Chapter 17 - Masochist

❦ Rosalind ❦

Thanks to my strong pelvic muscles, toned from yoga, I did not piss myself when the shot rang out.

Walter, one of Viktor’s younger men, had watched us enter the compound with a masked figure sneaking up behind us.

He’d shot the intruder down, and Viktor ordered the body to be taken away amidst my shocked expression.

“What if he had missed and blown my head off?”

“He never misses,” Viktor mumbled, limping into the house in pain.

An older woman dressed in a monochrome outfit, hair in a tight low bun, who I assumed was his maid, approached us. Viktor waved her away with orders to make him dinner.

His room was a spitting image of his dark disposition. Dark drapes, dark furniture, and I thought that even during the day, the space would still hold its dark, moody look.

He swiveled a chair and sat heavily on it, his breathing ragged.

“Come here.”

I turned to him, distracted from studying his room.

“Me?” I squealed, pointing to myself like a clueless rabbit. I almost mentally sm