Page 19 of Violent Love: Viktor
When I entered the operating room, Vadik was hunched over Petrov’s ankles, a small silver drill whining in his hand.
“How come you get all the good toys?” I asked.
“Because this is my playground,” he replied, voice muffled behind the plastic visor.
I crouched beside him. Some tool held Petrov’s skin wide open while Vadik drilled directly into the bone. His face was a ruined mess. The doctor had cauterised most of his open wounds with silver nitrate. His eyes looked clouded and dull—more like overripe grapes than functioning organs.
“Is he blind?” I asked, watching the way Petrov didn’t flinch when I waved a finger in front of him.
“Not yet,” Vadik said, pausing to snap a picture of the hole he’d just bored into the tibia.“But he will be. Two, maybe three days. Dehydration will do the rest.”
“Huh. Guess he doesn’t need these, then,” I muttered, reaching for a fresh pair of gloves.
Petrov was trying to speak, rasping something under his breath.
I leaned in.“Speak up,svoloch.”Bastard.
“He’s saying,‘kill me,’” Vadik translated with a smirk.
I smiled back.“Hang in there just a little longer, Petrov.”
He screamed behind the muzzle as I slid my fingers into the ruined socket. The flesh gave easily. I scooped out the eyeball with a wet pop, lifting it between my thumb and forefinger. The optic nerve dangled from the back like a snapped wire.
“You won’t be looking at any more children,” I said flatly, dropping it into the metal bowl.
Vadik cackled behind me. I turned to see him watching the scene like theatre, his expression gleeful.
“Anyone who preys on children deserves this,” he murmured, eyes glazed over.“And more.”
The sound of Petrov sobbing grated on my nerves.
“You don’t get to cry,” I said, jamming my fingers into the other socket.
It was a shame the Pakhan wouldn’t witness the end himself, but the recordings would have to do. He never flinched from blood—neither did Vadik. The three of us should probably have a therapist on retainer.
Vadik was already inspecting the first eyeball like it was a rare jewel. I gave him the second.
I would miss my time with Petrov.
Chapter 8
Natalya
I took my time sipping the water he’d left in the room—lukewarm, half-full, but better than nothing. At least this cell had a toilet. A squat one, old and rusted, but it flushed. There was even a roll of toilet paper. Luxury, compared to the filth I’d been lying in before.
The memory of that other room made my skin crawl. I could still feel the grime clinging to me, soaked into my pores. My fingers twitched with the need to scratch it off, but I curled into the blanket instead, wrapping it tight around my naked body like it could shield me from memory.
The hunger had dulled now, more of a slow ache than a scream. Maybe it had given up. My tiny sips of water eased the nausea, but I was weak and lightheaded. My stomach had been empty for so long that even shame had begun to taste like sustenance.
I shut my eyes, tried not to think about it. About the shower.
About him.
About how I’d been forced to swallow his cum like it was my meal. My face flamed as bile rose in my throat, and I turned away from the toilet, gripping the blanket tighter until my arms ached.
Should I even be surprised? After what they’d done to Petrov, did I honestly think Viktor had limits?
No. He didn’t want a woman. He didn’t want a lover or a plaything.
