“Got news,” Demyan says to me, loud enough so Melor can hear.
I pull on the knuckle dusters as Demyan smiles and Melor whimpers. “Good?”
“The best. Our new friend Santo…”
It’s an exaggeration, but Santo’s also smart and understands buttering the right bread.
“He contacted me. Simonov is no more. His bratva’s dead, and those who remain are aligning with Santo.”
“Looks like you’re on your own, Melor.” I smile and grab his hair, dragging his head up as he struggles to open his one good eye. “This could have been so easy. I’d have probably given you the bratva in a year. Instead, Demyan’s getting it.”
“Screw you.” His words slur.
I punch him in the face, relishing the sound of bone cracking. “You had to hurt my woman, his sister.”
I hit him in the fucking balls this time, making him howl. Pity he can’t move, considering he’s chained in place.
“You put hands on her. You fucking bruised her. Threatened her.” I go in close, pulling off the glove.
I don’t want to end him too soon, though it’s tempting to do so. Maybe too tempting.
“Worse, you found out she was pregnant and decided to take her anyway.” I lower my voice. “I’d have been tempted to just break your bones and send you off to Siberia to work for one of the nastier parts of the Belov Bratva as a slave. No tongue, of course. Maybe no cock, but…alive. But you used a pregnant woman.”
“You don’t get to live,” Demyan says. “And you don’t know what it took for me not to end you, though, I admit, my men and I had fun getting you on this wall here.”
He laughs.
“Alina’s his sister. Andmywife. To say we are protective is to understate it.”
I hold out my hand, and Demyan gives me the scalpel. I start to carve off parts of his flesh, leaving him to bleed and scream and cry and plead.
It all falls on our ears, deaf to him. But we take pleasure in the pain there.
There is no one else on this planet I would turn into a monster for. But Alina is that one person.
I would do anything for her. And I am.
“Hold his hand down.” I look up, and Demyan comes over, as does the henchman with a selection of tools.
Secateurs. A hammer.
Demyan holds his hand, and I smile, his hysterical whimpers music to me.
I pick up the hammer and tap one knee then the other. “These or the hands first?”
“Both,” Demyan says. “Hard. My normal way would be fingers and then a few days later a knee. Then a few days later…”
He shrugs.
Melor lets out a scream.
Demyan’s tone hardens. “How many have you tortured? How many lives have you taken? I’d say be a man, but a man doesn’t touch a pregnant woman. Doesn’t ever hurt anyone like my sister. And I’d say you’re lucky this is Ilya hurting you, but this time round, I’m not so sure who’d be worse. Me or him.”
“Both.”
Demyan laughs at my response. “Both. Hand first and then the knee.”
As Melor screams in terror, Demyan holds out the man’s hand. I take his thumb off at the bottom joint.
