Page 88 of Voracious

“Dima?” she sweetly whispers my name and I shut off. I’m not the person throwing my woman across a room. I’m not straddling her while she struggles with hands wrapped around her neck. It’s not me, it’s not Ana.

And she pulls me back.

“Thank you, can we get burgers on the way home?”

She’s a crazy person, but I agree, and I wouldn’t change her for the world and its riches.

The mask is helping to forge the image of me hurting her without any real brutality as she forces her limbs to go limp and keeps whispering to keep me here.

“I’ll have a burger and you’ll have a cake.”

When Ana drops her head, her body limp, I think I went too far until she quietly says, “I know you respect me, it’s all fake, Dima.”

The urge to move her body so she’s comfortable itches at me and my anger is building to a fever pitch.So, I abruptly turn tosell the fucked up image that I’ve choked her out and the door slams when I leave my life laid out on a bed for some fuck to take advantage of. She better fucking kill them, play with their eyeballs, and turn them into a human slot machine again. I’ll do the same with any of their other organs, play fucking catch with the cunt’s lungs, anything to get this anger to leave.

I push past some dickhead that’s suspect number one as the masked prick looks at the closed door and I grumble, “She passed out.”

I’m going to kill him.

“If you tell the bar they’ll lock off the room and send someone to check on you both,” he says like a normal person, not a sick one.

I nod and he walks away. The hallway is filling up as a show is put on in a viewing window and I stick to the wall, looking for the perfect spot to watch that door.I check each arm of anyone I pass and there’s no one matching Nina’s description in the crowd or the rooms.

If she’s managed to escape her fate while my woman is putting herself at risk, I’ll make sure she knows more torment until the end of her days for not putting Ana at ease. I don’t know how long I stand there when there’s no movement from the door I left her in, but something inside of me tells me to move, cutting through the crowd lining the hallway to watch people fuck, then I’m in the room before my body has registered my feet moving.

Some cunt is laid on top of her. Ana has one fucking boot on, and I see red before the walls do.

There’s blood on her skin as I drag him back, off her bloody body. No. He’s a dead weight but all I can see is the sticky trail of liquid covering her face and neck. Snapping his neck so I can focus on my woman, I take her in my arms and I’ve never been happier to see the dull brown that lacks any depth as she blinks.

“I’m okay, I just didn’t feel like torture.” Lifting her foot up that still has the boot on, she adds, “Not the right footwear.”

I think I laugh. Or I’m crying. Who fucking knows when I thought she was dead. I’m sure she can’t breathe as I hug her to me, but she doesn’t stop me, her hand strokes over my hair as the other tries to hold on to me just as tight.

“I won’t survive you, lisichka, don’t ever try and make me.”

I’ll die first, it’s the only thing that makes fucking sense, living without her would be worse than death. That unbothered state of hers doesn’t allow anything to sink in and my hellion asks, “Can I have my shoe back? It’s in his neck.”

When I don’t move, she tries to wriggle free and there’s urgency in her movements.

“Ten seconds and the cameras come back on.”

My clever girl, so fucking intelligent it’s more terrifying than her violence.She gets into character as I quickly put her boot back on and allows her body to hang as though she’s been tortured. I wrap my jacket over her shoulders to hide as much of her as possible as we walk out. There are two fucks waiting for us as soon as we step out the doors and they look at me with camaraderie. Sick fucks. They silently guide us to a hidden exit, and they look down, noting the number on our hands before fucking off.

She keeps her voice low as she satisfies her one-track mind.

“Did you find her? Is she inside?”

I hate disappointing her and kiss the top of her head as I say, “I’m sorry, lisichka.”

She deflates, nodding to herself. This is what she’s been doing since she was sixteen years old. Fuck. All this time I assumed her need for violence was genetic, it’s environmental, from whatever Len and Yulia did to her growing up to everything she’s witnessed on her search for Nina. It’s in me now and I copy her therapy.

“I need to kill someone.”

Her snort laugh comes out as though I’m not being serious, all the rage inside of me needs to fucking leave.

Ana makes sure we’re not being followed as we get in the car, and I put as much distance between that shit and us. When she’s satisfied, she rips her mask off and pushes the armrest away from between the seats. Her lips land on my cheek, chasing away some of my anger as her sweetness comes out.

“Thank you, I know you didn’t want to do it.”

---