Demanding Boss by Celia Crown

Author:Celia Crown [Crown, Celia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-01T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Vasari

It’s been over a week since Emmy started living with me. The club has reopened, and the police are still useless.

I live in a safe neighborhood with excellent security, but I don’t trust her to walk outside alone. The house down the street could contain a sadistic bastard with a penchant for young women for all I know.

I don’t interact with my neighbors. I have better things to do than listen to their nonsense as they try to one-up each other.

I’m not oblivious to the whispers about my lack of participation in the community. They falsely assume that I am involved in illicit activities because I own several nightclubs.

They even wonder how I can afford my expensive home if I am not trafficking in drugs.

Why is it so hard for them to believe that nightclubs can be extremely profitable?

I hold my clubs to the highest standards because their reputation reflects on me. I don’t want my name associated with illegal conduct or drugs like Ecstasy.

As a vilely possessive man, I have no problem stooping that low in private. For the sake of my sanity and Emmy’s safety, I have to take action.

I don’t want her to think my despicable behavior is her fault.

I will forgive myself for tonight’s actions.

My bedroom door creaks open, and the dim light in the hall helps me see. I slip inside to observe the girl sleeping in my bed, under my comforter, and touched by my clothes.

I’m jealous of clothes. Fucking hell, this is embarrassing.

Closing the door, I can’t see a thing after the hall light disappears.

Carefully walking in the darkness of the bedroom, I extend a hand to touch anything that will indicate my location. I make it to the bed, clenching a metal case in my hand as I sit with a heavy sigh.

Why am I not talking myself out of this?

Am I that sick?

I know I’m an awful man. The thought of chaining Emmy reveals my despicable intention to make it a horrifying reality.

The admission doesn’t shock me; this has been imprinted in my genes.

“You’re lucky it’s me, little girl,” I murmur as the night lamp gradually lightens the room.

The shadows on her face elongate as I keep the light low enough to avoid disturbing her sleep. I want to see how much of a deep sleeper she is.

The possibilities of what I can do to her are endless.

“You’re a monster,” I chastise myself.

Touching Emmy’s soft hair, I wrap the loose strands around her ear. Leaning in, I inhale her delicate scent.

As expected, she doesn’t stir.

I stifle a growl of dismay as I focus on the task I’m here to perform.

Opening the metal box, I see the syringe that is the remaining symbol of my morality.

It is the last chance to change my mind, but Emmy’s Vasari is not an upstanding citizen.

I pick up the syringe and hold it up to the night lamp.

I flip Emmy over with her back facing me and brush her messy hair to one side. My finger traces the grooves of her spinal cord before stopping at the base of her neck.

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