Page 6 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

I hear wet suction as he pulls the drill from Dimitri’s body, and vomit threatens to escape me.

My father turns towards me again.

Then he grins with such an evil look in his eye as he holds the drill out to me, I scoot back on the floor. He steps closer and grabs my throat, lifting me to my feet as I cry out loudly.

“Take it,” he says, shoving the drill, sticky with blood, into my hands.

I push hard, refusing to take it.

He laughs again.

“Just like your mother. I wish I had a child worthy of my name.”

Tears stream down my face as I wish I still had a mother.

I don’t know what happened to her. All I know is that she's gone. She left when I was very young. No one talks to me about it, and my father certainly never took the time to explain anything.

My father is back at the table. He tosses the drill down and picks up an axe.

Walking back towards Dimitri, he smirks at me. “You know how to suck the pleasure out of these experiences, Sasha. You’ve ruined the vibe for me.”

My mouth opens in horror as he swings the axe with ferocious force, and it slams into Dimitri’s shoulder. I hear bones crack and a gargled scream.

My father swings again, and again, and again. Blood showers across the room, spraying across my face and my dress. I can taste it in my mouth.

I shut my eyes and sob heavy, terrified tears.

When Dimitri stops screaming and silence fills the room, all I can hear is my father’s heavy breathing.

He chuckles.

I dare to look.

Dimitri is nothing but a mess of raw meat. His body has been pulverized into nothing, and there is skin and bone hanging in inhuman shapes from the meat hook.

My father is covered in blood and smiling like a psychopath.

I spin around and vomit all over the stone floor, heaving and choking as I try to catch my breath.

I hear my father toss the axe onto the floor. His heavy footsteps move loudly up the stairs. The basement door unlocks, and he walks out.

I’m alone down here.

I stand up in a panic and run towards the stairs. He has locked me down here before.

I trip as I run up towards the door.

But my father is nowhere to be seen.

I hurry out of the basement, up the stairs, to the safety of my own room.

I run straight into my bathroom and start peeling off my blood-stained clothes.

I sit on the shower floor, beneath the steaming water, for an hour.

I wash my body over and over until nothing remains of what just happened.

My mind is filled with memories of all the times my father hurt me. All the times he hurt other people. All of the pain and terror he has inflicted throughout his life, and how I want nothing more than to escape this hell.

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