his dark obsession

patch work and demands

(Flashback: AngelMarie, one month ago - Las Vegas)

I fired, letting my bullets rip through each man. I aimed for right between the eyes. I felt drunk with excitement as I squeezed the trigger on my guns. I felt Kelly's warm, slender back press against mine, and as we took out man after man who were standing guard outside of the warehouse we were breaking into, I also shot out the security cameras facing the entrance and on my side of the building. When it was over, I said, "You get the money; I'll get the bike," nodding at her. I watched her sprint to the table full of bound money as she began filling two duffle bags full of cash. We were breaking into her drug dealer husband's warehouse. He was known to have cars, motorcycles, drugs, and money stored there. I didn't give a shit about the drugs; I just wanted one of the bikes and the money. And it was an easy score, seeing as his abused and neglected wife, Kelly, was now my new plaything.

I met Kelly at a club called Kitties, a low-end strip club where she was sitting at the bar nursing a Long Island Iced Tea and a black eye. It wasn't long before I had her wrapped around my finger, and her tongue was loose as she poured her heart out to me. Grabbing the keys off the hook to the oldest bike there, a slightly rusted 1990 Harley Davidson Fat Boy, I fell in love instantly. "I can't wait to customize you," I thought, stroking its seat.

"Baby, I got the money," she said, smiling.

"Good, let's go," I said, slinging one of the bags of money over my shoulder as I got on the bike, revving the engine to life. As she climbed behind me, hugging my back, bullets rang out. Two hit her in the back, causing her to fall forward into my back, dead instantly.

"You think you're gonna rob my shit and leave me, bitch?" I heard her husband yell out while squeezing off rounds from his Tommy gun. Kicking the bike into gear, I rode to the exit while bullets flew all around me. Most hit her dead body, which was shielding my back, but one still managed to hit my left shoulder. As I sped down the dark street towards the highway, I didn't stop till I saw the sun breaking the horizon. Rolling her body off my back, I didn't stop till I hit the New York highway.

(Flashback over)

"Huh? What? I'm sorry, I zoned out," I said.

"You asked how I was feeling," a house doctor named Bates said, coming to my seated form on the bed, putting on gloves. He then pulled the tied cloth I had placed over my wounded right arm, lingering for a second as he assessed the damage. "It's a through-and-through; no damage. I just gotta stitch you up," he said.

I breathed in and sighed. "Go ahead, Doc."

"You are one hell of a shooter," he said. "Who taught you to use a gun like that?"

"Self-taught," I said pointedly.

Doc Bates moved awkwardly in his chair. I also noticed you've been shot before in your left arm, and it's fresh, no more than a few weeks old," he said, looking at me, expecting an answer.

"You ask too many questions, Doc," I replied, ignoring his persistent questioning.

Vlad's POV

Что ты думаешь о ее брате? (What do you make of her brother?) Vasily said as we watched the doc patch her up through the two-way mirror.

"Принеси мне полный бульдозер в течение часа" (Get me a complete dozer on her within the hour), Vlad said as he watched her. She was a fascinating little thing to him. She didn't cry out as the doc patched her arm. But then again, being shot before, you get used to the painful feeling fast, so you brace yourself for it if it happens again. And I knew she was hurting from the pain, but she masked it well. Old man Bates did everything necessary to stitch her wound up, and she didn't even once flinch or let out a small cry, showing that she was in any pain at all. That both impressed and intrigued me.

AngelMarie's POV

After Bates finished stitching me up, he cleaned up everything he used and went to the bathroom to throw everything away, along with the bloody gloves on his hands. Seeing him walk back out, now drying his cleaned hands, he pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket before giving me two, saying I needed rest.

"These will help you sleep," he gave me a small smile before he patted my hand gently, making his way to the door, leaving me alone in the guest room.

Popping the pills in my mouth, I swallowed them dry. About 15 minutes later, I felt myself slip into dreamland.

When I woke up again, it was night. My room was dark; I couldn't see anything properly until I rubbed my eyes. I hissed in pain. My arm was still swollen and puffy from the stitching, but it felt better than before. When my eyes darted around the room, I slightly jumped when my eyes connected with Vlad's. He was sitting in the corner, holding a gun, looking at me. Even though the room was dark, I could still see him. His eyes were a dead giveaway.

He was so beautiful to me. His hair was wet, surrounding his face. He wore no shirt, just pants that hung dangerously low on his waist, all his tattoos on display, making him look like a walking canvas.

I shut my eyes slowly and focused on my breathing. I counted in my head from one to ten before I heard his rough, velvet voice. "Open your eyes, baby. I need to see your beautiful eyes," he rasped out. His accent was so thick, and I shuddered, hearing him call me baby. I slowly opened my eyes, feeling a warm, rough palm grip my chin, forcing my head up to meet his intense eyes.

"It seems you plague my every thought since I saw you," he whispered to me, not breaking his intense stare.

"I don't intend to share you with anyone or let you out of my sight," he began saying to me. I focused on his eyes as he continued. "I wanted to kill you. I was going to fucking kill you, little one. I was going to kill you for the fucking feeling you were causing me to feel, but watching you sleep, I realize now I can't kill you."

"Why?" I said, confused, not breaking our stare.

"Because I have a fate worse than death for you," he said, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. "You. Will. Be. Mine," he said darkly, with a smile that made me shake. "Sleep now, kitten. Tomorrow we talk," he said right after that. My already groggy eyes got low before the whole room went black, sleep consuming me once again.

Vladimir's POV

I hadn't got a wink of proper sleep in the past 14 hours. Every single time I was able to close my eyes, my thoughts were full of images of her. Walking into her room, I watched her sleep, and for an odd reason, it helped me dose off. It would only be for about five to ten minutes, and then I would be awake, waiting for her to wake up. This infuriated me. Standing, I walked out, letting my thoughts drift.

"She will have no life without me. I will fucking own her," I thought as I looked over her file, which wasn't much. She was 27, mixed race, born on the islands of Hawaii, moved to California at age 11, then nothing till age 20, resurfacing as an entertainer whose occupation was dancer, musician, and singer. From there, she moved from state to state, never putting roots down anywhere, no license or ID, no social media, no cell phone, no Facebook—nothing to use to track her, or so she thought. I would make her understand that I meant what I said last night: SHE WAS MINE, plain and simple. There was no leaving me unless it was in a body bag. She will bow to me willingly or by force. I am king for a reason; I don't take disobedience or disrespect well. As the leader, I will kill you for any show of the two in the slightest bit. Last night, the look of defiance on her face when I said she was mine angered me to a point where I almost blacked out and snapped her neck.

"Boss! She's awake," Miguel said, entering my office, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Bring her to me. NOW!!"