streetlamp at the entrance flickered on and off. Late night. No foot traffic.
I stood in the shadows at the mouth of the alley, watched my men—two massive Russian bruisers—drag Julian out of a car.
"Who are you?" Julian struggled, glasses crooked. "I'm a lawyer. This is kidnapping, it's illegal! I'll have you thrown in prison!"
My men ignored his threats and cracked their knuckles expressionlessly. I watched, cold. A lawyer? So what?
First punch hit Julian's gut. He doubled over, gagged.
But he kept yelling, clinging to some pathetic dignity. "Do you know who I am? I know the DA, I know—"
Second punch. Third. Fourth. Not just his gut now—his face too. Julian screamed, curled up, hands covering his face, all that bluster gone.
"Stop, please stop!" He was terrified now, begging. "What do you want? Money? I have money!"
His glasses were gone, somewhere in the dirt. Suit wrinkled and twisted. Face bruised purple and blue, eyes swelling shut. I laughed, low and contemptuous. This was the man Anthea wanted to lean on? Pathetic.
I stepped out of the shadows. My men cleared a path. Julian looked up, squinting through swollen eyes, trying to see my face. Failed.
"Who are you?" Julian frowned, squinted harder.
I kept my voice low, altered.
"Stay away from Anthea," I said it cold. "Remember how this feels. Some people aren't for you to touch."
"I don't understand, I didn't do anything... Who are you to Anthea?" Still playing dumb. Or maybe just stupid.
I crouched down, grabbed his collar, and let him see the killing intent in my eyes.
"Next time, you won't be this lucky."
Julian's face went white. He stared at me, finally understanding the cost of getting close to Anthea.
"I-I understand." His voice barely audible.
I let go. He fell back to the ground. I turned and left. Got in my car, started the engine, drove to Anthea's building.
She'd be asleep by now.
Her door was nothing to me. Might as well have been wide open. I slipped into her bedroom, stood by the bed, and watched her for a long time. Then I pulled two micro-cameras from my pocket. Small as grains of rice, but high-res, remote-controlled angles.
I eased the closet door open. Anthea's clothes hung neat and tidy, smelling like her. I installed one camera in the gap at the top of the closet. Hidden, but perfect view. Covered the whole bedroom, including her bed.
Then I slid into the bathroom, planted the waterproof camera behind the mirror. Perfect angle. Next time, that bathroom wall wouldn't block me. And from now on, I could watch her every day.
Finished, I returned to the bed. Anthea mumbled something in her sleep. I froze, didn't dare breathe. But her breathing evened out again.
I picked up her phone from the nightstand. Screen bright in the dark, too bright. I dimmed it immediately. Password? I'd already memorized her finger pattern through the telescope, tracking her movements. Unlocked in three seconds.
My fingers flew across the screen. Less than two minutes. Tracking and surveillance software buried deep in the system. Auto-hidden icon. Even professionals would struggle to find it.
From this moment on, every place Anthea went, every call she made, every text she sent—all of it streaming live to my server.
I set the phone back gently, like it had never been touched. Then I leaned down and stared at her sleeping face. A twisted, sick satisfaction filled my chest. She had no idea. She was mine to control now.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Anthea," I whispered. "I'm sick. Real sick. Only you can cure me. You'll always be mine."
She frowned in her sleep, like she sensed something. But she didn't wake. Just rolled over, buried her face in the pillow.