ห้องสมุด
ค้นหา
หน้าหลัก / Mafia / Her Neglected Scars / FORTY-NINE: Z'ver, The Horse

แชร์

FORTY-NINE: Z'ver, The Horse

ผู้เขียน: Circeleari
last update วันที่เผยแพร่: 2026-06-15 21:08:53

I push the double doors open silently, my fingers gripping the cold brass handle until my knuckles turn white.

The heavy wool of my high-collared riding habit chafes mercilessly against the raw, sticky grid of whip wounds on my back, each micro-movement sending a sharp, nauseating sting straight up my spine.

But the physical agony vanishes from my mind the second I look across the grand living room.

Leonid is standing near the massive stone fireplace, his tiny six-year-old face flushed a bright
อ่านหนังสือเล่มนี้ต่อได้ฟรี
สแกนรหัสเพื่อดาวน์โหลดแอป
บทที่แล้ว บทต่อไป
บทที่ถูกล็อก

บทล่าสุด

  • Her Neglected Scars   FIFTY: Nickname

    I know what it’s like to be trapped in a cage, hurting so badly you want to scream, while everyone looks at you and only sees a weapon.I take a slow breath, expanding my lungs carefully to minimize the sting in my back, and walk toward the reinforced steel gates of the corner stall.The stallion’s ears twitch instantly.He lifts his head, his wild eyes locking onto me as he lets out a defensive, raspy snort, his muscles tensing as if he’s preparing to charge the bars.“Easy,” I whisper, my voice dropping into a soft, melodic purr.I don’t stop walking, but I move with complete, fluid grace, keeping my hands low and visible.“Easy, boy. I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me. I’m tiny. You could crush me with one hoof if you wanted to.”I reach the gate and slowly slide the heavy iron bolt open.The metal screeches softly, and the stallion takes a sharp step back, baring his teeth.My heart is beating so loud I can hear it in my ears, but I force myself to step inside the stall, closin

  • Her Neglected Scars   FORTY-NINE: Z'ver, The Horse

    I push the double doors open silently, my fingers gripping the cold brass handle until my knuckles turn white.The heavy wool of my high-collared riding habit chafes mercilessly against the raw, sticky grid of whip wounds on my back, each micro-movement sending a sharp, nauseating sting straight up my spine.But the physical agony vanishes from my mind the second I look across the grand living room.Leonid is standing near the massive stone fireplace, his tiny six-year-old face flushed a bright, furious red, his small fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his arms are visibly shaking.The air in the room is suffocating, thick with the scent of burning pine from the hearth and the cloying, expensive rose perfume that can only belong to one person.Irina is sitting gracefully on the plush velvet sofa, a picture-perfect portrait of elegant, tragic concern.“What’s going on in here?” I ask, forcing my voice into a smooth, even register that betrays absolutely none of the internal ha

  • Her Neglected Scars   FORTY-EIGHT: Horseback or Torture?

    The leather uncoils with a wet, heavy slap against the hardwood, and the sound alone is enough to violently jerk me out of the warm, lingering haze of the billiards room. “Crack the door, let a single sound out, and we see how the great Russian bear likes finding out his precious little bird is a Bennington rat.”My stomach drops into a bottomless, icy void. The sheer terror isn’t just for the pain I know is coming; it’s the sudden, agonizing realization of how easily I let myself forget. I actually let myself believe, even for a handful of seconds, that a game of pool and a low, gravelly nickname could buy me safety. I am so pathetic. I mock myself silently as I move toward the bathroom, my limbs heavy and clumsy with dread. I reach for the white cotton hand towel hanging over the porcelain basin. It feels rough against my palms, dry and ordinary, a stark contrast to the violence about to unfold. I fold it twice, shove it between my teeth, and bite down until my jaw aches. The

  • Her Neglected Scars   FORTY-SEVEN: From Cues to Whips

    The green felt table sits between us like a battlefield. Konstantin walks over to the wooden rack on the wall, his broad shoulders shifting beneath his black shirt. He slides a heavy wooden cue from the mount, weighs it in his hand, and then pulls out a second one. He walks over to me, extending the handle. “Do you actually know how to play,” he says, “or were you performing for the child?”I take the cue. “I know a bit.”“How much is a bit.”“Enough to embarrass myself comfortably.”His mouth moves. Not a smile. Adjacent to one.My mind flashes back to the smoky underground lounges in London, the high-stakes clubs in Mayfair, the different wealthy businessmen my father had ordered me to charm, to manipulate, to bleed for information. I had to learn everything they liked—poker, baccarat, golf, billiards. I had to be the perfect companion, the flawless mirror to their desires. But billiards was never my strongest suit; I was always better at watching the marks than hitting the ba

  • Her Neglected Scars   FORTY-SIX: Games and Distractions

    Dinner ends and nobody moves for exactly three seconds.Leonid is already pushing his chair back.Konstantin clears his throat, setting his stained wine glass down. Carlos takes that as his cue, offering a brief, formal nod before exiting the room with a thick stack of ledger documents tucked under his arm. Konstantin shifts in his seat, as he glances down at his watch. Across the table, a maid steps forward from the shadows, her shoes clicking softly against the marble floor as she approaches Leonid. “Master Leonid, it is time for bed,” she says softly, reaching out a hand toward the little boy. The evening is closing, the house is winding down, and upstairs, in my room, Sofia is waiting. I can’t go back there yet. I need to stretch the clock. I need to prolong the time. I know that as long as I am within Konstantin’s sight or attached to Leonid, Sofia won’t dare touch me. “Wait—“Both of them look at me.I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.“Could we — I mean — do you have

  • Her Neglected Scars   FORTY-FIVE: The Knight, The Princess, The Horse

    The Morozov dining hall is massive, a striking display of old-world Russian power. High vaulted ceilings, heavy silver candelabras casting long shadows, and a massive dark oak table filled with platters of roasted meats, steaming bowls of borsch, and expensive bottles of dark red wine. The biting winter air rattles against the frosted glass windows, but the room itself is warm, filled with the rich, savory scents of a feast.Sitting right at the center of the table is Konstantin.He doesn’t have his winter coat on anymore. He’s wearing a dark silk shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing the thick muscles of his chest and the faint edge of a scar near his collarbone. He looks illegally, dangerously attractive.Leonid marches straight up to the table, completely ignoring the tension in the room, and grumpily slams his crumpled piece of drawing paper right next to Konstantin’s plate.“Look at it,” Leonid demands, crossing his arms and huffing. “Carlos said it looks like total garb

  • Her Neglected Scars   SIXTEEN: Rude Employees and Wrestling Go Together

    “Eva! You’re finally here! I actually waited for you but the dresses were just calling me out!” She chuckles before waving her hands for the attendant to leave her be. She bows down before stepping off the platform. Wow, she is enthusiastic. That’s the total opposite of the shy character hiding beh

  • Her Neglected Scars   TEN: Playing With Fire

    “Because I wanted to see how hot my soon-to-be husband is! There, satisfied?!” I instantly closed my mouth as quickly as I opened them to throw out those stupid words. Konstantin’s gaze flickered with surprise, quickly replaced by an icy, calculated glare.Without another word, the gun halted on my

  • Her Neglected Scars   NINE: To See . . . My Husband?

    So this is what I get for thinking that my good intentions would outweigh my terrible decision-making skills—ending up in a perverted stranger’s hands.Fuck.If I knew this blonde motherfucker had only helped me to satisfy his blue balls, I would have stayed seated on top of Konstantin’s lap.He wa

  • Her Neglected Scars   EIGHT: Hell from One to Another

    “Hi, I’m Lisa’s manager,” The blonde man in his tight suit, flushed red face probably from the booze he’s been drinking all night and that oddly—probably fake gold watch, introduced himself.If I was sober and not in the utmost need of help, I would definitely laugh thinking how someone like him wo

บทอื่นๆ

บางทีคุณอาจจะชอบ

สำรวจและอ่านนวนิยายดีๆ ได้ฟรี
เข้าถึงนวนิยายดีๆ จำนวนมากได้ฟรีบนแอป GoodNovel ดาวน์โหลดหนังสือที่คุณชอบและอ่านได้ทุกที่ทุกเวลา
อ่านหนังสือฟรีบนแอป
สแกนรหัสเพื่ออ่านบนแอป
DMCA.com Protection Status