Page 140 of Malicious Claim

Dragon did not hesitate this time—he grabbed Dimitri by the collar and punched Dimitri in the ribs, twice in rapid succession. Dimitri groaned, head dropping forward as he coughed again.

"Try again," Dragon said calmly.

Dimitri laughed through the pain, spitting blood onto the floor. "Looks like a guy in a yellow shirt to me. Pretty odd color for a guy, I prefer black."

Dragon clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the chair's backrest. His patience was running out. He knelt slightly, getting closer to Dimitri's level.

"You've got one more chance to start giving me real answers," he said coldly. "Ever heard of a woman named E.B.?"

For the first time, something flickered in Dimitri's expression. It was a slight twitch of his jaw but Dragon caught it.

Dimitri hastily covered it up, shaking his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Dragon exhaled through his nose, a dangerous calm washing over him.

"Alright," he growled.

He just kept punching him again and again until he passed out.

Chapter Fifty Two

Revelation.

The water was cold, icy actually.

Leila felt it with her toes before getting into the enormous bathtub. Her body easily fit inside and quickly adjusted to the cold water, her bruises aching on contact. She welcomed the chill, and the numbing pain that crept into her muscles and she let herself drift. The room was still, with only the occasional splash of water when she shifted.

She stroked her hand down her arm, fingers tracing over the latest addition of marks Makros had put on her. The sting still lingered, very much real and fresh. She exhaled slowly, tipping her head against the rim of the bathtub, looking up at the beautiful chandelier overhead.

"What am I becoming?" She thought.

She had known pain. She had known helplessness. She had known desire. But never like this. Never had she felt so much need to wrap her pussy over someone's cock, tightening herself around it like a noose on a hardened criminal's neck.

She staggered out of the tub dripping water on the floor wherever she stepped. She dried off with a towel, and then wrapped herself in a silk robe before she moved toward the vanity. She wiped at the clouded mirror with her palm, revealing her reflection.

Her mouth dropped open slightly as she gazed at the view of herself. The delicate pink welts on her wrists where the cuffs had bitten into, and her entire torso where the flogger had whippedrepeatedly; the disappearing marks along her collarbone and jaw; the purple soreness of her breasts. She should have felt so ashamed of herself.

But instead a shiver of exhilaration coursed through her.

"Why the fuck am I getting so turned on?" She wondered for the umpteenth time.

A soft click broke her thoughts.

Leila turned at the same moment the door creaked open. "Who is it?"

A woman stepped inside, her breath hitching loudly as she took in the room with a sweep of her eyes. Her dark brown pupils widened at the view of all the BDSM equipment in front of her at one time, the cuffs, chains, floggers, gags, Saint Andrew's cross all arranged like artifacts in an exhibition hall museum.

"Dios mío," she breathed under her breath.

Leila arched her brow. "Are you lost?"

The woman's gaze snapped to hers, and she composed herself. "No, Mrs. Leila. Señor Makros instructed me to attend to your needs." She paused before going on, "I am Estela."

Leila nodded, her gaze following Estela as she stepped forward and set down a small medical bag. So this was the one Makros had sent?

She vividly remembered him saying he'd send a maid, but Estela certainly looked nothing like a maid. And then there was something too perfect about her. The crisp white uniform, perfectly fitted, clung to her figure in a way that felt more ornamental than practical. Was she actually just a nurse? Or was she something more?

A bit of unease curled in Leila's stomach as her thoughts betrayed her, bringing back the memory of a different woman in Makros's service, the maid on her knees, bobbing head between his thighs.

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