Obsessive Surrender

by Bobbi Cole Meyer

  “You tell me,” he gritted.

  “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Think about it and you’ll know. What have you been doing while I’ve been gone, Andrea?”

  “Ah, well, not much. I did go shopping. Ned took me to The Town Square. And the guys went along, too. It’s really a neat place to shop. You want to see the dress I bought. It’s really pretty.”

  “Is that the dress that lets your tits hang out? Your red whore dress? No need for me to see it again. You see, I’ve already seen it on a video sent to me, and in the newspaper account of your escapade at the Roman Spa, after I had already received calls describing it in detail. Care to explain your relationship with that lounge singer?”

  Andrea paled as she answered truthfully, “There is no relationship, Ivan. I met Roger Dalton while I was out shopping and he said he knew you. He invited me to see his show at the Roman Spa Casino and I kind of insisted that Ned escort me inside. I thought you wouldn’t mind my going if Ned and the guys went with me. That’s what you’re mad about, right? It was a public place and I thought it would be all right, and my dress was a bit daring, but my breasts weren’t bared—.”

  “Shut up!” He interrupted tightly. “So, let me get this straight. You presented your body to be ogled by Roger Dalton, the most notorious playboy in Vegas. You sat there enthralled while he made a fool of himself and a laughingstock of you, my wife! And you simply responded like some kind of love-struck fan. Have I got all that right?”

  “No. Ivan, it wasn’t like that.”

  “Remember what I told you about never embarrassing me?”

  Unable to curtail his rage, Ivan rammed his fist against the wall to keep himself from shaking some sense into her, which is what he wanted to do.

  “Oh, Ivan, your hand! Let me see it.”

  “Fuck my hand!”

  “Ivan, I—I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I—I honestly didn’t see any harm in just listening to him sing. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Didn’t you? Look me in the eye and say that, Andrea.”

  She cowered back from him, unable to do that.

  “I thought not. Even a silly young fool like you is smarter than that. Well, it seems I released you to the world too soon, Andrea. Either you are more incredibly stupid than I ever imagined you to be or just too damned naïve to be allowed out on your own.

  “Did you know that club you went to is run by my arch rival? The one man in Vegas who has vowed to destroy me? Dammit to hell! Of all the places to flaunt your infidelity.”

  This time Andrea interrupted. “Infidelity? Ivan no, that isn’t true at all.”

  “Even if it isn’t, everyone believes it is. Don’t you realize that was the impression you gave them? That makes it as wrong as though it were true!” He shouted down at her.

  “Obviously I was stupid to think you were ready to assume the role of my wife in public. I think another month in the room will heighten your sense of abstemiousness.”

  Fighting back sobs, Andrea asked, “What does that mean—abstemiousness?”

  Her overflowing green eyes and childish question almost undid him, but Ivan steeled himself to answer coldly.

  “Temperance—self discipline. It’s a term you’ll come to embrace fully before you’re allowed back out of this house, Andrea, I assure you.”

  “Ivan, please don’t be mad. I—I didn’t think.”

  “That’s just it, Andrea. You didn’t think. I thought I had impressed upon you how imperative it was that my wife should always be thinking. I guess you weren’t listening, or maybe you just didn’t take me seriously. For that you’ll have to be severely punished. And since I know how deeply you crave sexual contact, I think the best punishment for you would be absolute seclusion, with no contact whatsoever. Rest assured your paramour will be punished, too.”

  “My paramour?” she strangled out. “Roger Dalton isn’t my paramour, Ivan. How could you even think such a thing? Please don’t do anything to him. He was just being friendly. He—he just wanted to show me a good time. He didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Show you a good time?” he gritted. “You mean, because he’s more your age and knows what you need to have a good time? Is that what you’re telling me, Andrea?”

  Andrea shook her head, mute with fear as Ivan’s face reddened with fury.

  “Are you that hungry for a good time, Andrea, that you’d make a public spectacle of yourself and disgrace me? While you’re secluded you can think about how stupid that was. And as for Roger Dalton, there’s friendly and there’s too friendly. I think he crossed the line and I’m sure he knows it. I tell you this, that little sonofabitch will think twice before soliciting the affections of a man’s wife again!”

  “Ivan, you’re being ridiculous,” Andrea wailed. “Nothing happened and nothing was going to happen. Roger was perfectly innocent.”

  “You defend him gallantly, Andrea. Which only leads me to think there was more going on than a casual invitation to a show, or perhaps you just hoped for more. Obviously, you’re quite smitten with pretty boy Roger Dalton. And frankly, Andrea, I don’t think you have the common sense to judge who’s innocent and who’s not,” Ivan grated as he grabbed her arm, lifting her from the stool. He shoved her toward the curtain that hid the secret room’s door. He unlocked the door and shoved her over the threshold.

  Shaking, Andrea began to undress.

  Ivan snarled, “You don’t have to strip.”

  She looked at him perplexed.

  “Like I said, I think the greatest punishment for you, now that I know how lusty you are, is leaving you entirely alone. There’ll be no sex and no communication. Not even a spanking on that hungry little butt, just you by yourself to reassess the way you’ve acted and the consequences of those actions. The main thing is, I don’t want you in my bed. So you will sleep in here. Consider it solitary confinement.”

  “Ivan, please don’t do that. I didn’t realize you’d disapprove this much, honest.”

  “This much? An interesting slip of the tongue, Andrea. That leads me to believe you did know I’d disapprove but decided to do it anyway. I thought so.

  “I think a few days in absolute seclusion will give you time to reassess what you did, or wanted to do! I’ll bring you a supply of snack food, bottle water, fruit and nuts and feminine items you’ll need when you start your period.”

  Her face whitened. “A few days? But Ivan, won’t you be spending the nights with me?”

  “No. Like I said, I think complete solitude is what you need. Maybe it’s what we both need for a time. I’ve been too lax with you, Andrea. That won’t happen again.”

  Chapter 20

  Ways to Lay Waste

  Ivan stormed out of the house, barely able to contain his smoldering rage. Ned stood propped against the limo, waiting as he’d been instructed to do. When he saw Ivan’s thunderous black expression, he knew what was coming.

  “What can I help you with, Mr. Littlefield?

  “Bring me Roger Dalton.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to come, boss?”

  Ivan shrugged, his eyes blazing like a gray fire. “Bring him! Take the Escalade so you won’t draw attention and take Sean and Marty if you need them.”

  Ned nodded solemnly, adding, “I won’t need them.”

  Three and a half hours later, Roger Dalton, sporting a fast-swelling eye and sore ribs, sat in Ivan’s library, nervously licking his dry lips.

  Ivan strode into the room. For a minute he didn’t speak, just stood glowering at Roger, letting him sit and stew, holding contact with the one eye that still opened completely. When Ivan did speak, it was with the steely composure that everyone in Vegas who had ever crossed him knew meant he was on the edge of exploding and creating havoc.

  “I hear you’ve taken quite a fancy to my wife, Roger. I can’t say that I blame you for finding Andrea attractive, and she is about your age, but I remind you, she is my wife. Did you know that when you approa
ched her?”

  All the color drained out of Roger’s face. He had to swallow hard to get his voice going.

  “Ah—yessir. And no, I don’t fancy her. I mean, anybody would find your wife attractive right enough, but not me. I mean, I met her and she’s nice and all.”

  Realizing he was digging the hole bigger, Roger whined, “Look, Mr. Littlefield, I didn’t do nothing, honest to God. I just invited her to see the show, that’s all. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “Careful about your choice of words, Roger,” Ivan snapped. “But the truth is you did much more than that. Perhaps more than you realize, because two people called to tell me of your antics, plus I received a video, before I stepped foot back in Vegas, showing me the public singing love fest you put on with my wife as the center attraction. And then there was the write-up in both the Las Vegas Sun and the Review Journal. Did you happen to read those stories, Roger? Was this your idea of a great publicity stunt since they called you the ‘dynamic and handsome young interloper’, among other things? What they should have called you was stupid!

  “Now what I want to know is are you an idiot, a masochist or did someone put you up to this? You do know that there is no way in hell that I’m going to let this go, don’t you? It wouldn’t bode well for my reputation, and we both know that in Vegas a man of means must uphold his reputation at all costs, especially when it comes to his private property,” Ivan snarled.

  Roger dropped his head. Ned jerked it back upright with a hand tangled in his too-long hair.

  “Ow.”

  “Look at Mr. Littlefield when he’s talking to you, punk!”

  “Did you hear the question, Roger?” Ivan asked in a deceptively calm tone, definitely at odds with the steely look in his piercing gray eyes.

  “Yessir. Guess I am pretty much an idiot. But as for the pain part, I don’t relish that, Mr. Littlefield. I—ah—I didn’t mean to disrespect you.’

  “Didn’t you? Well, that leads me back to my original question. Did you know Andrea was my wife?”

  “Yeah, she told me.”

  “Did she tell you the moment you two met?”

  “Yessir, she did.”

  “And when you decided to pursue her anyway, you didn’t realize how much you were disrespecting me? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I mean, I didn’t pursue her. I just invited her to the club. I was just being polite.”

  “Polite?” Ivan nodded. “I see. Were you still just being polite when you serenaded her publicly with a suggestive song? When you kissed her hand? When you leaned into her face and winked at her? I would call that boldly proclaiming to anyone watching that you and she either had something going or that you were about to.”

  Roger paled even more. He swallowed hard several times before he answered.

  “Ah, maybe I did do that, but it was just part of the act. I mean, I do that all the time with broads, Mr. Littlefield. It’s kinda my trademark. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Are you calling my wife a broad?”

  “Ah, no. I didn’t mean it like that, honest.”

  “Seems you aren’t clear about what you mean, Roger. Tell me this, why Andrea? Admittedly, she’s attractive but not the most beautiful woman you could have picked. Makes me think someone told you to pick her up. Did someone tell you that? Did you target my wife for a reason?”

  “Look Mr. Littlefield, believe me, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are—now. And you will be much sorrier before we’re through.”

  Ivan nodded at Ned. Ned lifted Roger from the chair and ploughed his fist deep into his gut before releasing him back to the chair. Roger sat slumped over, holding his stomach and moaning.

  “You didn’t answer me. Were you instructed to target my wife in particular?”

  “Okay, yes. I was pushed into picking her up. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I told him that. I begged him not to make me do it, Mr. Littlefield, and that’s the gospel truth.”

  Although he’d already guessed the truth, Ivan asked. “Who pushed you into pursuing my wife?”

  “Mr. Cothane. I owe him a lot of dough and he—ah—he said he’d square it if I—ah—if I, you know, just flirted with your wife, maybe enticed her to step out, kinda get inside your head and mess with your mind some,” Roger revealed that part of the truth halfhearted, with a throaty chuckle as though it had all been a crazy joke, but the sound turned into a kind of pitiful moan when he saw the stone-cold expression on Ivan’s face.

  “And he said if I didn’t, he’d let Albert slice my face, Mr. Littlefield, and cut off my finger,” he added tremulously.

  Ivan nodded. “I see. Well, that did put you in a tough spot, I guess.”

  Hopeful, Roger nodded. “Yessir, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. It did. That Albert is crazy.”

  “Why did he think your flirting with my wife would mess up my head? What did he hope to accomplish by that?”

  Roger shrugged. “Honest to God, I don’t know, Mr. Littlefield. I don’t know what’s goin’ on between you two.”

  “Do I look like my head is messed up?”

  “No, Mr. Littlefield, you just look mad.”

  “Knowing Carl Cothane like I do, I assume he pointed out to you that doing what he wanted you to do was the lesser of two evils. Am I right?”

  Roger nodded miserably. “Yessir. That’s exactly what he said.”

  “Do you still feel that way?”

  His lips trembling now, Roger admitted miserably, “No, I don’t.”

  “How much do you owe him?”

  “I finally got it whittled down to one hundred G’s. I’ve been paying him off ever since I started to work for him. Look Mr. Littlefield, I didn’t want to come on to your wife, honest to God. I was scared not to and I—well—hell I was just caught in the middle, like I told you.”

  Ivan leaned toward him. “You know what they say about the middle?”

  Sweating profusely, darting nervous glances toward Ned who stood stoically to his side, fiddling with brass knuckles, Roger shook his head.

  “It’s the inevitable and unenviable squeeze position.”

  “Jeez, Mr. Littlefield, that’s what I’m saying. I just did what I had to do so please, please don’t let him,” he indicated Ned with a roll of his eyes, tears falling unheeded, “hurt me no more. Honest to God, I’m sorry.”

  Ivan glared at him, suddenly reminded of his younger brother. He sighed, weighing what he had to do to send a clear message. But when he spoke, his unyielding tone did not betray his inner burst of compassion.

  “All right, I’ll give you two choices, Roger. One, a sound enough beating that’ll stay in your memory and be evidence to the contrary to anyone in Vegas, especially Cothane, who might think I’ve gone soft or that I don’t value my wife’s reputation. It will have to be enough of a beating to squelch any future rumors. Or two, the taste of dirt in your mouth,” he bluffed. “You pick.”

  All color drained from Roger’s face. “Either way I guess I’m a dead man, right?”

  “Like I said, I have to set an example for any other young fool thinking to cut in on what’s mine, so the beating is inevitable. I won’t administer it personally because I don’t trust myself to remain in control and I might go too far without realizing it, but the beating Ned will administer won’t kill you. And don’t worry about Cothane. I’ll square your debt with him so he won’t come after you later. But should he try to, he wouldn’t find you anywhere near Vegas, now would he?”

  “No! I would already have split if Mr. Cothane wasn’t holding my marker over my head. Like I said, I’ve been singing at his lounge to try my damnedest to pay it off. I’ve only been getting a portion of my pay. That’s why I’m staying at that crummy motel instead of the Roman Spa,” Roger whined. “Because Mr. Cothane refused to comp me a room, and I hardly have enough money to live on after he takes his cut. I certainly don’t have enough to leave Vegas on and start o
ver someplace else. I got kind of roped into working at the Roman Spa after a run of bad luck. Lost my agent; lost my confidence for awhile. Guess I was easy pickings for Cothane and then, after I lost so much gambling, I was hooked in and couldn’t get out.”

  Ivan and Ned exchanged knowing glances, both having heard that was how Cothane obtained and kept most of his talent.

  “Safest place for you might be your old hometown. By your accent I would guess that to be somewhere in the South. Wherever the hell it is, if I supply you with a ticket, that’s where you’re going back to tonight, right?”

  “Yessir. New Orleans. That’s where I’m from. I promise to go back there, as soon as you let me go.”

  “And you won’t be returning to Vegas.”

  “No, never!”

  “So, you’re choosing option one, right?”

  Roger mumbled, “Yes,” as he closed his eyes and braced.

  Ivan nodded to Ned who positioned the brass knuckles over his hand. The first punch sliced Roger’s jaw and knocked him off the chair. Ned lifted him, put him back, and then knocked him off again with a blow that opened a cut above his bruised eye. The third closed his other eye and knocked him out cold. He fell sprawling on the floor, the blood dripping down his face. He looked like he was dead.

  Ivan signaled enough with a raised hand. “That’ll do, Ned. Take his picture for me to show Cothane, and then load him in the Escalade. Drive him back to his motel, see he gets cleaned up enough to keep the cops from asking questions, and then get him packed, escort him to the bus station and purchase his one-way ticket back home. See that he leaves Vegas tonight.”

  “Will do.”

  “And when you get back, we’ll take a ride over to the Roman Spa. It’s time I had a little heart-to-heart talk with Carl Cothane.”

  “Yessir.”

  * * *

  Carl Cothane nearly jumped out of his chair when Earl whispered in his ear, “You have a visitor, boss. Ivan Littlefield.”

  “The hell you say! Littlefield’s here?

  “He’s outside waiting to see you and he’s got his three goons with him.”