Page 14 of Bound in Obsession
Nico
I stand in the operations room with my arms crossed, listening as Rafe, my head of security, runs through the updated protocols.
“We’ve doubled the outer perimeter teams and added rotating patrols every thirty minutes,” he says, pointing at the schematic on the screen. “Motion sensors on the tree line, drones up after dark. With both Gallo and Caruso coming for us, we can’t afford any blind spots.”
I nod once. “Good. Make it triple on the east side. That’s the weakest approach.”
Rafe nods and keeps talking about new shift rotations, backup generators, emergency extraction routes. I listen, but only half of me is here. The other half keeps drifting back to her, like it’s been doing all day.
When we’re done and Rafe leaves, Daniel approaches, giving me a respectful nod. “Boss.”
“How is she?”
Daniel shifts his weight. “She hasn’t left the bedroom all day. Refused to come out. The maid you sent with clothes and supplies… she sent her away. Told her to tell you to go….” he trails off unable to finish the statement, but I already have an idea of what he’s about to say.
A low breath leaves me. I nod, unsurprised.
I’ve been out since I left her. Checking shipments at the docks, tightening control over our territory, making sure every captain knows we’re at war. But all day, no matter where I was or what I was doing, my mind kept circling back to the brunette locked in the room right next to mine.
I still don’t know why the fuck I put her there.
I should have left her in the original holding room on the far side of the hall. Hell, I should have stuck her in the east wing where I wouldn’t have to smell her every time I walk past her door. Instead, I chose the suite connected to mine. One locked door between us.
I’m still pissed at myself for the original fuck-up. I should have lifted that veil the second I grabbed her in the garden. But I let myself get distracted by the way she felt against me whenI pinned her, by that damn jasmine-and-vanilla scent that’s been burned into my senses ever since. It’s lodged in my nose, my lungs, and my head. No matter how many meetings I sit through, I can still smell her.
“Find the maid who took things to her. Tell her to bring everything to me.”
He nods and disappears. I head to my office and I cross to the wet bar, grab a bottle of Macallan, and pour a generous finger. I knock it back in one burning swallow. The whisky does nothing to dull the irritation crawling under my skin.
She hasn’t left the room. Hasn’t eaten all day. What game is she playing? Starving herself out of spite?
I pour another shot.
A knock sounds. The maid walks in carrying the stack of clothes, and toiletries I’d ordered for Sienna, now Eleonora. She sets everything on the edge of my desk carefully, then leaves when I order her to.
I stare at the pile for a long second, jaw tight. Then I toss back the second shot, grab the stack, and head upstairs. I’ll deliver her new clothes myself.
I climb the stairs. This is probably a terrible fucking idea.
All day I’ve been replaying it, the way her skin felt under my fingers when I removed that Caruso necklace, warm and soft and far too responsive. The slow rip of silk as I dragged the blade down her body.
The way her pulse jumped and raced when I wrapped my hand around her throat. For one dangerous second, I’d almost leaned in and kissed her, tasted that sharp mouth that keeps running even when she’s terrified. I had to force myself to pull back.
She’s been here less than a day and she’s already crawling under my skin like a drug I didn’t ask for.
When she spat in my face, I should have made her regret it. I should have reminded her exactly who the fuck she belongs to now. I’ve killed men for far less. Snapped necks just for looking at me wrong. Yet when she did it, I didn’t strike her.
I laughed. Because for some fucked-up, unexplainable reason, I can’t bring myself to hurt her.
I reach her door and open it without knocking. The bathroom door is wide open. She’s standing at the sink in nothing but that lacy white bra and the ruined wedding dress pooled around her waist. Blood streaks her wrists, she must have scratched it raw trying to get the zip tie off earlier. A dark bruise is already forming on her bicep, the perfect imprint of my fingers from when I dragged her out of the garden.
My eyes linger on that bruise longer than they should. I set the pile of clothes on the bed. She still hasn’t noticed me. Thatbothers me more than it should. She’s in enemy territory and she’s not even aware of her surroundings. Careless.
She finally catches my reflection in the mirror and spins around, eyes narrowing instantly.
She scowls. The woman actually fucking scowls at me. “Have you never heard of knocking?”
I don’t answer. My gaze drops for half a second to the swell of her breasts in that innocent white lace that has no business being sexy, before I force it back up to her face.
