Page 34 of For a Price

It feels like there will be no rescue for me and this is it—I’ll be murdered inside this closet, beaten to death for daring to object to being sexually violated.

But just as Leonid lands a particularly crushing blow to my ribs, the closet door’s wrenched open and light pours into the tiny space.

I look up with squinting eyes to see a broad, towering man in the doorway.

Roman looks more livid than I’ve ever seen him, his features becoming almost animalistic as he surveys the scene he’s discovered.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

* My dobivayemsya progressa. My rasshiryayem sferu deyatel’nosti -We are making progress. We are expanding our scope of operations.

* Nedostatochno bystro. Byli oshibki -Not fast enough. There have been mistakes.

* Moya vina? Menya ne pokhitili. Ty byl, Zver -My fault? I wasn’t kidnapped. You were, beast.

* Khvatit drat’sya. Yest’ dela povazhneye. My obsudim pozzhe. Odnazhdy devochki rabotayut -Enough fighting. There are more important things to do. We'll discuss it later. Once the girls are working

* Zdravstvuy, shlyukha. Ya obeshchal, chto vernus. Ya khochu imet tebya -Hello, slut. I promised I’d be back. I want to have you.

CHAPTER 13

Roman

Few things enrageme enough to make me lose all control. As beastly as I am, I’m often tactical. I’m restrained enough to make moves that are in my family’s best interest. I’m working to bring pride to my father and impress the sovietnik.

One and the same, technically, but different halves of the same man.

Opening the closet door and finding my kitty cat beaten on the floor is enough to unleash my fury. She really is curled up like a kitten, defenseless and terrified.

Uncle Leonid stands over her looking every bit a fucking pit bull on the attack. The fat fucker has drawn back his foot to deliver what must be another kick.

With the door wide open, he looks up in mild surprise.

“Zver,” he says. “Your whore was being bad?—”

My fist slams into his face and cuts off anything else he was about to say.

He doesn’t get a moment of reprieve. Once my fist’s collided with his face one time, I’m wrenching him toward me by his shirt. I rip him out of the closet and toss him out into thehall where the rest of the family attending tonight’s event is watching.

Uncle Leonid stumbles, dribbling blood, trying to regain his footing. I don’t give him the chance to even come close. I descend on him the way I imagine he descended on my kitty cat. He’s pummeled by a barrage of my fast and powerful fists.

One after another.

He drops to the ground and still my fists rain down.

I bash Leonid’s face in. I break his nose, eye socket, several of his teeth. In my blackout rage, I unholster the largest knife I have on me and pin his squirming body down like the sweaty fucking pig he is. He’s on his belly while I’m kneeling on his back, grabbing the hand that must be what he used to touch her—his ring finger’s already half-bitten off.

Planting the hand palm-side down on the ground, I slice at his thick wrist. He screams in sheer agony and jerks against me, begging for mercy and forgiveness.

“ZVER!” he screams. “ZVER!”

The crowded hall watches on in fascinated silence as I proceed to hack his hand off until I’ve cut through his flesh. His screams and cries become deafening against the sawing motion of my huge blade. Sinew and tendons are severed. Blood gushes out.

Bone peeks through to match his half bitten off finger.

I grit my teeth and finish the job. I slice through the rest of the appendage, relishing the sick joy I feel at the sight of his severed hand in a puddle of blood on the floor.

But it’s only the beginning.

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