Page 13 of Kings of Cruelty

I know I can withstand the pain—and even if I can’t, I will endure it. I will do whatever it takes to be part of this group again. “My blood is yours.”

Nikolai doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. “If it’s good enough for Kotya, it’s good enough for me.”

Sierra reaches out for me, but Nikolai still holds her back. “Goddamn it,” she mutters. “I know it’s not my decision,” she adds carefully. “And I think he’s plenty contrite enough without being whipped. But I get it. My father…” Something in her expression flickers, something sad and miserable. “He would’ve done worse.”

Kotya looks at me once more before pointing at the basement door. “Downstairs. We will do this now.”

I don’t argue. I go down, the hair on the back of my neck rising. My heart is racing in anticipation.

When I get to the cell, I stop in front of the shackles on the wall. The concrete wall and floor are clean, not a single stain to show what other things have taken place here. I tentatively place my hands against the shackles.

“Jacket and shirt off,” Kotya barks from behind. “Actually, get completely naked.”

I strip down while they watch me, but I don’t look at Sierra’s face. I don’t know what I’d see in her expression.

Nikolai waits until I’m fully naked before he grabs one of my wrists, yanking me toward the shackles with a bruising grip. I don’t need to be bound, but I endure it as he does the same with my other wrist.

I hear Kotya open the drawer that holds his tools. Sierra gasps, so I assume it’s one of the heavier whips that can easily flay skin open.

My eyes focus on the tattoo on my arm, and I remind myself that I’m well acquainted with pain. I didn’t get my cock tattooed because I shy away from pain.

“How many does he deserve?” Kotya asks.

“Jesus,” Sierra mutters.

“You don’t have to stay,” I tell Sierra, although part of me wants her there. I need her to see what I’m willing to go through for her.

“Twenty,” Nikolai says grimly. “And he’s lucky I’m not saying twenty-five.”

“That’s too many,” Sierra protests. “With that fucking thing? Ten is going to be torture.”

“Fifteen, then,” Kotya announces. “I will not go easy on you, Yura.”

I bark out a laugh. “I didn’t ask you to. Give it to me.”

Despite my words, I tense in anticipation. I’ve seen how Kotya wields the whip, and most men end up with bloodied backs, incapacitated for weeks.

I’m not sure what’s happening behind me, but Sierra goes quiet. Nikolai must have given her a look, or maybe Kotya. Neither of them speaks, though.

The first lash whistles through the air, and I grunt as it lands across my shoulders. The pain is sharp, but it isn’t as bad as I would have expected.

Kotya held back.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, closing my eyes and steeling myself for the next lash.

“One,” Nikolai counts, ignoring my apology. It’s not for him anyway, though.

The second blow comes harder than the first, like I’d expected, and he counts as Kotya wields the whip—and I know without a shadow of a doubt that despite how Sierra reacts when she sees blood that she’s watching me give penance.

On the fourth strike, the sting is sharper, and the copper scent of blood hits my nose. The pain is getting harder to ignore, but I keep breathing through it.

I hear a sharp inhalation of breath that I think is from Sierra.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, hoping my voice stays steady.

“Four,” Nikolai says. I’d have expected him to sound angry, but he sounds impassive.

The next few blows come slowly, giving me enough time for my body to relax but my mind to race with anticipation.

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