Page 22 of Violent Love: Viktor
“Crawl for me,” he ordered.“Let me see that tail wag.”
The floor burned against my knees as I moved, slow and shamefully stiff. I could barely move. Weak. Hollow.
“I don’t see your tail wagging,Suka.”
I winced. And forced my hips to sway.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The tail moved.
He chuckled—a low, amused sound.
And when the door clicked shut behind him—I collapsed.
My hands covered my face, my body curled into itself.
This wasn’t discipline.
It was death.
Not of the body, but of everything I’d once been.
Viktor didn’t need to peel my skin like he did Petrov’s. He didn’t need a scalpel or bone saw. He was going to butcher me slowly—one humiliation at a time.
Chapter 9
Viktor
When I returned with her food, she was curled up on the floor like a discarded doll. Her red-rimmed eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door, drenched with dried tears.
Perfect.
At this rate, I could transfer her to the Borki property much sooner than expected. The Pakhan had wasted months wrestling with theKrolik’sstubborn streak. Natalya? She wouldn’t even remember her name, let alone think about testifying against my brotherhood.
I could’ve left her with the food and gone to work. But that would’ve been merciful, and mercy wasn’t part of her training.
I sat, placing the ceramic dog bowl between my polished shoes. A simple breakfast—buckwheat porridge, sweetened with honey. Her eyes darted from the bowl to my face, then back again. Hunger twisted through her expression, battling with shame as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Come eat,Suka,” I said flatly.
She crawled toward me, the black rubber tail jutting from her ass swaying with every miserable movement. My cock twitched at the pathetic sight. I stroked her hair when she knelt between my legs.
“Eat it all up like a good bitch,” I murmured.“Master made it nice and creamy just for you.”
She flinched. Her lip curled slightly, face contorting in revulsion. Good—let her wonder what I meant. I hadn’t had time to lace it with anything obscene, but the idea was enough. Fear had always been my favourite seasoning.
When she hesitated, I reached for the bowl.
“Well—if you don’t want it—”
Her hand shot out, trembling as it landed on my wrist—on the snake tattoo curling up my forearm.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whimpered, desperate.“Please…I’m so hungry.”
I let the bowl clatter loudly to the floor between us. She jerked, flinching like I’d struck her. I shook her hand off mine and grabbed her jaw instead, fingers pressing hard into her cheeks, squeezing her mouth open.
