Page 119 of Merciless Queen

“My papa taught me well. You’d know best how ruthless he could be. While the show you’re putting on is amusing, it’s a façade. By the end of the night, I’ll have you begging for mercy.”

“Like you did for me.” His snake-like grin slithers from his face and wraps my ankles, the same way the rope tying them to the bed once did. But unlike that rope, I won’t allow it to bother me.

“You accept the promise of death so easily.” I step to the side, melding deeper into the shadows, and he tracks me as far as his head can turn. “I expected more panic.”

“Like I said, I knew you’d be coming at some point. I accepted it two years ago.”

“Then it’s a shame you were found. A lifetime of looking over your shoulder sounds like a decent punishment too.” Not good enough. Nowherenearenough, but there’s poetry in him running for his life.

Boris straightens as much as the rope around his ankles and wrists allows him to. “Promise me one thing.”

Never.Pretending to play along, I come to a stop in front of him, head tipping to the side. “What’s that?”

“Tell my wife and daughter I’m dead.”

Once, I was a daughter who was sold to this very man, and while Papa is as much to blame, he’s no longer here to pay his dues. It’s Boris who made the deal. Boris whose little dick violated an innocent part of me. A part nochildshould be forcedto give up. Whether at fifteen or at ten, an even more disgusting age.

“You didn’t care when I was someone’s daughter. Yours will be better off without you tainting her life.”

I retrieve a knife from my holster and his eyes widen slightly. He shifts in place and licks his lips, which tells me as much as he claims to have accepted death, he hasn’t. Mortality is a strange notion, and when faced with it, it can become unbearable.

Stepping closer, I bend, lining my face up with his. Again, he attempts to maintain his façade of resilience but his shudder reveals his true emotions. I place the knife’s sharp tip at his cheekbone and trace a line downwards to his chin. Nothing deep enough to nick—yet.

“As for your wife, well…” I smile. “‘Til death do you part.”

My knife continues, hovering over his heart. It’d be too quick when we still have hours upon hours of fun to have. But he doesn’t know that and leans back, like he has any hope of escape.

The knife passes over his stomach, momentarily touching nothing when he sucks in such a deep breath, it caves in his gut. “P-please. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“That’s very cute. I like it when they plead.”

His jolts, recognizing the same words he once spoke to me. When I pleaded, he cruelly cast it aside.

“Vane—”

I cut him off, not caring about his pathetic attempts to appeal to my humanity. “You beg so easily for a man who claimed he wouldn’t. Guess that’s what happens when death hovers nearby. You came inside me—violatedme—three. Fucking. Times. You ignored me when I begged. Laughed when you parted my thighs. Referred to me as anunused cuntthat you’d never forget. For so long, I hoped you’d forget me, until two years ago, then I needed you to remember me. Every single part so when I finally caughtyour ass, you’d know precisely what you did to deserve this. It’s going to be a long night ahead.”

I move the knife right over his lap, where his shriveled-up dick is hiding within his clothing.

My eyes flash up. I grin.

There will be no mercy. No freedom. No life after today.

I will live up to my nickname now more than ever, and if I don’t, then I fail myself and all the other girls he raped.

“Let’s play a little game, Mr. Agopov. For every time you scream and cry, the same way I once did, I’ll go harder. Don’t yell, and I’ll grant you a five-second break. Deal?”

Tightening my grip on the knife’s handle, I slam it straight down into his lap, slicing through his cock.

His agonized howl fills the warehouse.

There’sreports of instances when people have no recollection of recent events. When they had a literal out-of-body experience.

Yeah. I think I understand.

Torturing to gather information or punishing a crime is straightforward. There’s gritty aspects to being Pakhan that I’ve accepted because relief comes after the blood and gore. A job done for a purpose.

Boris wasn’t a job. He didn’t have information the Bratva required. He was retribution in the simplest and purest form. A personal vendetta I sent the Bratva into years of chasing, all so I could complete the task myself.

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