Page 5 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

He is hanging naked from a hook that has been pierced through the skin of his back. His body is covered in dark bruises and deep cuts. Some look fresh; others look caked with dried blood.

At first, I think he must be dead with the amount of blood pooling around the floor beneath his dangling feet.

But he isn’t.

With the sudden bright light, he blinks himself awake, trying to clear away the dried blood sticking his lashes together. A cracked sound of pain falls from his dehydrated lips.

“Sweetheart, this is Dimitri,” my father says, ever so politely, as he walks over to a long wooden table neatly laid out with various devices to inflict horrific amounts of pain.

He runs his hands over the saw, across the scalpel, his fingers tracing the edge of a blade, and finally he pauses when he reaches the antique handheld drill. It looks like a kitchen mixer, with a small handle that you spin to make the drill turn.

He picks it up and wanders over to Dimitri. My throat tightens over a scream. I want to yell don’t, please, let me out of here.

My eyes lock with Dimitri's, and I see the desperation in his gaze.

I quickly look away, knowing that I am looking into the eyes of a man who is already dead. His fate is sealed. He will never see the light of day again.

This is not the first time my father has made me watch his chats, as he likes to call them.

“Dimitri thought it would be clever to steal from me, sweetheart. What do you think about that?”

I can’t bring myself to answer, even though I know he hates it when I stay silent. I shut my eyes tightly as he holds the drill up in front of Dimitri’s eyes and horror flashes across the soon-to-be-dead man’s face.

After a moment, my father’s voice pierces the room. “Open your fucking eyes, Sasha. How will you learn anything if you don’t pay attention to what I’m doing? I asked you a question, girl.”

“I think—I think he shouldn’t have done that?” I say with hesitation. My back is right up against the far wall, keeping as much distance as humanly possible between myself and the scene in front of me.

My father glances over his shoulder towards me. He huffs and his eyes darken. Then he marches over to me and grabs my arm hard enough to leave bruises, dragging me closer.

“Papa, please—"

One sharp slap across my face warns me not to say another word.

He turns his back on me and his attention to the man hanging from the meat hook as he presses the drill against Dimitri’s stomach and begins spinning the little handle.

Dimitri screams so loudly that I’m surprised. I didn’t expect him to have that much fight left in him after however many days he has been locked down here.

His body swings from the hook as my father presses the drill in deeper, grinning, enjoying every moment.

Blood spurts from the hole in his stomach and runs in a thick river down his leg, which is twitching with pain.

When I said earlier that my father rarely shows genuine pleasure for anything—well, this is one of those times when the smile on his face is real. The glint in his eyes of the excitement running through his veins is not for show.

He loves this.

“Papa, please, please can I go,” I whimper, fighting back surging panic.

I wasn't made for this. I was not made to witness the pain and torture of another living being. I don’t care what he did. I don’t care what he stole. This is not something I can handle.

My father laughs darkly. “You are a weak girl, just like your mother was. No. You may not leave. You will watch this, because it is the only way you will learn. You think you can just float by in this world and things will come to you easily? Wrong. If you want something, you have to take it. You have to create the power you crave.”

The tip of the drill is entirely embedded in Dimitri, and blood is spilling from his lips. He chokes out a wet sound that I think will haunt me forever.

“Papa, stop,” I scream.

Another sharp slap across my face knocks me off-balance and I land hard on the stone floor.

“Stand up, girl. Where the fuck is your backbone?” he growls.

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