Page 64 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
Quiet my mind.
Give in.
???
Washed, milked, fed, and watered, he left for work while I stared at the wooden door. I didn’t know how long I sat therelooking at it, but something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe I was just tired after last night.
I put the classical music back on and curled up on the bed, trying to remember why I was still fighting myself.
I fell asleep thinking of his grey eyes, back when they used to hold approval.
Like I was his.
???
My nap did little to rejuvenate me. The music still played, but when I looked around the barn, it was an empty reminder of my loneliness. Instead of getting up to eat my breakfast from the trough, I stared at my reflection.
The half-limbed cow girl stared back at me.
No one would ever want me.
Not like this.
He told me the horn procedure was irreversible, and my limbs were semi-permanent once fully healed. Even if I could escape, I couldn't bear the thought of other people seeing me or of doctors vying to‘fix’me for the sake of their glory. The media would catch wind of it, and the world would know.
I shuddered and shuffled toward the edge of the bed to eat breakfast.
The last thing I wanted was my parents to ever know what I was.
It was better that they thought I was dead.
Chapter 28
Vadik
Viktor brought in the last man left and dumped him on the operating table, while I checked that all the tools were ready.
“What brand of protein powder do you use? I hope you don't mind, I took a sip of the one in the fridge and it was pretty damn good,” he said while strapping the man onto the bed.
I froze.
“What sort of a fucking heathen are you? You don't touch another man’s food,” I snarled at him.
He fucking drank my Lena’s milk. That overgrown, greedy bastard. The Pakhan would understand if I killed him.
“Whoa, I’m sorry, I won't touch anything in your fridge again,” he said, raising his hands up.
That's when I noticed the bone saw in my hands.
I calmly placed it back on the table.
I was destined to work with heathens.
???
The music soothed the frayed edges of my day away. My fingers tapped on the leather steering wheel. Twenty-seven days, but my work kept me busy, or I’d have done or said something to Lena that would have ruined my process. The outlet of havingmy hands inside a gut full of warm intestines was a natural stress reliever.
For Adrik Ilyin, I would slaughter as many of his enemies as required and then some. I could still remember my stench clinging to me and the room when he came to me. My mind wandered as I drove, but Lena remained—a persistent itch at the base of my skull.
