Page 64 of The Bratva's Arranged Virgin Bride
Chapter 37 - Nat
I wasn’t unconscious for long. Vissarion stopped strangling me as soon as I blacked out. It was like he was toying with me, and it was almost worse than actual torture, because I didn’t know when that would begin. But I knew it would begin. He was having fun now, but it was clear he was struggling to hold back.
A hard slap, yanking my hair, choking me, repeatedly kicking the chair until I thought I would scream from the terror that was worse than his hands around my throat. My clothes were in tatters, more being ripped away with every picture he sent Kolya.
My head throbbed from where he first hit me in the gallery, and by now, I had several small cuts on my cheeks. Just enough to draw blood and look good in the photos. As scared as I was, he hadn’t hurt me too badly so far, though it must have looked terrible to Kolya, on the receiving end of those pictures. Right now, I was in a reprieve, left to think about what horrors Vissarion was brewing up when he left me to stomp around in the other room.
Whenever he left me alone, I couldn’t help but think about what those pictures must be doing to Kolya. Vissarion was torturing him as much as he was me. Maybe more, if that was possible. If what he said was true. My mind was in a daze from all the strikes I’d taken to my face and the side of my head, and I kept coming back around to that, fixating on it. Did Kolya really care about me? Did he really go to help my family during a raid?
From the very beginning, the moment I learned he was the voice at the family meeting I had been excluded from and forced to spy on, I just knew he was up to no good. What elsecould Kolya be up to? He thrived on mischief and mayhem, no matter who got trampled underfoot in the process. I had been one of those poor, trampled souls, and from the start, my desire for revenge meshed perfectly with my family’s desire to keep track of him.
Maybe I had some other reasons, too deep down to examine, for stealing Masha’s place in the arranged marriage, but they had quickly come to light once Kolya and I were living together as man and wife.
I wanted him, damn it. I still wanted him after everything he did.
But that could be explained away by his good looks and charm. He had way too much of both for one man. Still, what had slowly been overshadowing my endless lust for him was something I didn’t want to admit when I was in a good state of mind. Right now, I wasn’t in a good state of mind, and it was chiseling away at my resentment. What if I never made it out of this awful place? Was holding onto a grudge worth it, when those might be my last feelings on this earth?
I shook my head, trying not to cry. Vissarion liked it too much, and I was sick of that piece of garbage getting what he wanted. I started moving my wrists again, but it was futile. The skin was scratched raw, and he had noticed during the last photo shoot, tightening the ropes again and ruining what little progress I had made toward an escape. God, I hated him and the way he continuously muttered about how much Kolya was dying inside after every picture he sent.
Why did I hate that so much? I was the one wanting Kolya to die inside, not so long ago. In my desperate last hours, I was starting to admit my true feelings weren’t hatred after all. Did I love him?
There was no way Kolya felt the same. It was impossible. Once I gave in and accepted my feelings for him, I’d never get over the pain of being rejected by him. Again.
Vissarion was sick in the head and full of vile hatred, but there was something about the way he clung to the notion that Kolya cared for me as deeply as I cared for him. Could he actually… love me?
My tormenter slammed in from the other room, slapping the thoughts away with the back of his hand, hard enough to make my head spin. When the world righted itself, his hand was raised, his breath heaving with excitement to hit me again.
“Come on now,” I said, ignoring the pain in my cracked lip. “I wasn’t ready.”
I was trying so hard to be brave, to show that none of what he was doing was affecting me. I even managed to laugh. Until the next blow rocked my head back. I straightened up, shaking it off as best I could. Tears rolled down my cheeks, mainly from the pain, but also from the fact that I was making up a fantasy world to escape my fear.
Why would this evil man ever speak a word of truth? He was only manipulating me with his lies to get a better response for his pictures. By the angry look on his face, as he stood there with his clenched fists trembling, I wasn’t giving him what he wanted. So far, he’d only hit me with an open hand, and I closed my eyes and braced for some real pain.
It never came. Instead, he roughly began to untie my legs, then my arms. He shoved me off the chair, and as soon as I landed, sprawled out on the filthy floor, he yanked me up again. I made the weakest attempt to wrench out of the tight grasp he had on my wrist, but the effort made me dizzy. My legs prickled after sitting on the hard chair for so long and nearly gave out.
For the briefest second, I was glad to be out of that chair, glad to stretch my aching muscles. I tried to shake him off again, but it only earned me another slap.
“Where are you taking me now?” I asked, then had a thought that gave me a fierce burst of hope. “Did Kolya find this little hiding spot of yours?”
That had to be it. It had to be. I was almost overwhelmed with relief and joy that this was finally coming to an end.
Vissarion laughed. “No one’s going to find you.”
Instead of dragging me outside, he pulled me into the other room. The hope began to dim when I saw there was nothing in it but an old metal bed. Handcuffs hung from the rusty headboard.
I dug in my heels, lashed out with my free hand to claw at Vissarion, wherever I could reach. I slashed at his face, but he barely seemed to notice as he shoved me toward the bed. I landed on it with a squeaky bounce of the ancient springs and sprang back up again, swinging my fists. He knocked me down easily. I was too weak. Being tied up and smacked around for hours was exhausting.
With his palm smashing my face into the grimy pillow, he yanked my arm up, clicking one side of the handcuffs around my wrist. I kicked, hitting soft flesh, but he barely grunted as my only free hand was snapped into place on the headboard.
He leered down at me, eyes wild with fury, hatred, and elation. He was loving this.
“No one’s going to find you until I send directions to pick up what’s left of you,” he hissed. “But now it’s time to turn up the heat.” Pulling out his phone, he aimed it at me, grabbing my chinto force me to look at him. “Get ready for your close-up, Mrs. Mikhailov.”
