Page 38 of Kristoff

He finishes pouring when he notices me and offers me one.

I shake my head. No amount of vodka will take the edge off.

“Is she safe?” I ask, throwing myself into my chair. My father’s old chair. I hate it, it’s lumpy and caved in from where his ass made a groove. I’ll replace it later. Once I’m finished tying up the loose ends.

Dr. Morrow nods. “She’s been admitted to Mount Sinai. I have access to her records and the attending physician is keeping me updated. She’ll be just fine once she wakes up.”

I don’t like medical induced coma’s, no matter how much Dr. Morrow tries to convince me they are safe. It scares the hell out of me, but she never would have gotten on that plane willingly.

“The gash on her side?” I ask, trying to block out the image of all the blood saturating her sweater. She lost so much of it, Dr. Morrow was surprised she’d been conscious for as long as she had been.

“Deeper than I would have liked to see her travel with, but the stitches held. She lost a lot of blood, though, Kristoff. She’ll need some time to recover.”

“And her other injuries?” I’m listing these items like I’m getting a report on projects I’ve asked him to handle. I’ll deal with the reality of it all later. Once he’s gone and I can finish what needs to be done. Then I can drown myself in vodka.

“All healing. They’ll wake her tomorrow. I’ll know more then.” He assures me everything’s going to be fine for her, but he can only answer the physical questions. Magdalena was put through hell while here. The mind can only handle so much horror, so much betrayal.

“Once she’s released, I want her set up with the best therapist in New York. She’s to have round the clock access for help.”

Dr. Morrow’s brows shoot up. “She’s going to be very confused, Kristoff, and while I agree she’ll need someone to help her sort out everything that happened to her while she was here - she’s going to need answers. And she’s not going to like waking up to find you’ve left her.” His voice is that of a chastising old woman trying to guilt me into doing the right thing.

But I did the right thing. I protected her, I saved her from those that would see her dead, then I sent her away.

“Seeing me would only be a reminder. She needs to figure out a way to forget.” I push off the chair. I think about her too much, and this conversation is only needling a wound I can’t treat. There is no fixing it, and I don’t deserve for it to be cleaned and bandaged. I deserve the pain and the infection. Because that’s what I am. An infection. If I were to stay with her. If I hadn’t sent her back to New York, I would have festered in her life and destroyed her. I’ve already stolen her innocence, I won’t be responsible for ruining everything else.

“I don’t think she’ll agree,” he says into his glass as he takes a sip.

“You’re probably right, but it’s not up to her. I know what’s best for her and I’m taking care of it.” I sound like a man who has any right to make decisions on her behalf. I don’t. I’ve not earned that privilege. But fuck it, I don’t care. I won’t allow any more hurt to come to her. And all I bring is pain.

“She’ll need assistance dealing with her sister’s estate,” he reminds me of another item on my list. Danuta. CIA agent turned human trafficker. It still boggles me. My father complained about the Americans getting their nose into everything for years. Danuta was a particular thorn in his side. Apparently, it only took the scent of money to lure that bitch away from the rest of her pack.

“Put a man on it. I don’t want her to have to deal with anything on her own. She’s to have full support. Get her an apartment, she gave up the one she had when she came here for her story.” After everything that’s happened, I’m still irritated that she’d been so foolish in coming to England to snoop around. “I want the rent paid for the year, and after that, if she wants to stay, I want the bill paid. She’s not to want for anything, do you understand?”

He nods in agreement. I’ve given him duties well outside his physician skills, but he’ll see it’s done.

“She’ll have questions,” he prods me again.

I head to the door. Talking about her has made the dark cloud appear again, and I need to finish what I started downstairs.

“She’ll have a roof over her head, and safety. That’s all she needs.” I yank the door open and head to the stairwell.

As I head down to the pits of the house, I can already hear the moans and cries of the four men I have waiting for me. Peeling off my shirt, I head into the first room. Into the cell I’d kept Magdalena when she first arrived. Matvei is restrained, facing away from me in the cell, his naked ass greeting me when I walk in.

“Are you ready?” I ask him.

“Kristoff,” he pleads, frantically trying to turn his face to me, but he’s already received some of his punishment. He can’t see me, no matter where he looks. One eye has swollen shut, the other has been cut out.

“I asked if you’re ready,” I say again, firmer, and pull out the knife I’ve brought with me.

“I was only doing what your father told me to do! I followed orders!” he cries, tears are already falling. Fucking pussy.

His legs have been cuffed to the cell bars, spread wide open for me. I reach between them and pull his cock back toward me. I squeeze the soft shaft and pull downward.

“No! No!” he screams and tries to wiggle away. He’s fighting hard, and if he weren’t restrained so well, he might actually get away. But I’m not a novice. And he’s earned every bit of this.

The knife slices easily through him, and his dick falls to the ground. His screams are deafening now, but I’m not done. Blood pours out, and if I take too long, he might pass out from the blood loss before I finish. And I don’t want that to happen.

Magdalena didn’t get to sleep through the five men raping and beating her. They will not get the convenience either.

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