Page 7 of Kings of Violence

But of course it’s not. It’s the kind with doors that lock from the outside and drains in the floor, because why not?

I shift nervously. “You don’t have to keep me in the basement. I’m not going to try to run away or anything.” I can’t hide the note of pleading in my voice. I know I’m a captive, and I knew things weren’t going to be comfortable, but this room scares the hell out of me.

Kotya motions towards the padded bench in the middle of the room. “Lie down. Show us your conviction. Show us we can trust you.”

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I hesitate — and I feel every bit the little rabbit Nikolai has named me. “What…”

I know what’s coming.

I don’t want to know, but I do.

Fuck.

I go to the bench anyway, sitting down on it. “Do you, um… on my back?” I whisper.

Nikolai barks out a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think, Kotya? Do we want to see her pretty face when we fuck her?”

When we fuck her.

I feel like a virgin all over again.

Kotya says something to Nikolai in Russian, and he gestures to a cabinet with closed doors. Whatever he said has Nikolai laughing and nodding.

“Yeah,” Nikolai answers. “Okay, on her back, then. We definitely want to see her face.”

“Could you at least talk in English so I know what you’re about to do to me?” I ask, my voice wobbling. It makes me feel even worse.

“No,” Kotya says calmly.

Nikolai laughs again, and he goes over to Kotya to bump their shoulders against each other. He then quirks a brow at me when he looks back and sees me still sitting up. “Lie down,zaya. You really don’t want to make Kotya tell you again.”

No, I don’t think I do.

Dizzily, I lie down on my back on the bench. I’m grateful I’m wearing an old shirt and sweatpants, nothing to really look at, but… I don’t think I’ll be wearing them much longer.

Kotya ruffles Nikolai’s hair before going over to the cabinet. He has to unlock the padlock so he can open it.

My breath catches when I see what’s inside.

Those are torture devices. Long knives, whips, a very large saw. They’re all pristinely clean, but I don’t dare hope that means they’re an empty threat.

I let out a squeak, unable to even form words. I shake my head, my fingers clenching into fists as the urge to fight or flight overwhelms me.

I freeze instead, watching as Kotya pulls out a metal rod with a flat surface. It has a handle with a depressor, and I realize with dread that it’s an electric branding iron.

Nikolai, who seems in a perpetually good mood now that he has me here under his control, says cheerfully, “It’s a branding iron, if you don’t already know that. Because you’re just a piece of meat to us now. Isn’t that charming,zaya?”

“No,” I croak out, shaking my head as the panic builds and builds. I’m going to throw up. I just know it.

“You are ours now,” Kotya says as he approaches me. “This will be the proof of that. Shirt up. Lift it above your breasts.”

“Wait, where are you putting it?” Nikolai interrupts, following him over. He doesn’t give me a chance to lift my shirt, instead doing it for me. He whistles. “Nice rack. Just the perfect handful.” He reaches down to squeeze one of my breasts, and I whimper.

“Above her heart,” Kotya answers. His lips twitch into a grin. “There will be no looking into the mirror without remembering who she belongs to.”

I don’t want that.

I don’t want any of this.

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