Page 39 of Viripotent

I ignore everyone’s subdued snorts and give Viktor his water. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that they’d allow him to drink alcohol. I’ve seen it growing up, parents and guardians not giving a fuck or doing it purposefully thinking that childhood is a weakness. Focusing on the screen in front of me, I’m glad it’s not a death match, and it’s more professional than the rumors describe it.I don’t recognize the fighters until it comes to an end and Viktor gets excited, cheering his psychotic family on.

“This is my dad’s fight.”

He sits taller and doesn’t even blink as the recording of Valentin strolls into the cage. They start talking shit with eachother and I sink into the sofa, more focused on their interaction than the screen. I had ideas of what it would be like to have siblings when I was a child, this matches it.

Emotional exhaustion settles in after the last twelve hours of shit and I limply hold the sundae glass on my knee not wanting to move. Vlad has to be an asshole and flexes his shoulders, taking up more space and making me lean into him. He has nice arms, and my eyes go to his hands. One is on his thigh, tapping his knee with his middle finger, the other on the armrest holding his tumbler.

I’ve never seen him in anything other than a suit, not even with his shirt sleeves rolled up. But I know he’s covered in ink. They’re faded and not perfect, parts have stretched, showing how young he was and that they’ve grown with him. Our knees are touching, and he isn’t looking at me, so I stretch my little finger until it brushes his hand.

There’s a pause while I wait for him to rage or push me away. Bringing the crystal to his lips, he doesn’t stop me and continues his conversation with Valentin. Whoever did his tattoos must have been rough with the needle because I can feel the raised lines when they should be flat. Brushing his knuckles filled with scars, the bones have migrated from the force he’s used them with. I’m too tired to question or control my brain and hook my little finger under his as my blinking gets slower and my head drops.

There’ssomething warm under my cheek and I move closer, hugging the hard heat closer without opening my eyes. The fingers threaded in my hair flex, pulling me closer, and my eyes snap open as sleep disappears. The room is dark, and I can’tmake out the smudges on the chest under my head. But I know who it belongs to. Looking up slowly, Vlad isn’t asleep, but his eyes are closed. There’s too much awareness on his features and this is the first time he’s laid beside me. It’s also the first time I’m seeing his actual skin instead of a shirt and he’s warm, too warm that it’s like laying on a furnace in the best possible way.

My sight adjusts to the dark and I can make out the lines of his tattoos. The usual stares of authority and scrapbook showing his sins, four numbers sit on his chest, but I don’t know what they are. It could be a date without the year, the day and month. He’s so visually appealing I allow myself to creep on him without his knowledge.

I gently lift my hand from his side and trace his tattoos with my fingertip, making sure not to touch him. Even with barely any light, I’m drooling and squirming inside. I don’t pull the sheet down. My perving can stay on the innocent side while I lie and call it appreciation. When he doesn’t move, I trace the Madonna holding a child. My finger accidentally brushes the arm, and my head is pulled back, making me squeal.

Flipping me on my back before I can pull his hand out of my hair, he pushes his weight into my hips, pinning me in place, and two hands wrap around my neck. I can’t breathe and his eyes are wild, like he can’t see me. Pushing into his shoulders with all my strength doesn’t even make him rock. I’m going to die, and my knees lose power trying to get him off me. He pushes more weight into me, making everything from my hips down tingle due to restricted blood flow and I slap out at his shoulders. His chest. Anything to get him to move.

It’s not the usual devil choking me. This is something worse, more sinister and fighting for survival thinking I’m a threat. Tears roll down my cheeks with my thrashing, but he doesn’t stop trying to kill me. I’ve never felt true fear as much as I do in this moment and black spots dance in my vision.

Trying everything I can to get his hands to loosen, I dig my nails into his arms and my voice is a croak, begging him to move.

“Vlad, can’t breathe.”

He blinks once. It’s mechanical and causes his hands to loosen as I choke down air. My lungs burn after being cut off for so long, the hacking cough ripping my throat apart as I keep choking and his weight moves off my hips.My chest heaves and I can’t feel my legs fully.

I turn on my side as I attempt to get my organs to work again. A hand brushes my hair off my face making me flinch violently. My fear leaves as anger floods me and the choking doesn’t stop it infusing my words.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

I should shut my mouth after his attempted murder, but I can’t stop myself and push him away as every profanity leaves my lips.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you psychotic bastard.”

Scrambling off the bed, I rub along my sore throat and put distance between me and the half-naked killer. My back hits the windowpane, and he hardens his eyes. He blinks, flicking his eyes to the glass with more anger, then looks at me head on. His beautiful body doesn’t distract me now I’ve seen what it’s capable of, and there’s no weapon for me to defend myself with as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and blankly stares at me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have killed me!”

I’m screaming. I don’t give a fuck. Somewhere in my mind I know I’m safe with him being awake and he balls his fists on his thighs.

The harsh tone holds no remorse and stokes my anger higher.

“Lower your voice when you speak to me.”

There’s nothing with any significant weight for me to throw at him and I look around the room for something capable of doing damage other than the man himself. There’s a cushion by my feet that I must have knocked off the bed and I lift it without thinking, launching it at his head as I continue screaming.

“Fuck you! I’ve lowered myself enough by agreeing to marry you!”

He doesn’t bat it away as it sails over his head.

We’re both crazy and he smiles. It’s twisted and mixed with pride, but the rough command doesn’t match.

“On your knees.”

It takes everything in me not to drop and I straighten my shoulders, glaring at him. Looking from his knees adorned with the eight-point stars to his eyes, I tilt my chin up, refusing.

“I don’t need a tattoo to remind me not to bow for a man. Otvali mudak, blyad.”

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