Page 30 of Nikolai Petrov

“This is what happens when you fuck me over.” My voice is booming as I let the words fill the cavernous darkness past the glow of the lights. “You end up on your belly like a snake, peeled and gutted.”

With a flick of my wrist, the last of the membranes are sheared. The entire left side of his back lays open, glistening with remnants of fat and tissue rippling over his heaving chest.

It only takes a moment, and another rending scream, to peel the right half to match. Now that he has abandoned his stoic facade, the cries flow freely from his torn mouth.

My knees creak as I stand and stretch them. Tucking my knife back in its sheath, I wander my way to my black bag of tools.

“O’Connor? How’s the perimeter?” The gangly police chief is looking a little paler than normal, but his jaw is set as he answers.

“Good, boss. No one is here, and SWAT hasn’t picked up on the noise.” His eyes cut away from me and glance at Ivanov prostrate on the floor. “Do you, um, want me to do a walkaround?”

“Does it make you uncomfortable seeing someone get what they deserve?” I don’t blink as I meet his eyes and watch for the smallest reaction.

“No, sir. It’s just, um. Well, real, boss.” A single bead of sweat rolls down his temple.

“Sure. Another trip to Cancun on the docket, Chief?” He understands my question. Another bribe to go with the reminder that I own him. I keep his yacht stocked when he vacations. All of his favorite flavors of drugs and women keep him loyal.

So does the blackmail.

His large Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Yeah, boss. That would be great.” He turns and disappears into the torrential rain.

I don’t need him to witness this, he’s already deeply embedded under my thumb.

Finding the right tool for the job is easy. The red-handled bolt cutters take up a significant space in the black leather bag.

Ivanov’s flaps of skin curl at the edges with the dust that gathers on them. His light colored ribs show through the thin membrane.

“You know, Peter. If you had a little fat on you, this would have been harder. I wouldn’t be able to see your bones so easily.” Lining up the cutting edges over where his lower rib attaches to his spine, I sink the dull blades around the bone and squeeze the long handles together.

A dull snap is punctuated by retching from one of my men who disappears into the night.

Ivanov screams, his body arching with the loose rib gyrating with each exhale. “What are you doing to me?” His feet kick out in a poor attempt to fend me off.

“I’m going to show everyone here just how black your fucking heart is.” Another rib shears with a light squeeze of the handles. As two more are freed from their captive hold by his spine, the frothy pink of his lungs begins to peek from the gap.

His screams are high pitched and his hips roll as he tries to avoid each snip. “Please! No more!”

“Do you know what my first wife told me when I tried to touch her the first time? She said she’d only been with one other man. She cried, Peter. She fucking cried that he had hurt her. That he fucking raped her.” Prying open the severed rib cage, I wrap my hand around the airy sack that inflates in my palm. Letting my fury flow into my grip, I squeeze the scream out of him.

“Did she beg ‘no more’ when you held her down and fucked her?” Loosening my hand from the sticky confines of his chest, I resume snipping his ribs down the other side of his spine.

Blood bubbles from his lips with each rasping breath. Watching him gasp as his lung quivers in its attempts to inflate brings dark pleasure over me.

Suffer. I want you in pain.

The oozing pool of congealing fluid grows around his body as I clip the last few bones. My knife slides easily, splitting the thick meat below his shoulders like a slab of pork before a barbeque.

A resounding crack pulls a garbled moan from him as I lay the right side of his back flat on the floor. The mirrored sound of the left echoes the same.

The muffled heave of vomiting comes from the shadows, but I don’t look up.

Ivanov’s throes have lessened. His fingers dig feebly into the dust, mixing with the puddle below him into a fetid smear.

Watching his heartbeat flutter the puffy tissue of his lung is mesmerizing. His mouth gapes and his lips begin to fade into a soft blue as the useless organs shake in the hollow of his chest. No longer bound to the walls of his body, they collapse upon themselves into foamy lumps.

“Quite the backstabber, aren’t you?” Reaching into the hot, wet cavity of his chest, my fingers wrap around the pulsing heart.

Ivanov stiffens, his entire body goes completely rigid as his eye fixes on me.

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