Page 48 of Captured Obsession

A cruel smile curves his lips as he states, “Unless you're willing to put on a show for all of these people waiting in line, you best remember that here, your mouth is better shut and your attitude more obedient.”

It’s like a cold, hard slap to the face. It’s a reminder that I’m playing against a man who's literally holding me against my will.

He locks his hand around mine, and with the thumb of his free hand, he grazes along my bottom lip as he says, “Good girl.”

“I fucking hate you,” I say under my breath, seething.

“Yes, you hate me so much that you seem to get off every time. Then again, my head is usuallybetween your legs when I do,” he says as he leads me toward the door. Heat scorches my cheeks, and I hate how I respond to him weaponizing it. Fucking asshole.

When we get to the entrance, I catch glimpses of others in the line who are cursing that we didn't have to wait like them. I'm used to this treatment, but there's something more unsettling about going into a club that harbors sinister dealings with greedy men. In my naivety, I wonder how many clubs like this I’ve already walked into.

“Udav, we haven't seen you for a while. Heard you got a babysitting gig,” one of the security guards says in Russian. The man is huge, bigger than Andrei.

“Just a package the boss wants to be kept safe until delivery,” Nikolai replies in Russian. My stomach drops at the harshness in his tone.

“The package looks too sweet for my liking. Too breakable,” the guard notes.

“Well, you've always had shitty taste, and she's not for you to look at. If you'd like to keep the remainder of your teeth, I suggest you divert your gaze.”

The man seems affronted, but doesn't argue. Instead, he steps to the side, permitting us to enter. “The boss is waiting for you inside,” he says, not looking at me again.

Nausea swells in my stomach as the impending doom looms over me, and the heavy beat of the music entices us in. I find it ironic that places like these,where I’d go clubbing with my girls, drinking without a care in the world, no longer feel fun.

The space is decorated in cool tones, and I immediately sense I’ve walked into a gentleman’s club. Women walk around topless and only wearing G-strings. One man sits at a booth in the corner, and as one of the women walks by, he snags her wrist and tugs her onto his lap. She giggles expectantly.

A clump of people dance on the lower level. The music is booming, but it’s not so overbearing where we are on the upper level that we can’t hear one another.

Stairs descend, but that’s not where Nikolai leads us. Instead, he guides us to a staircase on our left, where two men in black suits stop us. One of them extends his hand to press against Nikolai’s chest.

In Russian, Nikolai hisses, “You better get your fucking hand off of me if you’d like to keep it.”

A robust laugh filters over the half balcony that conceals most of what’s happening up those few stairs. “Let him pass. He doesn’t warn people twice.”

The security guard looks irritated but steps back, and Nikolai eyes him as he grabs my hand and pulls me up the staircase. I hate this place. I’m on edge, as I feel like everyone’s attention is on us, even if that might not be the case.

When we appear at the top of the stairs, my hands are shaking. I try to strengthen my composure, much like I do in my own social circles sometimes, but then I meet a lethal pair of large amber eyes watching mefrom the corner of the room. Secured to the wall with a thick metal chain attached to an equally thick collar is … a fucking tiger.

Are you fucking kidding me?

My heart sinks at the cruelty of keeping such a majestic animal as a pet. It’s on display, its chain so short that it can only move about a foot in any direction. But by the way it sizes up the guards, if they step too close, it will be enough to swipe at them.

I shouldn’t be here.

Nikolai’s hand clamps down harder on mine, as if noticing the tremble. We’re at odds with one another, but I take it as the only form of comfort I can depend on right now.

A large man with an abundant belly, a coarse, black beard sprinkled with gray; and wearing a white suit, has three women with him—one on each side and a pretty dark-haired one on his lap. The women giggle amongst themselves, and when Nikolai appears, their gazes all snap to him, eyes shining with lust. A well-dressed, dark-haired man stands behind the guy in the white suit, carefully assessing us. His almost-black eyes narrow on Nikolai’s hand holding mine.

“Little cub,” the man sitting, who I assume to be his boss, greets Nikolai in Russian. Then his gaze moves to me. “And this is the package,” he says in English. “Prettier in person than the photos you sent me. Sit.”

Nikolai leads me by the hand, and even if he’sholding my hand out of necessity, so I don’t run away, I find my grip tightening.

I notice how he’s scanning the men in the room, who are all openly holding firearms. The only ones who seem bothered by the beast in the corner are those who are positioned closest to it. But then Nikolai turns his attention to the man who is quietly watching. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, and is slightly more polished than the others in the room. He leans in and whispers something quietly to the boss, who dismisses him with a wave.

We take a seat across from the boss, and although Nikolai drops my hand, he sits shoulder to shoulder with me. His boss whispers something into the ear of the woman sitting on his lap, and she giggles before standing and bending over and pouring another two glasses of vodka, giving us a full show of her tits.

She sits back on his lap, and the boss holds out his hand, as if offering the drinks like a distinguished gentleman.

I look to Nikolai, uncertain, and he picks up a glass and takes a sip. When I feel his boss’s gaze on me, I inhale a deep breath and follow his lead.