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She was his possession.Hiswhore.Hisplaything. And because she was his, she could be no one else's. No one would be allowed to touch, speak, or even gaze at her.
The more he thought about all those leery boys and their stupid grins, or the men who'd laughed at her but had probably jerked off to the image of her sweet lips, he lost even more control of himself.
At the back of his mind,maybehe realized he'd made a miscalculation. In a moment of pure anger, he'd reacted against her, seeking to chase her away—from his life, from his mind, from his goddamn blood. But even then, unconsciously, he'd only released the video that was least revealing of her form. After all, he'dnevershow anyone what was for his eyes only to see.
But his attempt at ridding himself of the complication that she embodied had backfired.
Instead of going on with his life as if he'd never laid eyes on her before, everything had gone to shit.
His mood. His mind. His fucking daily routine that he'd depended on for as long as he could remember.
Everything that was left was her goddamn voice in his ear—tormenting and haunting him like even his worst nightmares had been unable to.
And so Michele came to a swift, but rather sensible solution. He reduced everything to common-sense and the fact that he was a selfish son of a bitch.
Why did he have to give her up? Why did he have to deprive himself of the pleasure of her body? Why did he have to do any such thing when a second option was right before him?
He would take her. He would use her until he finally had his fill of her. And then he would get rid of her.
His mistake, he begrudgingly admitted, had been in throwing her away before he'd gotten tired of her—before he'd explored every little hidden corner of her psyche. Becausethatwas what haunted him, he convinced himself. The what-ifs. The fact that he knew there was more to her and he'd never be able to enjoy it—never know those sides of her to the fullest.
And hewouldtire of her. Eventually.
He was nothing if not fickle about things and was self-aware enough to recognize that part of himself. Nothing and no one could possibly hold his interest forever.
But for now?
The more he thought about it, the more excited he became as he rationalized all his future steps. After all, wasn't this just another type of revenge? Maybe even more potent as each member of her family realized Michele was tainting her with his touch, that shewasa whore but only because she washiswhore.
It was still revenge.
He wasn't going against his vows.
He could have herandhis revenge.
Yes, he nodded to himself as he stared at the trembling old man covered in blood. That was more like it. How the hell had he been unable to come to this conclusion earlier? He would have spared himself the frustration of trying tonotthink about her, and the pain of weeks of blue balls.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Reality shifted anew as calmness settled over him. A calmness that he hadn't known since the moment she'd left his home.
She was his to do as he liked.
Hisfucking toy.
And he wanted to play.
"I want every corner of her room under surveillance. And adjacent rooms. Anything that might be of use. I don't know how you do it, but I want it done, Andreas. And onlyIwill have access to the feed. Is that clear?" He told Andreas as they left Mr. Landers home behind.
"Yes, sir," Andreas happily answered.
It struck Andreas only later that he'd agreed to add cameras and bugs to Vlad Kuznetsov's house—the infamous Berserker.
He swallowed nervously, then shrugged.
It was just another day on the job.
EIGHT
