Crawl To Me Amber..

Zeden’s POV.

“Marriage?” I let out a laugh. Not loud. Not forced. It came out as a low growl from deep in my chest as I paced around her. My stick tapped the ground with every step, slow and steady. She flinched at the sound. I could feel it in the air.

They say I’m blind. But I see more than they’ll ever know. My ears catch every shift in the room. My nose tells me more than eyes ever could. Her fear? It’s thick. I could smell it before she even opened her mouth.

“Who the fuck told your father to speak to me about marriage?” I snapped, stopping in front of her. “You think you’re fit to be my maid, let alone a wife?” I slammed the stick down once and broke it clean in half. Threw it across the room without hesitation.

“Fucking disrespectful,” I barked. “How dare he try to trick me with this nonsense?”

She didn’t speak. But I could hear her breath—shaky, uneven. Her heartbeat was louder now. Fast. Her body was trembling. I didn’t need to touch her to know she was panicking.

“Rukov,” I called out sharply.

“Yes, boss.” He moved beside me.

“Take off her blindfold. She needs to see who she’s speaking to.”

He obeyed without a word. That’s why I keep him close—he listens.

I heard the cloth drop. Her breath caught for a second. That silence told me she’d seen what she needed to.

“What do you mean you won’t marry me?” she cried. “Then why the hell am I here? My father said—he told me you made a deal—”

She stepped toward me, but Rukov grabbed her arm.

“Don’t fucking say deal like you understand what it means,” I said calmly, but my jaw clenched. “I’ll pay your father more money than his entire bloodline has seen. But that doesn’t mean you were sold for love, or marriage.”

She shook her head, confused. “Then why—”

I cut her off. “You’re here to serve. That’s it. You’re not a bride. You’re not a guest. You’re nothing but a body to use.”

I stepped forward and grabbed her chin. My fingers pressed into her jaw. Her skin was warm, her breath hitched. I tilted my head, listening—her heart was thudding like a drum.

Then she spat. Right into my hand. Thick. Hot.

“You bastard!” she screamed. “You think I’ll let you touch me? You’re blind! You’re old! You’re disgusting! You can’t even satisfy a fucking woman!”

I heard it all. Her voice cracked, full of rage. Her body trembled with every word.

I smiled.

My guards laughed too.

I wiped the spit with slow fingers and stepped closer. “Sweetheart… I don’t need my eyes to know where to put my cock. And I don’t need to see to know where to bite you.”

I slid my hand to her dress, lifted the hem, pressed one finger deep between her thighs.

She jolted.

“Get off me!” she shouted, pushing me. Not strong enough. Never strong enough.

Rukov grabbed her from behind and twisted her arms back. She cried out.

“Take her,” I said. “Feed her. Clean her. I don’t want to touch filth. Make sure when I finally do, there’s no stain left on her body or soul.”

She screamed. I listened.

“I said let me go! Let me fucking go!” she cried, struggling against Rukov’s grip.

But I didn’t move. I didn’t speak again. I listened to the sound of her being dragged out of the room—her sobs, her curses, her pain—until all I heard was silence.

Just the way I like it.

Few minutes later... I suddenly heard Rukov’s boots returning across the marble.

“She’s stubborn,” he muttered flatly.

I didn’t turn. Just stood there, hand clenched at my side.

“Then I’ll break her,” I said. Calm. Cold. “To my taste. She’ll beg to crawl, she’ll forget what pride tastes like. I’ll make her dream of escape—and then I’ll remind her there's no way out.”

A long silence followed. Then Rukov cleared his throat.

“There’s something else, boss,” he said, tone shifting.

I turned my face slightly toward him. “Talk.”

“The shipment from the southern port—it didn’t reach the warehouse. Word is… the Grigori Syndicate got there first.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “Who the fuck let that happen?”

“They were fast. Too fast. Moved like they knew our routes. Intercepted at Junction 43, rerouted to their hold in Varex.”

“Varex?” I spat. “That’s my ground.”

“Yes, boss. But Dmitri’s calling it his now.”

“Dmitri Grigori…” I whispered. My grip curled tighter around my broken stick. “That cockroach doesn’t know how to stay out of a grave, does he?”

“He’s getting bold.”

“He’s getting suicidal.” I stepped forward slowly. “Listen carefully, Rukov. I want every fucking man watching the Varex line. No uniforms. No noise. When Dmitri steps outside his compound, I want a bullet between his eyes.”

Rukov nodded.

“No warnings. No deals. I want him gutted like a fucking animal. And burn one of their trucks while you’re at it. Send the ashes to his woman’s front step.”

“Understood.”

“If he thinks I’m blind, then let him walk into the dark. I’ll bury him in it.”

Rukov smirked. “You want his ears or his tongue this time?”

“Both,” I said, smiling. “Wrapped in his flag. I’ll teach the rest of those bastards what happens when they steal from a blind man.”

"Boss... here is another cane for your walk." He said handing me another stick.

I smiled. They don't know. But yet I took it from him, without a word.

Rukov turned and walked off again, ready.

And I stood still—listening, breathing, planning. This wasn’t just business anymore. It was personal now.

Let Dmitri come. I’d be waiting.

And the girl?

She’s my fucking focus now.

I walked out toward the hallway—slow, deliberate, my cane tapping once in a while against the tiled floor like a metronome of control. I didn’t need light. I didn’t need eyes. I needed her silence. That’s what always gave them away.

I opened my door.

The air inside changed.

It wasn’t just the usual scent of leather, whiskey, and smoke.

It was her.

She’d been cleaned. Bathed. Probably scrubbed down until her skin stung under the maids’ hands. But even more than that, she was quiet.

Too quiet.

As if that would help her. As if she really believed silence could make her invisible to me.

I walked further in, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. She didn’t flinch. But I could smell her fear. It clung to the air. Her sweat. Her breath. The shampoo they used on her hair. I knew where she was even without her moving an inch.

I sat down on the bed, legs apart, body facing the doorway. My hands undid the buttons of my shirt, one by one, slow and steady. I let the fabric fall behind me, baring my chest to the cold room.

I didn’t speak at first. Let the silence do what I always knew it would: make her squirm.

Then I tilted my head.

“Will you keep standing there,” I said low, “with your fucking hand over your mouth… thinking I can’t hear the way your breath shakes?”

I leaned forward a little, voice rougher now. “Do you think I can’t feel the tiny shift in the air when your feet shift on the floor? Do you think your silence protects you?”

I smiled.

“Come here,” I growled, deeper. “Crawl to me. Prove whatever shit your father said is true. Prove your cunt’s as untouched as he claimed—because my cock’s going to taste it either way.”

She was silent.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Then finally… she spoke.

“Make me…” Her voice cracked. “You blind old bastard.”

She tried to sound strong. But I heard the tremble, the way her tone pitched and dipped. Fear coated every word she spit.

I stood up.

My cane hit the ground, dropped from my hand.

I moved in the dark without hesitation, slow at first, letting her hear every step I took. No yelling. No rage. Just pressure. I knew she was trying to stay still. I could feel the panic bouncing in her chest like a trapped animal.

When I was close enough, I whispered, low and cold:

“You just signed up for pain, sweetheart.”

I reached forward, grabbing her arm hard, yanking her to her knees.

“You want to be made to obey?” I hissed near her ear. “Then I’ll fucking teach you how a slave breathes under me.”