Page 21 of Claimed By the Pakhan

My fist meets his face soon after.

I knock him into the elevator wall. When the elevator arrives, I grab him by the collar, yanking him out.

I find Fia’s hotel room, swipe the key and throw him into the room. Steam curls underneath the closed bathroom door. I exhale a breath of relief, glad that Fia is in the shower and doesn’t have to witness this.

The concierge crawls his hands up the wall, stabilizing himself. I knock him down again, steal his radio and smash it to pieces under my shoe.

“You’re a fucking—” I press my hand to his mouth, silencing him.

“Psycho? Yeah, I’ve been told.”

I knee him in the stomach. Once I have him laid on his back, I slip the knife from my pocket and stab him in the chest, blood spilling everywhere. After a few muted coughs and splutters, he dies quietly.

I stand over him, making a call to Luka.

“Don’t tell me you let her goagain?”

“Get your ass over here now, room fifteen, floor thirty-eight. Bring stain remover and antiseptic. I need you to clean up the dead body.”

“What the fuck, Emil?”

“Do it quickly. Tell Claudia at reception you’re visiting me. She’ll take care of the rest. And make sure the concierge who takes you up remains in the elevator.”

“Okay, I’m leaving now.”

I end the call just as the shower faucet stops running. I’m tucking my phone back into my pocket when the bathroom door clicks open.

Fia takes one look at the bloody knife in my hand, the dead concierge, and screams.

I race over, covering her mouth. She struggles against me, terror filling her eyes.

She’s fucking naked, her huge breasts bouncing in time to her staggered breathing. I look down at her freshly shaved pussy, my cock stirring in my pants.

“When I take my hand away, you’re not going to scream.”

Her eyes are dripping with fear, instantly killing my libido. She looks at me like I’m a murderer. My chest aches, missing the times she used to see me in a different light.

Staring deep into her eyes, I slowly remove my hand.

Fia gasps, catching her breath, tears streaking across her face. “Get the fuck away from me,” she mutters, staggering back, folding her arms across her chest, covering her breasts.

“I’ve seen you naked before. No need to hide.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

A question she’s asked me a dozen times before.

“How did you even find me?”

“Because this is where you always come when you run away.”

She searches the ground, apparently more concerned about the amnesia than the dead body.“When?”she repeats. “How many times have I been here?”

“It’s beside the point.”

“You’re a murderer,” she mutters to herself, taking more steps back, getting dangerously close to the door.

I reach over, clicking the lock shut.