Alexander

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VII. Unexpected Response

Alexander’s POV:

I exhale lightly. I’m bored. My eyes drift towards the ceiling. I can hardly see a single thing. It’s too dark.

“P-Please! Have mercy!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

I wonder what I should have for lunch. I’m hungry.

“Please! Mr.Kuznetsov! I promise I will never do it agai-gak!”

A bloody tooth fell on my shoe.

“Hey,” I said. He stops and looks at me. “Did your parents never teach you how to put teeth inside a bowl properly?” His eyes drift towards my shoes. I need to speak to the training department.

Instantly, he bows down. “I apologize for my carelessness.”

I wave him to continue the torture. Pressing my forehead against my fingers, I exhale lightly as someone cleans my shoe. This is not how I expect to spend my vacation.

If only Yerik didn’t trick me into signing him a two-week vacation. I could’ve roamed the streets of America instead of working inside a filthy motel room.

“Shut up!” I shouted. I’m sick of the man screaming each time someone tries to pull out a tooth. Instantly everyone halted their actions and looked at me. I exhale lightly; I shouldn’t allow my nerves to get the best of me. I should calm down.

I want to have sex.

Then, depression arises. Three women last night, and I’m still not satisfied. There must be something wrong with me.

I look to my left.

“Yes?” Adrik question.

I wonder, maybe I’m not satisfied because I’m gay. I gesture to Adrik to come closer, and he did. I place my face in his neck.

It smells disgusting.

I push him away.

If I can even inhale the scent of other men up close, then there is no way I can fuck them.

“Mr-Mr.Kuz-”

I stood up, “You finish this, Adrik. A tooth per hundred thousand.”

“All the teeth inside his mouth isn’t enough to cover his debt,” Adrik said.

“Then harvest his organs. Price each organ as you see fit.” I head towards the door. Sometimes, I feel as if I’m the only brain around here.

Inside the car, I stared out the window. It’s a decent day. I wonder what I should do. I don’t want to spend my time in America torturing others for information, nor do I want to spend it behind a desk, doing paperwork.

I exhale lightly as we pull to a stop at a red light—a clothing store. Even with the forced free time, I don’t know what to do.

I’ve been to all the cities and traveled around the Americas’ tourist attraction. Consumed at all the famous restaurants.

Life is a bored.

The glass door opened.

Ah. Blue dress and an arm full of shopping bags.

Rose Arvena.

“Pull over at the street ahead and inform everyone to maintain distance,” I told the driver.

He did as I commanded.

Once we came to a stop, the driver opened the door. I stepped out and adjusted my suit. I don’t have any blood on me. Good. I notice a red spot on my shoe. With a single leg lift, I ran my shoe on the back car seat and took another look. I nod in approval. It’s not clean, but I don’t have time to change shoes. One step after another, I head towards the woman until we’re a foot apart.

Her eyes were cast on the ground, forcing herself to hold the numerous bags. I watch as her feet stumble from left to right. Then, as if on cue, she fell in front of me.

My arms spread open, ready to catch her.

I expected her to fall into my arms.

Unexpectedly, she caught herself.

Rose smiles a truly wonderful one. “Phew. That was close,” she said. She giggled lightly, then passed me.

Quickly, I withdrew my hands.

Now, I have two choices. One, I can greet her. Two, I can allow her to pass. I want to greet her, but wouldn’t it look foolish to greet her when she already passed?

While I debated to myself on the dilemma, she disappeared.

How disappointing.

While I stood there, in the streets, I could hear the sounds of cars honking. Several children passed by, screaming incoherent words at one another. I believe they’re playing a game called cops and robbers.

Then, an epiphany arrived.

My passing time.

I will make that woman mine.

For now, that will cure my boredom.

I walked back to the car. The driver opened the door. “Where to Mr.Kuznetsov?”

“The hotel.” I know she’s there.

I settled my elbow at the armrest and resumed my stare out of the window. I’m not entirely interested in her, but she’s not bad. I’ll win her heart before I leave for Russia.

“How long until we go back?”

“Two weeks, Mr.Kuznetsov.”

“I see.”

“Mr.Kuznetsov?”

“Hm?”

“Your mother called.”

“Why?”

“She wishes to see you during your return.”

“I see.”

“Shall I accept or decline?”

“Book a nice restaurant for dinner.” She would hold back if we’re in public eyes. “However, if there is news of her bringing a female. Cancel it.” Mother would always set me up with blind dates. She believes that only she would know which woman is fit to be my wife. She never approved of the women I take home.

“Understood.”

I’m not surprised she disapproved of my ex-wives. Mother is a strong woman, and only a woman stronger than her is fit to be my wife. A woman stronger than her, or one which she can control.

One that she can regulate.

One that can control me.

Mother married father out of mutual benefits. They never had any emotions for one another. The moment she had me, she packed her bags and went to her own mansion. She couldn’t stand my controlling father.

I can’t stand both of them.

Father’s death is possible.

Mother’s death?

Not as possible.

Her influence is the same or even stronger than mine. Every person I sent to assassinate her ends up dead. Their heads hang in the front of my doorsteps with a note that says: Try again child.

Do I hate my mother?

Yes, I do.

How can I loathe the woman who gave birth to me?

Easy.

I simply do.

If only I can find a woman who can kill her. I promise never to divorce that woman.

I exhale lightly. My family is, as Americans would call, fucked up.

I ran my palms down my tired eyes. When we arrived at the hotel, Rose was out front. She hands her bags to the worker, and when he bows, she does the same. They exchange a few bows before she turns around and hits her head against the pole.

In an infant state, her body shakes. Her fingers ran through her hair, and when she stood up, there was a tiny dosage of tears in her eyes. She bit her lower lip and inhaled a sharp breath before she walked down the driveway. Her body passes my car before it halts. She smacks her hands together and turns around, then stops again.

My driver opened the door, and I got out. She turns to the other direction then back again.

“Pardon,” I said.

Rose stumbles back and looks at me with her wide eyes, “Y-Yes?”

“Is everything okay?”

Her eyes fidget around, “I keep feeling like I forgot something in my room, but then I remember I don’t need it. Then, I remember I need something else?” She continuously talks about needing and not needing items. Rose exhales sharply, “Am I disturbing you or something? I tend to do that to people.”

Does she not remember me?

“It’s okay,” I said.

She was a lot sexier from afar.

Rose nods, “Good. Good. Well, thank you for your concern.” She turns around, and with a single step, she trips onto the ground.

Now, I’m not one to get embarrassed easily, but the woman in front of me is a whole new set of species. My eyes flicker from the building in front to the woman below. She was on the ground with her ass hanging in the air. To make matters better, her dress went over her head to reveal her pink underwear.

Steadily, she got up, and her face was exactly like her name - red. Her eyes flicker towards me, then around before she covers her gasp with her hands. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on here?” Someone question. The young man made his way towards Rose. He grabbed her by the wrist and forced her inward.

Her eyes furrow together, “Let me go.”

“Let you go?” He questions steadily before his eyes waiver towards me. “So you can whore your way into men’s bed?”

“What are you talking about?” She pulls her arm away.

I step forward, “I suggest you let her go.” I’m not fond of playing prince, but if it gets my dick wet tonight, why not?

“Who are you?” The young man asks.

Rose turns toward me, “Yeah. Who are you?”

Well, that was not the response I expected.

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