Page 57 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
He would deliver everything I needed at work. Returning to work during this time had been fortuitous. My little HuCow could consider the purpose of her existence alone.
I closed the phone and looked back at the screen. Lena’s head had moved from her side to her back, staring at the mirrors with dead eyes. She was coming apart at the seams. I needed to stitch her back together—but on my terms.
The medication would do the trick—flatten her extremes, dull the panic, and keep the milk flowing. It would all be slipped into food in harmless doses. Not enough to damage my pet’s faculties. Just enough to reshape.
Once she stabilised, I’d wean her off one or two to see how she responded.
Maybe.
If she behaved.
If not… there were other drugs. Other tools.
I stared at her pale, tear-crusted face and reached for my notebook. I wrote the schedule—doses, expected effects, and observation times.
I wasn’t healing her.
I was fixing my investment.
???
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Tchaikovsky wasn’t doing it for me today. The gates opened, and I drove into thecompound. This felt comfortable. Not a fancy hospital, but it served its purpose—my passion to inflict pain.
Viktor had confirmed my package had arrived.
It was no surprise to me that they were waiting in my operating room. I walked in, ignored them, and crossed to the countertop. A few small packages waited, stacked neatly. I scanned the space. It was clean and in order.
“How long do you think he’ll ignore us for?”
“As long as he can avoid talking about his pet.”
“I’m surprised you tore yourself away from Ayla.”
“They’re having a mother and daughter afternoon. I wasn’t included.”
“Mother and daughter afternoon? What’s thekrolikgoing to do with a seven-month-old?”
“I didn’t ask. She said something about me hogging the baby.”
“Ah. A baby hogger. Ayla has that effect.”
“She does. Vadik, how long are you going to ignore your Pakhan?”
My grip tightened around the box cutter.
Just a few slashes here and there. I sighed. I couldn’t kill my boss.
“I’m not back until Monday,” I said, slicing the seam of the box.
“Alexei said you ordered drugs. For your pet or yourself?”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. They both married their pets. I would never marry again, and my pet wasn’t my partner.
I owned her.
Viktor whispered something, the gossiping monkey, and they sniggered. When I turned, the scar-faced man’s gaze dropped tothe box cutter in my hand. The amusement vanished, and his eyes cooled.
“So, is it true? You got yourself a pet?” the Pakhan asked.
