Page 41 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
“Because that’s what I am.”
“Bullshit.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“You said it yourself; I’m a monster. What else do you want from me?”
“The truth,” I answered, my voice laced with finality.
He snickered, lowered his head, and scratched his forehead.
I stepped forward, my eyes never leaving his face. “I wanna know why you’re what you are—why you do what you do.”
He met my gaze with a flat expression. “Do I need a reason to be a monster?”
“Yes, you do.” I stopped in front of his desk.
“No, I don’t,” he cut me off. “I am an oppressor, Wren. I kill for sport. I traffic people, smuggle drugs, and execute anyone who stands in my way.” His words were cold as ice, his eyes dark and empty. “That’s the characteristic definition of a monster.”
My heart shattered at his response, and although he acted unfazed by my question, there was a subliminal message behind his words. In his voice, I caught traces of emotions I’d yet to name or explain. His answer was almost sarcastic, like he said all that because he thought it was what I wanted to hear.
“Monsters aren’t born, Val. They’re made, created by circumstances or people’s actions,” I said calmly. “All I wanna know is what turned you into the cold-blooded killer you are today.”
He clenched his jaw, his brows knitting together, accentuating the scowl on his face. “If this is an attempt to salvage what’s left of my soul—my humanity—then you’re wasting your time. There’s none left.”
I shook my head, unconvinced that he was beyond saving. “I don’t believe you.” And with that, I sank into the chair in front of his desk. “If that’s true, then I would’ve been long gone by now. Dead and forgotten. Because no one else has pissed you off in the last couple of days more than I have, yet, here I am, still breathing.”
He stroked his jaw but said nothing, and his eyes didn’t leave mine either.
“I don’t have anything better to do with my time,” I said, shrugging my shoulders as I relaxed in the chair.
Somehow, I wasn’t half as scared as I was when I first walked in here. Nor was the tension as thick as it was seconds ago.
He kept a straight face and began, his voice low and steady. “When you’re born into a life of crime and violence like I was, you tend to lose yourself trying to find the version of you that could thrive in chaos.”
I listened.
“The Bratva is an organization known for its cruelty and ruthlessness. We have rivals, enemies here and there,” he continued. “I learned from childhood that in this world, weakness would only get you killed and loyalty was non-negotiable.”
Still didn’t say a word.
“What you saw yesterday was a fraction of my daily activity. It was a loose end that needed tightening.”
I knew it. The man wasn’t as innocent as I thought.
“Doing what I do comes at a great cost, one you’re not ready to hear about today.”
I drew a deep breath. “So, I was right. You weren’t born a monster; circumstances turned you into one.”
His lips curled into a faint smirk. “What you call monstrosity, I call order. Without men like me, your world, everything you hold dear, would be consumed by chaos.”
A scoff fell off my mouth. “I highly doubt that. Kind people would rule and maintain order.”
He chuckled softly. “The world doesn’t reward kindness, Wren. It devours it. That’s why kind people aren’t the ones in power. They lack what it takes to do what’s necessary.”
As crazy as it sounded, I saw the sense in his words.
Val continued, “People like me, on the other hand, aren’t afraid to get our hands dirty so the rest of you naive citizens can pretend the world is clean.” He leaned in, eyes boring into mine. “The world hangs on a delicate balance: good and evil. Day and night. Yin and Yang. The need for light can never extinguish darkness completely.”
I paused for a while, watching him in silence. Deep down, I hated the fact that a part of me understood his twisted analogy.
