Page 56 of Massacre
“You left the party early.”
I ignored the sick fuck, refusing to engage anymore.
“You are weak like a pussy.” He smirked, stepping further into my room. “Is that it? You pussy and need some dick?”
“Get the fuck out, Yasha,” I seethed, balling my fist. “I’m in no mood for your games. Go find your brother and annoy him.”
Just then, Yasha’s brother, Yuri Nikitin, Ivan Panchenko, Brevin Smirnov, and Boris Petrovitch himself walked into my room, shutting the door behind them. Yasha grinned as he walked closer to me. “The boss wanted something off the menu tonight. I told him we already had the perfect—”
Before he could finish that sentence, I hauled off and punched the motherfucker in his face as the other three men rushed me, beating me until I passed out.
The first thing I felt when I slowly opened my eyes was a chill tickling along my skin. As my eyes blinked open, I realized I was on my bed. When I tried to move, I realized I couldn’t, so I slowly rolled my head to the side. Through my blurry vision, I saw something that chilled me dead to my bones. My arms were bound to the metal posts of my headboard and my legs were spread wide in the air in a V, as metal cuffs dug into my ankles, attached to a chain that securely held them in place from the ceiling.
Those sick motherfuckers had trussed me up like a fucking pig, naked as the fucking day I was born.
“What the hell?” I roared when Yasha walked over, stroking his cock in front of my face.
“Oh good. You are awake.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you.”
I heard a deep chuckle come from the side of the bed, and I whipped my head around to see Petrovitch sitting in a chair, one ankle casually resting on his knee and my underwear in his fist, as he stroked his own cock. I then remembered what Yasha said before the others attacked me and I realized what they meant. Fear like I’d never felt before flooded my system as I stared with wide, frightened eyes at Petrovitch’s smirking face. His own eyes glowed with anticipation and cruelty.
“Are you loyal to me, Daniel?” he asked, closing his eyes as he took a long sniff of my underwear.
“Please, man, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have left the party, but I was fucking tired.”
Movement from my other side had my head whipping around, and I watched in horror as Yasha kneeled on the endof the bed between my legs, his engorged cock stiff as it pointed right at my asshole.
Petrovitch laughed as he rubbed his dick harder, damn near drooling into my underwear.
“I promised Yasha he could go first.” The sick fuck laughed as Yasha stroked himself some more while I tried to break free from the chains that bound me to this hell. The sick bastards were getting off on my fear, I realized, and that only fueled my rage further. I struggled against my bonds. The metal bit into my wrists and ankles, but it was no use.
I was at their mercy, and they fucking knew it.
Yasha’s smile widened as he lined himself up. His eyes glittered with malicious glee. I turned my head away, but there was no escape from what was coming.
The slick, glistening tip of him—monstrous, swollen—pressed against my sphincter. A searing pain followed, a violation so raw it stole my breath. Before I could even scream, he forced it in. The engorged flesh ripped into me and tore through my body. A strangled pig-like squeal tore from my throat; my eyes, wide and frantic, darted around the room, searching for an escape that didn’t exist. His grip on my thighs was brutal, as his fingers dug into my flesh as if he meant to crush the bone. Each agonizing inch felt like an eternity. He pushed, relentless, until his whole obscene length was burning inside me. The pressure was unbearable, a suffocating weight that threatened to shatter me. Then, his perverse rhythm began—a brutal in-and-out that pulverized my insides. With each thrust, I felt myself unravel. My body screamed in protest, while Yasha’s face, usually so guarded, twisted into an expression of savage delight. His eyes, dark and hungry, locked onto mine as he watched his conquest unfold, the slow, deliberate penetration a testament to his absolute dominance.The coppery tang of blood filled my mouth, a grim counterpoint to the raw, animalistic pleasure twisting within him.
My screams continued to echo through the room, a symphony of agony and fury, but they only seemed to spur him on. From the corner of the room, I faintly heard Petrovitch laugh as Yasha moved with brutal force, rutting his cock deep inside me, and that’s when I felt something shift within me.
A darkness that had been lurking at the edges of my vision now consumed me entirely. It was as if some ancient, primal force had awoken, and with a roar that sounded inhuman, I surged with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. The cuffs binding my wrists snapped like twine, and I brought my arms down, delivering a crushing blow to Yasha’s skull. He collapsed in a heap, and I wasted no time in freeing my legs. I grabbed the nearest object, a lamp, and brought it down on Yasha’s motionless form, again and again, until the sickening crunch of bone and the spray of blood told me he was never getting up again.
Petrovitch and the others froze, their eyes wide with shock and fear.
For a moment, I stood there, panting, my body covered in Yasha’s blood. Then, with a snarl, I lunged at them, a primal force unleashed as they raced from the room.
I was no longer Daniel, the man who was sent into the lion’s den to learn everything I could.
I was a force of nature, a vessel of pure, unadulterated rage.
A massacre of vengeance and death, desperate for retaliation for what they had done, every last one of them.
?The next blow landed, a crushing weight on my chest. But it felt... different.
The pain was muted, replaced by the strange, resonant hum of fury that dwelled deep within my bones. A fury I hadn’t feltsince that day. Then that sick motherfucker leaned close and whispered, “What do you say, Dwayne Buchanon, or shall I call you Massacre, brother in the Golden Skulls? Shall I show you what I have planned for your wife?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
