When she takes a step back, I realize she heard something in my voice I didn’t mean to disclose. I’m struggling. Not just with keeping a rational head, but to not break rules I swore I’d never break.
The scent of her cunt makes me not only want to take something not willingly given—but I’d have to kill her when I was done.
Chapter 9
Zariah
My brain thumps my temples as the annoying beep of a battery-operated clock stirs me from a restless sleep. I’m grateful Lenin could provide something on short notice, but I’ve barely been asleep for an hour, and even pure exhaustion couldn’t take away the uncomfortable lumps in my mattress. My room is smelly, dingy, and cold. I’m wearing layers upon layers of clothes, yet I’m still shaking. I want to pretend all my quivers are because of the horrible Moscow weather, but unfortunately, that would be a lie. I’m tired, upset, and tremendously homesick.
I tore apart my luggage last night when Lenin returned it to me within thirty minutes of Asher leaving, but no amount of searching located the cell phone my father gave me upon my departure. It was removed from my possession along with anything remotely pretty. The dresses I packed purely for vanity were missing from my bag, and any remotely sexy undergarments were either shredded beyond repair or confiscated.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Asher wants me to be as unattractive as possible. He has no cause for concern. A lack of cosmetics to tackle the monstrous bags under my eyes will make any man within a five-mile radius cringe, much less the potato sack clothes he left in my luggage. I usually reserve sweatpants and baggy T’s for the days my uterus is being hacked with tiny knives. Now they’re my only option.
With a sigh, I throw off a lint-covered sheet before swinging my legs over the bed. I’ve been busting to pee the past thirty minutes, but since I didn’t want to risk tiptoeing down an unknown hallway in an undisclosed location to use the washroom, I held it in. I can’t do that for much longer. My bladder is seconds from bursting.
A cringe crosses my features when the door I kept partially cracked open squeaks as I peel it back a few more inches. Although I can’t one hundred percent testify the person I hear breathing heavily is Asher, I’m fairly certain it is. While spitting out rules like a drill sergeant, he disclosed that he doesn’t like anyone in his room, meaning the low moans and occasional grunts I’ve heard coming from his share of our domain the last twenty minutes came from him.
I’m proven wrong when I quietly slip into his room. Asher is in his extremely large bed, but he’s not alone. He also isn’t sleeping. There are two women with him, their bodies more barren of clothes than not.
The sludge in the bottom of my stomach threatens to resurface when the scantily clad women’s attention switches from ravishing Asher’s face, neck, and torso to a lower extremity of his body. They rake their nails over his pecs and drag them down the bumps on his stomach before slipping them beneath the light-colored boxer shorts he is wearing.
I feel sick when Asher’s head flops back with a moan. Since he’s peering at the ceiling, he fails to notice my presence, much less my paling face. I recognize that groan. It was the same one he made in my ear when I buckled beneath him last night.
Seconds from snapping, I pivot on my heels, preparing to leave. The quickest glimpse of a red thread freezes me in my path. One of the lady’s thong-covered backside is balanced precariously on my childhood blanket—the blanket my mother carried me home from the hospital in. It’s my binkie, the only thing capable of settling me down when my world is spiraling out of control, except now it’s being used as a. . . as a. . .
Too angry to form sentences, I charge across the room at the speed of a rocket. With a grunt, I grip the satin swath and yank it with all my might. Although my endeavor to free it from its desecration is rough, my tug won’t damage the gorgeous material my mother chose especially for me. It’s tough—as tough as my mother when she went against a man as determined to break her as Asher is me.
"Get off!" I grunt when the blonde rolls onto the section I'm laboring to set free, horrifyingly awarding me an uninterrupted view of her silicone breasts.
My unforgiving shove to her shoulder sends her toppling off the bed with a bang. I still, paralyzed with fear when her pained cry breaks through the nasty activity taking place on my beloved binkie. Nauseating slurps quickly silence as my heart rate climbs into dangerous territory.
Asher’s eyes pop open at the same time the uninjured topless woman leans over his body to discover the cause of the wounded grunt. She gasps in horror when she spots her friend cowering on the floor, peering up at me in shock.
When she scampers off the bed to aid her friend, she leaves Asher without company but with an angry, merciless scowl. His blazing eyes bore into mine as his jaw muscle spasms, but that’s not the cause of my panic. His pupils are so massive, I can see my reflection in them. I can’t tell if they’re dilated from chemical enhancement or desire. It could be one or both. And although the scent of hard liquor is filtering through my nose, I don’t believe intoxication is the only cause for his glassy gaze. He’s medicated with something more than alcohol; I just have no clue if it is natural or not.
“There’s no need to be jealous, Little Mouse.” Asher’s tone is as mocking as his wolfish grin. “There’s plenty of Asher to share.” He licks his lips as his heavy-lidded gaze scans my body. “Just don’t ask me to share you, as there’s no chance I’ll abide. I’ll kill them all just for looking.”
Although shocked he called me the nickname I use for my brother, nothing can harness my anger. His family forced me out of my home; he assaulted me twice within a matter of hours, then enslaved me in a room worse than a cell all for a crime I did not commit. I’m beyond ropeable, and no longer in fear of my life.
Snarling, I shove Asher in the shoulder as forcefully as I did the blonde. He barely budges an inch, but I don’t need much more than that to remove the blanket wedged under his boxer-covered backside. Although my anger is unbridled, I get a small skerrick of relief that he isn’t naked. I don’t care about him and his floozies; I’m just glad my much-loved family heirloom hasn’t been tainted by his bare backside.
Yeah, right.
My gratitude doesn’t last long. Even with her ego harboring a brand-new bruise, the blonde isn’t willing to let it interrupt her fun. She scurries back to Asher’s side, her eagerness to relight their flame unmistakable. While nibbling on his ear, she claws at his shirtless torso, either completely oblivious his attention isn’t rapt on her, or not caring.
It’s proven to be the later when Asher murmurs, “Why don’t you join us, Little Mouse?” He pushes aside the brunette making her way to his crotch so he can grab it. “There’s room for you right here.” He outlines the erection I felt hot and heavy on my back only hours ago.
His pupils swamp his corneas when I step closer to him, like I’m seriously considering his offer. I’m not, but since I’m no longer scared, I’m happy to give as good as I’m getting. “I’d rather die than slum it with you.”
I kick his boot with my bare feet before spinning on my heels and hightailing it out of my room, slamming the door behind me. I don’t know where I’m going, and I have no idea what I’ll find when I reach it, but anywhere has to be better than where I am now.
Chapter 10
Asher
Adoor slamming shut adds to the pounding of my temples. I’m spaced the fuck out, as high as a fucking kite, and seconds from getting my dick sucked by a whore whose name is slipping my mind. Is it Martha? Mischa? Mable? Whatever the fuck it is, she has a body more dangerous than dynamite, yet, all I can see are the furious eyes of the woman I should be itching to kill instead of bedding. I want Zariah to bleed. It just isn’t her veins I want to siphon.
“Stop.” I tug the brunette’s head away from my crotch with enough force a sob pops from her lips.
