34. -33-
Dorian
The ride to work was unexpectedly long. Usually, I sped down the highway as if the police were chasing me with a warrant, but this time, my mind stayed on Valeria’s pale face and Zyon’s surprising lack of urgency.
It wasn’t my place to stick my nose into their relationship, but I knew my brother. Something serious had to have happened between them if he wasn’t throwing her over his shoulder and bringing her in for a check-up.
Making a mental note to call Valeria in the morning to ask if her stomach improved, I parked my brand-new Jaguar in the hospital parking lot. Scanning the darkness for a brief second out of habit, I walked toward the back entrance and slipped inside.
The hall welcomed me with a familiar smell of disinfectant that instantly soothed my overthinking mind. It was like a medicine that calmed down my system while the white hospital halls seemed to shrink around me.
Gently opening the door into Aryna’s room, the tension in my shoulders immediately loosened when my gaze landed on the small body on the bed.
Blonde hair stuck out from under the thick bandage on her forehead, and the dressing on her forearm looked brand new.
A frown formed as I took her chart and checked the procedures.
The arm had to be stitched again, but why?
“She tore out the stitches,” came the answer to my unsaid question, and I whipped my head toward the door. Melody walked inside, holding a silver plate with disinfectant, gloves, medical tape, and bandages. “I had to sedate her to be able to work.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, turning toward my little patient. My chest tightened that I wasn’t with her when it happened. “What about her abdomen?”
“Look for yourself.”
Melody handed me a pair of gloves and pushed the blanket and Aryna’s pajamas aside, uncovering the soaked dressing. Tenderly, I took it off, revealing the long, swollen incision. The whole surgery flashed before my eyes in one quick memory, reminding me how close she was to leaving this world.
Focusing on work, my hands moved automatically as I changed the bandage and made sure she wouldn’t remove it easily.
I used more tape than ever to secure it, feeling Melody’s gaze burning holes in my face.
She knew I didn’t have a shift tonight, yet I showed up anyway because I couldn’t sleep unless I checked on my little angel.
I spent every free moment in her room. Sometimes I read her short tales I found online; other times, I just shared funny stories from my life with Malin and Zyon when we were kids, and my main goal was to annoy the last fuck out of them.
She slept through most of that. Her eyes opened only once, hours after the surgery, and since then, we kept her on medication to speed up the recovery.
So, when she had woken up and I hadn’t been there, it felt like a punch in the gut, but at least Melody was around to keep an eye on her.
“Are you staying?” Melody asked, breaking my train of thought, as she tossed her gloves into the bin.
“No.” I shook my head as I checked the other bandages. “I need to prepare for two minor surgeries at the clinic and finish the report for the social services about her.”
I adjusted the blanket and straightened to my full height, finally facing Melody’s scowling face.
“Still no visitors?” She tried to mask the sadness in her voice, but my ears detected the strain in her tone.
“Her foster father called,” I replied, involuntarily clenching my fist. “Asking if they’ll still receive the money while she’s in hospital.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Melody stared at me in disbelief. “She almost died.”
“He didn’t seem to mind.” I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal, but my blood boiled every time I recalled that phone call.
The fucker had the audacity to tell me he didn’t agree to any medical treatment; therefore, he wouldn’t be paying for it.
If he was standing before me, I would smash his idiotic head against the nearest surface.
“And the social worker will return her there like it’s no big deal,” Melody ground out, casting one last look at Aryna before following me outside. “This world is fucked up.”
My friend’s words echoed in my mind as I packed the medical reports and scans to study at home the next day.
Aryna’s unfortunate fate had bothered me since I met her.
Somehow, she meant more to me than just an injured kid I saved.
I was pulled to her by an inexplicable force, ready to protect her against anyone and everything.
Her frightened look was burned into my memory.
Every time I recalled those glassy blue eyes full of pain and fear, my chest squeezed.
A lot of kids stared at me like that. Throughout my career, I’d performed many surgeries and life-saving procedures in the ER for children even younger than her.
But this was different. I didn’t understand how or why, but if anyone dared to hurt my little angel, I would start breaking bones.
Before I reached my secret hideout from the world, meaning the house I bought without my brothers knowing about it, a word I never thought would interest me looped in my mind.
Adoption.
Aryna wouldn’t return to that foster fucker, not under my watch. My aunt Victoria ran an adoption agency, and I’d meet her ASAP to discuss my options. As a single man, getting custody wouldn’t be easy. But money bought almost anything, and my name opened doors most people never even reached.
Wait, a single man? It wasn’t my status anymore. Perhaps the chaos ma vilaine created could be turned into something useful. Marriage would look perfect in the adoption papers.
However, a brief image of my wife, dressed in a leather outfit with a Venetian mask covering her face and a gun on her sexy thigh, made me chuckle. No sane social worker would let a child live with her. Still…
Pondering my options, I parked the car at my property, in front of the dark, modern two-story house.
The night and calmness enveloped me as I walked toward the front door and unlocked it.
The place didn’t have a security system yet, so Malin couldn’t stalk me through the monitors.
And with Sasha visiting his sick mother in New Jersey, I had a terrific opportunity to spend an undisturbed night with my wife.
But how to get her here?
My mind raced with ideas, but none were good enough. She was still ignoring me, and my abilities didn’t lie in stalking people. I should have told Malin everything I knew. He would have already found her. But no, I was too worried for her sexy ass to let her bully me.
A faint smile crossed my face as I threw my jacket, files, and car keys on the massive sofa in the living room. My brain buried the memories of our last meeting at the hotel in the farthest corner of my subconscious, yet in the privacy of my house, I could let it consume me.
Sitting behind the enormous black piano that ruled the place like a quiet monarch, I started to play the piece of classical music that perfectly matched my wife’s energy—
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. My favorite.
My fingers moved with practiced precision on the keys, the tones bouncing off the walls while the memories flooded my system.
The hotel room.
The dead body of the woman I barely knew.
The gun in the hand of a masked psychopath who opened the secret door into the pleasure I never imagined experiencing.
Closing my eyes, I let the music complement the movie replaying in my mind.
My wrists clearly remembered the unforgiving grip of cuffs.
A shiver ran through me at the memory of her lips wrapped around my cock.
My head tilted back, every cell and nerve in my body buzzing as if I were experiencing it again—the loss of control that momentarily disarmed me.
That feeling was impossible to forget. The moment when the calmness enveloped me, silencing that demonic voice in my head.
The split second when the perfectionism disappeared, when my hands didn’t fight with time to save another unfortunate existence.
It was fucking liberating to not care for a second and just… let go.
The last tones of Beethoven’s excellent piece filled the space, and I opened my eyes, realizing my forehead was sweaty and my chest heaved. Music and memories completely consumed me. My hands slightly trembled when I lowered the fallboard over the keys and climbed the stairs into my bedroom.
Like a robot, I threw my phone onto the bed and walked into the shower, taking off my clothes only when the hot water utterly soaked them.
Thick drops fell on my skin, waking my dazed brain.
Rivulets cascaded down my cheeks and shoulders, reminding me of the faint touches of my wife’s lascivious lips.
My cock instantly woke up to life. The mere image of her ignited the fire in my bones that consumed my every sane thought.
“Fuck,” I exhaled, unsure if I wished to erase her from my system or go on a hunt to finally find her and make her properly mine.
How the hell did she get under my skin so easily?
For years, I only trusted my brothers and my parents.
I kept people away because the betrayal hurt too much.
Love destroyed me. Feelings almost took away my sanity and demolished years of hard work.
Empathy, so natural for me and my profession, became a tool to eradicate those who fell for my charming personality.
In some ways, I was much worse and much more dangerous than my brothers. People expected them to eliminate their enemies. But me?
In the eyes of the public, I was the voice of reason. The police suspected me of being an accomplice to my brothers’ crimes, but found no evidence. It was only assumptions and unconfirmed suspicions, and when I showed up for an interrogation, they cleared me.
Whenever a problem came up in the organization, people came to me.
Not to Malin or Zyon, but to me, because I was approachable.
I smiled, said hi, and in between the words, I learned about their loved ones, their weaknesses, and their fears.
By the time they realized I wasn’t mediating but deciding their fate, it was already too late.
Malin was excellent in his job, but his methods drew attention; mine didn’t.
When I decided to close the door on mafia business and work only as a doctor, Zyon was shocked. He couldn’t imagine it, yet I could. But fuck, how wrong I was.
I missed the late-night torture sessions.
Hunts with Malin until the sun woke up and chased away the darkness we loved so much.
Those fucked-up activities meant the world to me.
They completed my deprived personality and added a thrill to my days.
No surgery, no matter how important, could equal the adrenaline rush in my veins when I chased some fucker through the night with a sharp knife ready to cut them to pieces.
Pressing my forehead against the cold shower tiles, I focused on my breathing, trying to force out the fantasy of hunting my wife through the night.
Just imagining her fleeing through a dark forest made my cock ache.
But I refused to give in to those feelings.
I couldn’t allow her to have so much control over me.
Fantasizing was one thing, but I had to draw the line somewhere.
She wouldn’t know that you jerked off on the memory of her fucking your ass with a gun, the voice residing in my mind whispered.
“No, but I would,” I grumbled.
Furious for having this conversation with a delusional part of myself, I exited the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. The pressure in my balls was extremely uncomfortable, but I ignored it with the grace of a man pretending a house fire was just a minor inconvenience.
Actually, I was starting to get used to sexual frustration.
Since that little leather devil showed up, nothing but confusion, irritation, and fear swirled inside my chest.
Don’t forget the excitement, asshole.
“Oooh, how could I?” I groaned, tossing myself face-first on the bed.
It was torture. My body and mind teamed up against me to break my will not to touch myself, but I had to admit they were winning. The tingling in my lower abdomen amped up with every teasing memory of her lascivious, plump lips, and that intense feeling caused by the gun in my…
The buzzing of my phone interrupted my wild imagination, forcing me to return to reality, where I was a doctor saving lives, not a puppet in my wife’s hands. But the text didn’t require my attention. It was only Sasha informing me that he would wait for me in the hospital tomorrow morning.
Turning onto my back, I involuntarily replayed the last conversation with ma vilaine, deciding to try one last time to lure her to my house.
My intentions weren’t to overpower or capture her, nor did I want to drop to my knees and worship her, even though my ludicrous brain pictured that scenario too many times for my liking.
I just wanted to get to know her better.
That’s how pathetic I was. The little psycho kidnapped me, and since then, her actions only escalated, and what did I wish? To know her fucking favorite color. I should book an appointment with a shrink as soon as possible.
Despite my better judgment and scolding of my fingers, which seemed to have a mind of their own, I texted my wife.
Dorian: I just looked under the bed, and you weren’t there. I’m disappointed.
The reply came within seconds, sending my heart into overdrive.
Unknown number: Have you checked the closet, baby?
My eyes widened, and before I could stop myself, I was already in front of the massive wooden closet in the corner. Violently, I yanked the door open, but only my perfectly lined jackets and coats stared back at me. My eyes narrowed, scanning the place under them when someone tapped my shoulder.
For a split second, I froze. Then I spun around, taking a step back so fast I almost stumbled inside when my gaze collided with a familiar Venetian mask and a pair of gorgeous brown irises glowing behind it.
“You weren’t in the closet,” I exhaled, unable to fight the smile that possessed my lips.
“You didn’t look under the bed.”