Chapter 4 4

My thoughts betrayed me, wandering to what she might look like in them-or out of them. I shook my head, focusing. Stay sharp, Eric. You're here for a reason.

The bathroom door creaked open. I slipped into the shadows, my pulse quickening.

She stepped into the room, wrapped in a towel that clung precariously to her damp body. Her golden hair dripped water onto her bare shoulders, trailing down her tattooed arm. Her eyes darted around, sharp and wary. She knew something was off.

I shifted, and a creak gave me away.

Her instincts were razor-sharp. She darted for the desk, reaching for the gun, but I was faster. In a flash, I pinned her to the wall, her hands locked above her head.

"Don't worry, Rita. I didn't come to kill you," I murmured, my voice low and steady. I leaned in, inhaling her intoxicating scent. "I need your help."

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of her breathing. She didn't flinch, didn't struggle. Her brown eyes bore into mine with defiance.

"Help you?" she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "You've got the wrong girl."

I smirked, tightening my grip on her waist. "Oh, I think I've got exactly the right girl."

"What do you want?" she demanded, her tone sharp.

"I'll explain soon enough," I replied. "But first..." My voice dropped to a whisper. "You're going to tell me everything about the man you're working with. The man who's trying to take what's mine."

Her eyes narrowed, but I saw a flicker of recognition. She knew exactly who I was talking about.

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Eric's Perspective

I'm about five years older than her, but that certainly won't stop me from fucking or killing her. She looked at me as if she would now like to tear my head off my shoulder. I don't blame her, I would do the same to her. To tear off that little head and hang it over my bed as a trophy but with the rest of her body... I always have a special treatment for that.

I tore myself out of my thoughts, training to restrain myself from doing any of that. Oh God, how I wish I could get that towel off her body.

"You can scream as much as you want, but no one will hear you," I whispered to her. "Your family is preoccupied with that shit music, and I think they don't care about what's going on up here."

Her jaw tightened, and her eyes burned. She's angry. Furious. I like it. She tried to move her arms, but I squeezed them even harder, leaving red bruises.

"No, no, now love. Be good girl."

"What do you want?" she hissed. Her American accent lit up the room. I can hear the hate in her voice.

"Didn't you hear what I said a moment ago?" I asked her. She just stood straight. "I said I needed your help." As soon as I said that, Sokolov laughed. That maniac laughter shook the whole room. She laughs at me. She laughs in my face!

She shook her head, still laughing so hard that almost tears began to flow. "Help? You? Are you serious?"

I stood still, firm, wanting to rip her head off and break the vocal cords so she couldn't say anything more. Pushing her even harder against the wall, I placed the knife on her neck, slowly pushing it deeper and deeper. She hit her head but said nothing. Her eyes were wide open and she lifted her neck higher and higher, but my knife went deeper and deeper in her skin.

My black glove rubbed her cheek, feeling her heat as I slowly squeezed it. I want to feel real skin, her skin on mine, but I think it's impossible.

"Listen to me carefully princess, I can kill you now, take that little heart of yours, but I don't. So stop laughing and listen to what I'm saying." I said through gritted teeth. My chin is firm, and Rita has calmed down, looking at me seriously now. I moved the knife from her neck, looking at her body one more time, and saw how her tits were sticking out of the towel. What if-?

I opened my mouth to continue, but she interrupted me. "Can I get dressed first, I think my body draws your attention." She said sweetly, teasing me. And she is teasing me. She's challenging me to play.

"On one condition. Be a good girl and don't try to run away or kill me, because we both know it's impossible." I said with a grin.

She smiled, and I knew right away that she was going to say something cheeky. "Of course not. Otherwise, I could kill you very easily, but I want to be a good girl," she said, approaching my face. Her lips are just a little further from mine, and I can feel her quiet breathing on my lips. My heartbeat sped up.

She moved her lips to my ear, whispering once more.

"Good girl, for you."

Oh girl, if only.

I let go of her arms, moving my leg. I saw red marks on her arm. My marks. She moved from her seat and went to a closet from which she pulled out a black shorts and a white T-shirt. Just when I thought she was going to move the towel, she turned to me.

"Can you go out? I need to change," she said, holding the towel tightly.

I grinned, raised, and lowered my shoulders, sitting on one of the armchairs. I put my hands on the ends, stretching my legs.

"Don't worry, I'm not watching," I said, but oh, I am watching.

Rita frowned, turning her back on me. She let go of the white silk towel, and it immediately fell to the floor. She was standing in front of me now. No towel. No clothes. Just her naked body. And it is perfect. Her ass is perfectly shaped, and her hips.... She turned to me and then I saw her breasts and pussy. Every part of her body I would love to touch. There are too many things I would like to do to her right now. I was so close to getting up and jumping on her, like a wild animal chasing its prey.

I want her. I want her now. But I can't have her, not even for a moment.

She must have felt my gaze on her and immediately smirked.

Slowly, she began to put on lacy black panties that did not cover even half of her ass. She put on a black bra, but her breasts were still perfectly visible. Then she pulled on a T-shirt, and shorts and tied her hair in a messy bun.

I kept a serious expression on my face, and finally, when she turned to me, I stood up.

"Now that we're all dressed, I think it's time to introduce myself." I started. "I'm Er-"

"Eric Butler, 23, son of Logan and Lovett Butler, I guess, successor and future leader of the American-Romanian family," Rita said proudly. She looked proud.

"Only American." I corrected her. "I'm impressed. Children your age usually draw and color coloring books, but you... you know how to talk." I mocked. Rita just rolled her eyes, too pissed to say anything. I continued. "Let's see. Rita Sokolov, daughter of Vegas, and Mirabel Solokov, sister of Garret Solokov, 19, Russian. Little baby girl of her family, I guess."

"Do not flatter yourself," she adds. I nodded trying to hide the grin.

"Ah, that's the shitty language half of your books are written on." I chuckled.

Her eyes widened. She looked in the direction of the shelf and saw a book I was holding a while ago. She looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes furious.

"You touched my Lev Tolstoy!" she said angrily, running quickly to the shelf. Taking the book back, she began to examine it carefully. Like she's looking for some evidence.

"What's the matter, it's just a book."

"Just a book!" Rita said, almost yelling. "Tolstoy is one of the most important writers, but of course, little brains like yours can't understand that."

I rolled my eyes, and I could see in her experience that she must have been embarrassed by this reaction. She dropped the book carefully on the shelf, turning to me. Her hands were crossed on her chest, looking like she was going to kill me at any moment.

"What do you want? And don't tell me you need my help," she said sharply.

I shrugged, starting. "Okay. If you want to play like that then fine." I took the phone out of my pocket and kept talking.