Psyke Sergevev Romanov

Leonariz's eyes widened in shock. She'd woken to strange noises and screams, expecting trouble, but nothing prepared her for this. She was utterly confused. She barely knew the man who'd bought her, yet here he was…

A woman knelt on a low table, half her body draped over the edge. She was screaming, but not in pain—Leonariz could see a strange expression on her face. The man, Psyke, was behind her, thrusting rapidly, the table creaking with each movement. He held her hair with one hand, his other hand pressing her against the table as he moved inside her with brutal efficiency. He was staring directly at Leonariz the entire time, grunting with each thrust.

He's insane, Leonariz thought.

Especially since he was with another woman, yet seemed more aroused by Leonariz's shocked expression.

"A-ah! S-slow down—huagh!" the woman cried out between moans.

Psyke didn't seem to hear her. It was as if Leonariz was the only one who existed for him.

"S-shit! I'm cumming again! A-augh!" the woman cried out.

Psyke seemed to snap out of it, as if surfacing from a trance. He looked down at the woman, releasing her hair and lifting her so they were both kneeling, still facing Leonariz.

Leonariz was still reeling. She couldn't understand why the woman wasn't resisting, despite the man's brutal actions.

Then, Leonariz's gaze fell on something that horrified her. She looked down at Psyke's length, moving in and out of the woman. The sheer size of it, the thought of it inside another woman, was sickening.

She quickly looked away, just as the woman let out a long, drawn-out moan.

Moments later, she heard footsteps approaching, but she didn't look up. Her heart pounded—she was inexplicably nervous.

Leonariz flinched when Psyke grabbed her arm. He was still hard, even after he'd just finished. He couldn't use the other woman; she was slumped on the table, spent.

He hates weak women, Leonariz realized. They can't even satisfy him for an hour.

Leonariz's eyes met his. She saw the shock and pain in her own face reflected in his. He was surprised by her vulnerability.

Once he was sure she was steady on her feet, he released her. He took off his long-sleeved shirt, revealing a sweat-drenched body.

The woman stared at him, a look of dazed wonder on her face, before her gaze drifted to his manhood, which was now brushing against her stomach.

"Pfft," Psyke chuckled, amused. He couldn't believe the Amazona's innocence. He'd never encountered a woman who looked at his erection with such deadly intent. She seemed ready to attack it in some way if he made a wrong move.

He looked down at her, his gaze predatory.

"Ah… silly me, introducing myself like this," he whispered softly, releasing her arm.

"Guter Himmel! Du siehst gerade so aus, als wärst du läufig, pfft …"

("Good heavens! You look like you're in heat right now, pfft—")

Psyke's ears perked up at the sound of Sebastian speaking German. He turned towards the doorway. Sebastian had just arrived, returning from the main Romanov mansion.

"Fuck your German, your words suck," Psyke said, moving toward the woman.

Sebastian laughed, scanning the living room—the unconscious, naked woman on the table, and the shocked Amazon.

"At least I know some German words," he said arrogantly, approaching Psyke. He then turned his attention to Leonariz. "Or not?" he grinned, looking at Psyke, who was buttoning his shirt.

Psyke's lips curved into a smirk. "Hmm…" was all he said.

Sebastian chuckled softly, looking back at Leonariz, then at the woman's body. He tsked. "It hasn't even been a week since I recruited her, Psyke."

"Who cares? Dispose of her while she's still out. I don't need her anymore," Psyke said coldly, in Russian.

Leonariz froze. Dispose… He saw her as nothing more than a tool.

She saw the demonic smile spread across Sebastian's lips. She also learned Psyke's name.

"Ah… great timing, I have a gun with me—oh scratch that, I always have one," he grinned, pulling out a gun.

Leonariz froze. She recognized the gun—the same type that had killed her sister five years ago.

Her body trembled as Sebastian pointed the gun at the unconscious woman's head. She wanted to scream, to stop him, but she couldn't move.

She looked at Psyke, who seemed indifferent, picking up his coat.

A loud gunshot filled the room. Leonariz watched in horror as blood spread across the table. The woman was dead.

In that moment, Leonariz understood the terrifying reality: Psyke Sergevev Romanov was a dangerous man, and she would meet the same fate as the woman if he no longer found her useful.