Page 4 of Forced By the Bratva Beast

Makar and I exchange mirthful glances. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. This won’t do. Is he stupid?”

One of my associates demonstrates his punishment for defying me, hauling off and slapping him, his face ricocheting like a hinged door. “I think he’s a glutton for punishment, Boss. He might enjoy what you’re about to do next.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think he does. Hold his fingers steady, I think his nails are a little too long, what do you think, Makar?”

“I agree with you. Too long,” he jokes, his eyebrows waggling as Ryan writhes in terror, the trickle of blood that ran down the side of his face, now superseded by the sweat of fear.

“Do you think I should cut one or two?”

Makar shrugs noncommittedly as the dim light flickers overhead. This is too much fun for me. The last time I played with the torture tools was a few years ago. Most of the time I like to shoot. This is more my cousin, Ruslan’s forte when he has the chance. In fact—my cousin is the one I learned these unique techniques from.

Ryan’s breath quickens as Makar provides his answer. “Argh. I’m a nice guy. Let’s go with two nails. Just to sharpen them up.” He winks as I lay one index finger flat, looking him dead square in the eye.

“Who’s your boss? Tell me now, and I won’t tear this nail out of your finger.”

Ryan winces, clearly in pain, but not enough to snitch. I shake my head, half-impressed and half-annoyed. I want the name. I’m curious to know who would try us like this, especially given the power we hold as a network. “You are real, real stupid for being this loyal.”

Without flinching, I pinch down on his nail with the pliers and wrench it off his finger, Ryan letting out a blood-curdling squawk. “Fucking son-of-a-bitch!” he yelps, blood spurting from his finger as he sobs.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, I told you to give me a name,” I say in a sing-song voice. “All you have to do is give me a name.” I back upand pace as he squeals, his face turning two shades whiter than he already is. He doesn’t buckle under the pressure like I expect, but I still give him a beat to answer, looking at my associates—awestruck.

“Shit. He wants the full manicure treatment, Boss,” one of them calls out.

“Seems like he does, and I’m here to give it to him, but before I do. Are you going to give me a name?”

Ryan huffs, blowing out his breath, but not answering. Again, I lock down his bloodied hand, ripping another nail free and holding it up to the light as Ryan’s hand, drenched in blood, shakes from the pain.

Letting my eyes penetrate his, I hold the prize of his nail up to the flickering light. “Next one? or should I just fucking shoot you? You’re really starting to piss me off,” I bark, growing sick of the torture game already.

Ryan opens his mouth as if he wants to say something but groans instead. I pull the gun out, pointing it right in the middle of his face, and he has the audacity to speak. “Y-you can’t shoot me. You need me,” Ryan says, laughing, his eyelid hanging off. Idiot.

The laughter is what gets to me. I’ve just ripped two of his nails off his fingers and he’s grinning in a Bratva boss’s face? Hell no. I raise my gun from his nose to his temple, directing my associates silently out of the way. They both move to the side as Ryan catches on, his face harboring bewilderment, but it’s too late as I press my eyes shut and fire. There. He falls back from his chair with a thud to the floor as my associates look on casually. A standard day at the Bratva office.

“Was that necessary to kill the guy?” Makar asks as a river of crimson blood flows from Ryan cracking his skull on the concrete, not to mention the bullet in his head. Cleaning my gun with a cloth and picking off a chunk of flesh from my jacket, I nod.

“Yes. Now, I need a fucking drink.”

“He may have been our only source of information,” Makar continues, but I sigh, cracking my neck.

“Like I said, I need a drink.” I glower at him, making my point clear.

“Fine. Fine. We should hit Destiny Bar. We haven’t gone there in a while. The last time we went there was for a celebration, so how about there?”

A smile creeps over my face, my mood renewed. “Good suggestion. That’s what I like.” I grin.

Chapter Three - Sophia

“Shit!” I call out with a startled expression. I feel like I’ve hit a brick wall, and my ankle hurts in these wedge platforms from trying to avoid Mr. Creepy who’s been tailing me and my friends for the last block and a half. A solid hand squeezes my forearm, and immediately I panic as I stare into a pair of bewitching deep eyes. It’s a guy who smells of leather and sandalwood.

“Hey there. Are you good?” A tall dark-haired man with pale features queries, and for a second, I don’t know if I’ve run us from one bad situation headlong into another, but when I see him crack a lopsided smile, my hesitation eases.

“Yeah,” I return as he slowly loosens his grip, my friends giggling behind me. “I just… umm, we… are.” I cough, getting myself together. “We are headed to the club and there were a couple of weird guys doing that lurking type of thing,” I murmur, kind of wishing I didn’t tell him since we were only around the corner from Destiny Bar.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy replies with a serious look on his face. “Where?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” I tell him, waving my hands, not wanting to cause a fuss. “They’re gone.” Reaching down to clutch my throbbing ankles, Ava and my friend stand by protectively as his eyes travel down to my feet.

“Are you hurt?”

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