My Sweet Indulgence

Chapter 3: Tension and More Questions

Each shot is precise. The air is thick with gunpowder, with shots echoing around us like an unyielding storm, just like Rebecca's cries. The adrenaline in my system is at its highest. I hold my ground while shooting, watching each body collapse to the ground, with every heartbeat reminding me of the danger we're in, even though I already knew something like this would happen.

My eyes scan the chaos surrounding us. Enemies are everywhere, their silhouettes shifting, but they are not as fast as us, nor quicker. Adrenaline courses through my veins, sharpening my senses. Right now, there's no room for fear, only action.

Something told me they wouldn't let this day go by, that they would be waiting somewhere to intercept and attack us. That's why we ordered armored trucks. That's why everyone was ordered to be alert, armed to the teeth.

"Get down, damn it!" I shouted to Christopher, watching him grip his weapon with determination.

As if he didn't have a recent wound, as if the bastard hadn't just, a few days ago, come back from the dead. He's not in condition to fight today, and he knows it, but he doesn't lower his weapon. Instead, he's clever in taking cover even from where he is and, as he is, he doesn't stop taking down one body after another with his aim.

The shots continue, and I can feel the bullets hitting the truck, where Rebecca remains inside, hidden, calling out to me fiercely.

And she better calm down before she tries my patience with her clamor. Because I might understand her a bit, comprehend her agitated state, because this is like déjà vu, and she feels cornered, haunted by the memory of that night, by the damn nightmares from which I've had to drag her out to make her react, but she better shut up.

And I admit I could have taken another route, could have avoided this encounter, her deepest fears, but I found it more satisfying to see them fall into their own trap, even if she is being the victim of her own because of those same fears. Although, I admit I didn't count on them attacking her uncles' truck.

That was the only thing I didn't consider, because it makes no sense for the truck to crash into them and not into our truck or my right-hand man's or brother's.

That's why I'm enraged, that's why I don't care about blowing their brains out right there. Because my fiancée is screaming hysterically, dazed, crying, while those bastards try to scurry away like rats after such audacity.

What need is there to go against them now, if they've already cleared the Reeds from their path?

I grip my weapon tightly, to the point where my knuckles turn white from the tension. Every move I make is calculated, every shot I fire is a maneuver to keep the spoiled brat in the truck alive. The highway has turned, in seconds, into a battlefield, and I'm in the middle, keeping the little princess safe who doesn't stop crying, screaming my name in there.

"Vlad! Vlad!" She screams my name again as soon as I take a step forward, but I don't stop. Like a beast, I move towards my prey. "Vladimir, come here! Vlad, don't leave me alone, damn it!"

I unload my weapon to show the bastard approaching that I don't need it to defend myself. I smirk when he grudgingly tosses his aside.

I dodged the first blow and landed one on his face with the same speed. The bastard groans but doesn't relent. He throws another punch, and I dodge it too, and when I land the second punch on his rib, he drops to the ground, gets up, pulling a knife from his side.

"Sneaky rat." I spit at his feet with disdain.

"We're rats from the same gutter," he snaps, in an attack stance.

I shake my head.

"We'll never be the same…" I advanced, ready to confront him.

"I'm at the top of the food chain. While you and your people… are under the table, eating my scraps."

The scream he lets out as he lunges at me is that of a warrior heading straight to his end. He aims the knife straight at me to kill, but I manage to dodge him again. I bend down and lift him by the legs with all my strength until I have him completely off the ground. And with one swift motion, I slam his body against the pavement, letting out a roar like a beast waking from its slumber.

The crack of his skull is music to my ears, it brings me satisfaction, the sensation it produces in me, and although I'm panting over and over, I reluctantly remove the tie that's suffocating me.

Still on my knees before the body of the man who thought he could beat me with a kid, I watched as the blood spread on the pavement, forming a huge pool.

The gunfire has ceased, the smoke lingers in the air, leaving my eyes a bit misty. I feel the sweat and blood on my forehead, all over my face. And when I go to raise my arm to wipe myself with the sleeve of my suit, I feel a sharp pain in my back.

"Damn it…" I hissed and got up.

I see Dimitri and Artem approaching me quickly.

"Are any of you hurt?" They shake their heads. "Well, it seems I am. I think the son of a b***h stabbed me in the back before I threw him to the ground. What about the rest?"

"Chris is with his uncles, helping them out of the van," Artem replies.

"Are they hurt?"

"No. Just some bruises from the impact, but nothing serious," Dimitri tells me. "Those bastards have no idea what's coming to them, Vlad."

I nod with clenched teeth and fix my eyes on the two of them, and a few meters away, I see the overturned van, along with the others parked at the side of the road.

My men are collecting the bodies, and for the first time, I'm grateful that the road home is deserted due to the area where my mansion is. There are no civilians, no innocents to mourn. Just rats to disappear.

I can see in the distance how Christopher's uncle helps his wife out, while their daughter, the police officer, is glued to the phone.

"Don't move," she orders behind me, and her sweet voice doesn't sound so sweet this time.

I reflexively turn my neck to my right to order her back to the damn van, but it's useless. Rebecca Reed is already behind me.

"Damn it…" I hissed through clenched teeth at the searing pain. I don't take my eyes off hers, and it's outrageous that, after what she's done, she still looks at me impassively. "Why?"

I turn completely to face her.

She breaks eye contact with me, now looking at the knife she's holding in the same hand she used to pull it out with all the pleasure in the world. Because she doesn't fool me, she enjoyed what she did, and a lot.

She continues to look at the knife for a few seconds and then fixes her green eyes on me.

"He managed to stab it at least seven centimeters deep, maybe less. It's not that serious," she snaps and walks past me.

I watch her as she walks away, returning to my original stance.

"I asked you a question, Rebecca."

She stops abruptly, and when she turns to look at me again, she does it so lethally that I swear it turns me on.

"Ah, that..." She slides her gaze to the body of the bastard who was ready to finish us both off and, with the same lethality, she slides it back to look me in the eyes.

"It's to teach you that when your fiancée asks you not to leave her alone, you shouldn't, Vladimir Romanov."

She continues her strut with her head held high, as if just a few minutes ago, she wasn't screaming at me scared, utterly desperate, not to leave her alone and defenseless inside the van.

Dimitri's smirk annoys me, and I show him with the look I give him. But he keeps smiling at me, unlike Artem, who knows I'm not in the mood to put up with more than one today.

"You know what to do with this mess," I snapped and moved forward to see how my fiancée's stubborn uncles are. "Burn their bodies."

"I'll keep the hand of the bastard who thought he was quicker than me," my brother says, and I stop to look at him. "I cut it off, and it's still clutching his dagger. I can use that later."

I just shake my head, not in the mood to debate this. His bad habit of collecting some limbs from his enemies is a mental quirk I'll never understand. Let him keep debating his peculiar fascinations with the psychologist, as long as he does the job, for me... he can keep whatever the hell he wants.

When I reach Rogers, a look from my right-hand man is enough to understand that when we get to the mansion, he won't be going to bed to rest. Also, when I see the look my fiancée gives me, I understand that when we get home, she'll continue with the same defiant attitude.

What she doesn't know is that once we arrive, she'll have a very important conversation with me.

I stay still while the doctor stitches up the wound that bastard managed to inflict on me when I lifted him. I know the silence is just the calm before the storm.

Since we arrived at the mansion, I haven't stopped giving orders, and only the man sitting in front of me, watching me cautiously, studying each of the few gestures I've shown while he's been talking to me, knows how angry I am inside, even though I don't show it.

"Do you think today's events are related to those bastards?"

"If so, why attack your uncles now?"

"Caroline, maybe?" His question is ironic. "She was the one who shot Robert that day in that warehouse, remember?"

I nod; of course, I remember every detail of that past because my own father made sure to tell me everything without leaving any details out. He did it because he knew this day would come. He did it, so I wouldn't be in the dark if this moment came. My father even brought me photos of my fiancée every day on her birthdays, at every celebration, at school, in high school, even when she graduated.

And my father acted this way until I took care of those personal details myself, just to avoid his intensity regarding this loveless future marriage.

Every moment of Rebecca Reed is stored in my safe as a reminder of what I earned. I even have photographs of her leaving those places with that doctor i***t.

I don't love Rebecca Reed, but that doesn't mean her beauty, so sweet and innocent, isn't captivating to me.

"They know her husband is a lieutenant, are they that stupid?"

"Or maybe too confident in their steps."

"Or very stupid, Reed," I snap with annoyance, rising from my chair, not caring if the doctor had finished closing the wound or not. "They wanted your parents out of the way, and they succeeded. They know your father's sister is essentially... one of us. Her husband is a special agent with over fifteen years as a lieutenant in the special division, and their daughter is a police officer, and not just anyone."

I light a cigarette under his watchful gaze, trying to organize my thoughts. I take a deep drag, enjoying the calm it brings me.

"I expected what was happening today," I confessed, letting out the smoke. "But what I still can't wrap my head around is why would they be so stupid as to attack your uncles if they were so calculating when they attacked your parents."

"Do you think my uncle Travis has any enemies?"

"I think today was a very personal outburst." I take another drag under his watchful gaze. "Although I don't rule out that it's them, I'm not going to be left with any doubts, Reed. And neither should you."

He nods with his jaw clenched.

"Tonight, I'll go out looking for information."

I immediately shook my head, exhaling the smoke. "Tomorrow."

"Is that an order from my friend or my boss?"

"Your sister," I said, watching him soften his features. "If you don't want her in a foul mood tomorrow, Christopher… you'd better listen to your sister and stay home today."

"Is she that difficult?"

"I'm a patient man who likes to rest at night, knowing that tomorrow will be a very demanding day."

"I know…" He lets out a low laugh. "Last time, the fight in the ring was intense."

"And believe me, tomorrow I have no desire to dirty my suit with the filthy blood of those rats they bring me to pay."

I smirked, watching him laugh a bit more. If there's one thing my inner circle knows, it's that I hate getting dirty when I'm dressed elegantly. I'm the leader of a criminal organization, having been at the forefront of the businesses I inherited from my father since I was twenty. I dress formally to appear to be an exemplary citizen and not a damn mobster who owns the underworld of the city where he lives.

My grandfather, like my parents, taught me very well to stay at the top without raising suspicions, and we achieve that with the businesses I manage. I'm not like Dimitri, who loves to end up in a mess just for fun. I leave the dirty work to him, my most loyal enforcer.

When I have to do it, like today, I don't refuse. But as long as I can avoid coming home with stained clothes, it's a cause for satisfaction for me.

The knocking on the door interrupts us, and we both look toward it. I nod to one of my men as a signal to open it. He does, and the first thing that appears are her dark eyes, followed by her mane of hair, and yes, her ample chest.

I look at my right-hand man, and he just keeps smiling a little.

"Tell me you're okay!" She hurries towards him. "You can't imagine how worried I am, Chris!"

"I'm fine, Gabriela."

And as always, the lady starts to whimper while kissing him.

"I'm going to see your sister," that's all I say without looking back.

I don't even pay attention to the doctor when he cautiously calls me to finish closing the wound. I continue my way upstairs to my room. When I'm halfway up the stairs, Launice appears, stopping abruptly.

When it comes to diplomacy, this police officer surely knows how to play her cards. She hates us for what she knows we are and avoids all contact with us out of loyalty to her own ideals. Yet, she is the second, after her father, to cover up our messes, simply because her cousin is mine and her other cousin is my right hand.

"How is she?"

The redhead raises her chin, keeping her gaze on mine, ignoring that I'm shirtless.

"I left her showering."

"Is she upset?"

"She's calmed down."

"Anything to tell me?"

She takes a few seconds before speaking. I understand that it's hard for her to report to me, but she has no other choice. Since the accident that night, since she came to my house and heard her father's words, the humble police officer had no choice but to serve me.

"The photographs I took of the tattoos before you ordered the bodies to be burned, I'll be reviewing them against the data we have to see if any match with the small or large organizations we have in our sights… or if it's a new one."

She resumes her pace and continues down the stairs. I don't bother even when she passes by me without looking.

"Whatever I find, I'll tell my cousin," she murmurs behind me.

I don't waste my time turning around to look at her. I'm satisfied for now that she knows very well which side she's on, regardless of her ideals. I go back up the stairs to my room to have a very important conversation with my fiancée.

The first thing I do upon entering our room is lock the door behind me. I move towards the bed to wait for her, still with my cigar in hand. I take a long drag and, with my eyes closed, savor the aroma coming from the bathroom.

It's sweet and captivating. It invites me to fantasize, and like a damned man obsessed with her beauty, I let myself go.

The more I inhale the scent of her perfume, the more intense the fantasy becomes. My c**k hardens, I feel it throb where it is. I let out a growl and take another drag from the cigar to keep my hands busy.

I don't know how many times the urge to jerk off in her honor has hit me in the past few weeks, but so far I haven't given in to that temptation.

I prefer a woman on her knees swallowing my c**k, rather than succumbing to the charms of Rebecca Reed.

Am I obsessed with her beauty? Of course, I am.

Do I want her just for myself? I have no doubt about that.

Should I masturbate in her honor? Absolutely not.

No way, because if I do, I would be condemning myself to that same temptation she awakens in me. And if I'm honest with myself, I'm not here to condemn myself. I'm here to condemn her for a whole life by my side.

"Since when did I give you permission to smoke in my room?"

A smile tugs at my lips at the sound of her voice, but I don't move, I don't give her the overwhelming attention she wants.

"And since when is it just your room?"

"Since I have a ring on my finger like a cross," she retorts. Seconds later, I feel the weight on the bed, but I don't turn around. "Do you want to get tetanus with that there?"

The sensation of the thread going through my skin is annoying, it's painful and uncomfortable; I won't deny it. I tilt my face a little just to see her fingers working on the wound that was left unfinished a moment ago.

"I don't know, you're the doctor here." I turned my gaze forward again. "Shouldn't you wear gloves?"

"I would if I were on duty, of course. If it were an innocent, wounded patient…" She lets out a sigh. "But I'm not on duty, thanks to the being I have as a fiancé who doesn't let me go even to the corner. And that same being… is not innocent, but a mobster, a murderer, and a liar, who can very well endure a few stitches without the indicated protective material, right?" She tightens the knot. "It will be enough to disinfect after that."

"Always so kind, my sweet fiancée," I mutter.

I feel another tug of the thread at least two more times and then, I have to turn around because I feel her rummaging in the back of my pants and in a few seconds, she manages to pull it out.

I stay still when I catch sight of the sharp, pointed silver blade out of the corner of my eye. Not out of fear, because I could easily take her down in one move. It's more out of curiosity.

“Are you scared, Vlad?” The warmth of her breath is a caress on my skin.

“Since when did you know I have a knife there?”

“I just guessed,” she says, her innocent tone sounding doubtful.

"I've seen you put it there when you dress shamelessly in front of me, even when I've asked you not to.”

“You're very observant,” I murmur, tilting my face.

With her leaning so close to my face, I can smell her minty breath as the blade's edge brushes my cheek.

“I'm just practical,” she whispers.

My eyes move from her lips to the knife and then back to her eyes. Then, out of nowhere, she pulls away.

I curse under my breath when she cuts the excess thread in the most crude way possible, even though she's supposed to be a doctor and knows better. It's not that I'm whining about something so simple; it's that it annoys me that the damn woman is enjoying it.

“It needs to be disinfected and covered,” she says coldly, patting the damn wound. “You do it, I'm leaving...”

Her scream echoes throughout the room when I grab her arm and pull her toward me, but I don't care.

I'm quick to climb onto her body, but she's quicker to wrap her legs around mine, not in surrender, no. Not even for pleasure.

Rebecca tries to fight me, but I don't let her. I have more strength; I'm bigger and heavier, which makes it easy to pin her beneath me, holding her wrists with her arms stretched over her head, trying to keep my eyes on hers and not on her nudity, as the struggle has caused the towel to fall off.

“I can see it as a sweet punishment, or I can see it as a sweet reward.”

“Are you scared, Rebecca?”