Dark Romance: A Cruel Obsession

“Please spare me, I know I was wrong, I won’t dare again,” Camar clung to Alajos’s trousers, weeping in pain, “I never had any intention of offending Hargrave, I respect Hargrave’s rule, I really didn’t mean to offend, please don’t kill me…”

“But you offended my wife, this is an indisputable fact, you need to be punished more severely, not just a superficial beating, that won’t extinguish my anger,” Alajos kicked him away, and Emmert quickly subdued Camar, twisting his arm and pushing him onto the sofa.

Simpson sat on the other side of the sofa, enjoying Camar’s miserable state, and suggested to Alajos, “Perhaps we could carve something on his face, like ‘How about Hargrave?'”

“No, don’t…” Camar struggled, pleading through tears, “Please spare me…”

“If you like, you can be the one to do it,” Alajos generously handed over his prey to Simpson, “But I’ll take his fingers first.”

Camar was horrified, he exerted all his strength to clench his fists, but he was no match for Emmert, who proceeded to break his fingers one by one, pressing his hand, with the splayed-out fingers, onto the hard glass top of the coffee table.

“Ah!” Camar couldn’t bear it, a sharp, agonizing scream escaped his mouth, the pain of his fingers being broken, the pain of them being forcibly straightened again, made him see stars, his body trembled uncontrollably under Emmert’s control, “Spare… spare me… ahhh!”

Alajos raised his hand and brought down the knife, merciless and cruel, chopping at Camar. The excruciating pain of flesh and bone parting drove Camar insane, Emmert almost couldn’t restrain him.

Alajos promptly gave him a kick, crushing his leg bone, “Crack,” the sound of the bone breaking was drowned in his increasingly intense screams of pain, Alajos then stepped on Camar’s palm with the broken fingers, the pain shooting straight to his head made Camar wish he could die right then, “Just kill me, you kill me.”

Alajos turned a deaf ear to his plea for death, he disdainfully moved his foot, smeared with blood, on the sofa cushion. He looked at Simpson.

Simpson knew it was his time for enjoyment.

The piercing screams filled the narrow apartment once more, the fog outside gradually thickened, Alajos glanced out, wiping his dagger clean amidst Camar’s weakening voice.

…

Vivian fell asleep before Alajos returned, she was really too tired, her eyelids drooped heavily, even pinching her thigh several times didn’t keep her awake, she fell asleep anyway.

When she abruptly woke up from her sleep, the clock’s hands pointed to four o’clock, the other side of the bed was still empty, Vivian reached out and felt it, it was cold.

Vivian’s heart sank, she guessed Alajos wouldn’t be back so early, he might even stay out all night, but the reality was hard to accept, she hugged the blanket, sitting at the head of the bed, feeling miserable by herself.

On the other side of the city, Alajos emerged from Camar’s home with Simpson and Emmert, the chilly evening breeze dispersed the smell of blood on him, but it couldn’t immediately extinguish the fiery feeling in his heart ignited by the sight of blood.

He really enjoyed this feeling too much, the pleasure of controlling someone’s life, the ecstasy of having others grovel at his feet, it made his blood boil, he clenched the dagger in his hand, as if holding the scepter of ruling Houston, something no one could take from him.

But that was just a dream. In reality, Houston’s crisis hadn’t eased due to the union of Houston and Los Angeles; Bratva’s aggressive attacks hadn’t diminished one bit. His men were severely injured or killed in the ongoing conflicts, several of his business chains were severed, Los Angeles’ support kept flowing, but if Bryson’s ambitions were left unchecked, Houston would sooner or later become a vassal of Los Angeles.

Alajos absolutely wouldn’t allow that to happen, he had to stabilize Houston’s situation while quickly finding a way to reverse the situation, or divert Bratva’s attention, to grant Houston a brief respite.

Alajos had been silent since getting into the car, the dimly lit street lamps in the heavy fog barely illuminated the road, Simpson couldn’t make out his brother’s expression in the rearview mirror, but the heavy atmosphere in the car still affected him.

Simpson thought of the deceased John and Richard, who had been forcibly sent abroad for house arrest. Although Charles had suppressed the dissenting voices within theBenoist family with a firm hand, the unstable threat still existed.

If utilized properly, this could undoubtedly become an advantage for Hargrave to solidify his position. If mishandled, it could turn into a dagger aimed at Hargrave.

“Let’s go for a drink, Alajos,” Simpson turned to ask Alajos, “How about the Celebrity Club? Some new ladies have arrived recently.”

Simpson had a keen eye for selecting ladies. Every lady he chose was alluring, passionate, enchanting, and seductive. Eighty percent of the patrons who visited the Celebrity Club were there for the ladies.

In the past, Alajos would have gladly agreed. The high-intensity work had strained his nerves excessively, he needed some rest and relaxation. Going to bed with a beautiful and seductive woman, releasing his stress and desires in bed, had been his favorite way to unwind.

But today was different. When Simpson mentioned the ladies, what Alajos remembered was not the ecstatic lovemaking, but Vivian’s tear-drenched blue eyes, and her face flushed with desire.

Alajos felt his breathing becoming heated, but the next moment, Vivian’s tearful resistance flooded his mind, like a bucket of cold water poured over his head.

A “no” was stuck in Alajos’s throat, he gasped, and said hoarsely, “Of course, why not.”

At Alajos’s instruction, Emmert changed direction and headed towards the Celebrity Club.

Nighttime was the peak revelry at the Celebrity Club, the wild men and women drank and swung their arms, flicking their long hair as they swayed in the center of the dance floor. The shimmering stage lights illuminated the entire place, and Alajos drank a whole glass of whiskey in silence.

Emmert had already taken the lady he chose onto the dance floor, Simpson returned after a stroll around the bar, with a bottle of brandy in his hand.

He poured a glass for Alajos – his intention was to have a chat while drinking, but Alajos’s urgent drinking posture revealed a sense of eagerness. He poured the drink down his throat in one go as soon as it was handed to him.

“Hey, Alajos,” Simpson was a little displeased, “You drank too fast, you won’t enjoy it this way.”

“No, I’m happy now,” Alajos continued to pour more into his glass, hoping the alcohol would numb his nerves, maybe that way he could expel Vivian from his mind.

Simpson couldn’t understand Alajos’s happiness, he grumbled quietly about Alajos wasting his brandy, but soon he paid no attention to Alajos, instead, he embraced a passing delicate lady and led her into the dance floor.

If the alcohol were stronger, and the crowd more fervent, he could enjoy a striptease, but at that moment, Alajos had no interest.

Has Vivian fallen asleep?

Alajos started feeling restless, he put down his glass, preparing to leave.This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Hey, your phone is ringing.” The rock band on the stage had finished their performance, Simpson let go of the lady he was dancing with.

Alajos picked it up and looked, it was Joseph.