Page 62 of The Bratva's Arranged Virgin Bride
Chapter 35 - Nat
Vissarion finally stopped ranting and got out of my face when a phone rang from his pocket. He pulled it out and turned away to answer it. The whole call lasted less than a minute, and I was so shocked by the venom he spewed at me that it took me most of that to realize who he was talking to. I silently cursed, struggling more actively now to get my hands free. The first thing I’d do if he came close again was wrap them around his throat and squeeze until his eyes popped.
If I had realized sooner that he was talking to Kolya, I would have screamed my head off to let him know I was there, alive, and very much needed help. But I think he got it if the look on Vissarion’s face was any indication. He looked positively ecstatic, like he couldn’t wait to get started.
Fear rushed up, but not enough to keep me from spitting at him. It was the only thing I could do to express my fury at him for taunting Kolya. I saw that it was my phone in his hand. Kolya must have believed the texts Vissarion sent earlier were from me and was doing as I asked, or at least what he thought I had asked. He was giving me space. But not anymore. The phone rang again, and I prepared to shout my head off when Vissarion answered it. At least Kolya would know I was still alive.
But Vissarion turned the phone off and dropped it onto the grimy wooden floor, stamping it underfoot until it was nothing but crushed glass and cracked plastic. I screamed at him, a raw sound of anger and terror. Then, it was just terror as he moved swiftly toward me again, faster than a snake. His head rolled around, looking for something. Finding a filthy rag in the sink, he stuffed it into my mouth, nearly gagging me and making it difficult to breathe, let alone keep screaming. I shook with fear as he moved so close I could feel hot puffs of breath on my face.
The psychopath was actually panting with excitement. My legs jerked against the ropes that tied them to the chair. I wanted to kick him so badly. He could see it, too, and smiled. He grabbed a handful of my hair, jerking what was left in my ponytail so that it fell into my face. Then, with more of that snake-like lightning speed, he wrenched the front of my top open. I cringed as I heard the fabric rip, and buttons flew across the room.
I closed my eyes, desperate not to hyperventilate, trying to remain calm. He wanted me scared, wanted me to suffer. The only thing I could do was distance myself from it; I kept moving my wrists to loosen the ropes. Nothing else happened, and when I opened my eyes, Vissarion was standing a little ways back, admiring me like I was a painting he was considering buying.
Reaching forward, he tugged my top further off my shoulder, his hand rough. “Be a good girl and give me some tears, won’t you?” he asked as if he were asking for a cup of tea.
I growled at him around the dirty rag. Like hell, I would. His hand whipped out, sending a stinging slap across my cheek. And then another.
“That’s much better,” he muttered, taking his own phone from his pocket. “Don’t smile.”
He took a picture, then another from a different angle. Nodding to himself, he tapped at his phone. I flung all my weight towards him, nearly tipping the chair forward. He calmly reached over and stopped my descent toward the floor, and got in my face again.
“Don’t wear yourself out,” he warned. “This is just the beginning. I’m going to take my time here. Really drive your husband insane.”
Oh God, did he send those pictures to Kolya? I got my answer within a minute when his phone started blowing up. He ignored the message notifications that rang, one after the other, and sent the calls to voicemail with a low, menacing chuckle. All while circling my chair like a shark.
“What part of you should I send to him first?” he asked.
No matter how hard I tried to keep my breathing steady, I was hyperventilating under the rag. Not good. It was impossible to get it under control as Vissarion reached for me again. I shook my head, leaning away from him, but he had me trapped, completely and utterly helpless, even to breathe. The tears he was so anxious to see welled in my eyes.
His hands tightened around my throat, cutting off what little breath I was getting. The leer on his face was the last thing I saw before I blacked out.
