Page 5 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

My men had already worked him over, hence the reason he looked so battered and deformed. He knew he was dead meat the moment he got caught selling sensitive Bratva information to a rival organization.

I hated it when Bratva members got greedy and put their own selfish interests over the organization they'd sworn their allegiance to. Those bastards knew the consequences of treason, yet they'd go ahead and betray the course without thinking twice.

He fidgeted, trembling as I stepped out of the shadows, gazing at him with a blank expression. This was my first time paying him a visit since he'd been holed up here. Judging by the fear flickering in his eyes, it was evident that he knew things had just gone from bad to worse.

He was right to think so.

“Boss…” he called, his voice weak and faint. “I…can explain….”

“Can you now?” I cut him off, walking over to the table in a corner, eyes darting across the numerous pieces of torture equipment on the surface.

He went silent, his breathing heavier by the second. His fearful gaze lingered on me. “I needed money to feed my family, Boss….”

His excuse was insignificant, and deep creases formed between my brows. The fact that he’d just lied only infuriated me more.

Fredrick was one of my finest foot soldiers, dedicated to the cause, but he had a problem: gambling. He would spend most of his money on the availableget-rich-quickscheme that presented itself. And although his private life was unimportant to me, I'd thought that he wouldn't even dream of using the Bratva's resources for silly games.

Gordey, my right-hand man, had ratted Fredrick out as the mole who'd been stealing and selling information to the enemy. With a little digging, Gordey found out that Fredrick had wasted all the money he got from the transaction on gambling.

What an idiot.

The more information he sold, the more money he got, and the more he lavished on insignificant things. Now, in order to save his own skin, he had the audacity to involve a family he'd neglected for years—a family that I was sure never received a dime of that money.

Once, I'd witnessed his wife call him out as an irresponsible husband and an even worse father. His gambling habits had pushed her away, so how dare he use her as an excuse?

I scanned the table, my gaze shifting across the needles, scalpels, and pliers, amongst others, until I settled for a gun-shaped driller, fingers closing around it.

“Fredrick,” I began, my voice cold and devoid of emotion, “you remind me of Judas Iscariot.” I approached him, the driller in my hand, and kept my blazing eyes fixed on him. “Do you know who that is?”

His throat wobbled as he swallowed hard, chest rising and falling in absolute terror.

I halted in front of him, my intimidating gaze never leaving his battered face as I reveled in his fear. “You see, the Christians believe Jesus was the Son of God—a man with a forgiving heart who walked the Earth over two thousand years ago, accompanied by twelve disciples. One of them was Judas Iscariot.”

As I paused, watching him, he whimpered, begging with his eyes and muttering words of plea.

“For thirty pieces of silver, Judas betrayed Jesus, handing him over to the Romans to be killed.” I leaned forward, my face mirroring his. The subtle smell of blood invaded my senses. “You, Fredrick, are no better than Judas.” My voice dropped to an eerie whisper. “And unfortunately for you, I am not Jesus…. I do not forgive.” The slight pause came when I whispered the last words into his ear.

“No…no, please,” he whimpered, shaking his head as I pressed the driller's point against his wrist, the metal biting into his skin.

My lips curled into a twisted smile, brows furrowing. “In our world, loyalty is divine. Betrayal is unforgivable.” My tone dripped with venom as I squeezed the trigger.

The driller roared to life, its motor whining as it sunk into Fredrick's wrist. He wailed in agony as his flesh ripped apart with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed, splattering my face.

His screams were raw and deafening—animalistic. His head was thrown backward, the pain coursing through his shuddering body like electricity.

The gruesome sound of the driller filled the air, accompanied by Fredrick's screams and the smell of burning flesh. His agony, his wails, were like music to my ears, and I continued to drill further into his wrist, reveling in his convulsing body.

I heard his tendons snap, his bone fragmented as the drill sank deeper. A smirk lined the corner of my lip as his cries grew hoarse, his voice dripping with agony.

I released the trigger, and the driller's motor gradually died down. Fredrick's head fell forward, his chin resting on his chest as his cries trailed off, fading into whimpers.

The air reeked of sweat, blood, and burned flesh as I straightened, watching him tremble in pain. I glanced at Fredrick's tissues, still smeared over the driller, before tossing it away.

“There are a million ways to make you suffer, Fredrick,” I said, wiping my face with a handkerchief I'd withdrawn from my pocket.

“Please…no more…” he pleaded, too weak to say much else.

My eyes returned to the table as I wondered which tool to use next, but my thoughts were soon interrupted when Gordey walked in.

---