Page 80 of Ruthless Serenade
Memories come flooding back. Mindy. Sharon. Seven fucking years, and she didn't tell me. Six years of my child’s life that I’ve missed, and for what? Because Mindy decided I wasn’t good enough to be her father?
I stagger to my feet, kicking aside the debris of my drunken rampage. The room is still spinning and I have to grab onto the back of the couch to steady myself.
Once my legs feel a little more stable, I stumble back to the bar. I grab a bottle of whiskey this time, not bothering with a glass, and take a long swig to heal the effects of my hangover.
I put the bottle back on the shelf and turn around to once again survey the destruction of my own doing. The back of adumpster truck looks more appealing than what’s in front of me, yet it’s the perfect representation of what my life has become: a fucking mess, just like this room.
Maybe jerking off in the shower would help.
I strip off my clothes and make my way to the bathroom, stepping under the steaming hot water. My cock is throbbing with aching need, fueled by memories of my night with Mindy. I can still feel her wrapped around me, her pussy tight and hot, milking me as she came.
I grab my pulsing member and begin to pump furiously, my hand flying up and down my length, each stroke stronger and more urgent than the last. I pump until the sweet pain of release builds in the pit of my stomach, closing my eyes, imagining Mindy’s naked body bucking under me.
The orgasm hits me like a savage beast unleashed - intense, visceral and animalistic. I groan as waves and waves of pleasure wash over me and I spill my cum onto the tiles in a hot, sticky mess.
By the time I come out of the shower, I feel much better. The water has washed away the stench of booze and bad decisions, leaving me feeling almost human again.
I wrap a towel around my waist and make my way to my bedroom. The plush carpet feels soft under my feet after the cold bathroom tiles. I flop onto the bed and close my eyes, trying to block out the sunlight peeking through the curtains. I still have a banging headache from the hangover but I’m starting to return to my functional state.
After resting for thirty minutes, I’m ready to take on the day. First, I must get someone to clean up the shit I left in theother room. I pick up my phone and call my housekeeper. "Elisa, I need you to do a deep clean."
Now to find those missing Tramoxine samples. Not that I want to take them anymore – it would have been a stupid thing to do – but I want to figure out where I put them.
I get up and head back to the file cabinet in the room I trashed and check it again. Still empty. No surprise there.
Maybe they’re in the safe. I stride towards my hidden safe, the one I use to store cash, weapons, and anything else I want to lock away. My hand hovers over the handle, ready to grab the key, when a shiver runs through me.
The safe door is open.
Worse still, it’s empty.
I furrow my brow, replaying the events of the last few days in my head. Right before I visited Mrs. West’s office, I’d noticed the file cabinet was open. So, I locked it. But last night, I discovered that my Tramoxine samples had gone missing. Which probably saved my life, but still. It’s unlikely those pills just grew feet and took off.
And now, my safe is empty.
Fuck.
This is not good.
My mind begins to race, considering every possible scenario. Maybe Timofey needed some pills for our mother. Or for himself to calm his nerves. I dial his number, feeling tension in my chest as I wait for an answer.
"Timo. Did you take the Tramoxine from my safe?"
"You and your stupid questions, Maron," comes his frustrated response. "I have manners,bratok. If I need something, I ask."
Yeah right. Timofey and his manners. But that doesn’t bring me any closer to a solution.
Then a thought hits me. The cameras! They’ve been installed for years but I never had to check them before.
I sit down and fast-forward through the past month’s footage at ten times the speed. It’s a tedious task, and with each passing minute, my impatience grows. All I’m staring at is my empty office - a motionless frame that feels more like a still image than a video.
Then, suddenly, a figure appears. I quickly pause and rewind until a woman comes into view on the screen.
Bingo.
It’s Eva. The footage clearly shows her approaching the safe with purposeful steps. She tries the door. It’s locked. Then, she strides to my desk, pulls open the top drawer, and removes the key.
Motherfucker!
