Page 2 of Lethal Torture
“You don’t speak my name.”
The idiot mistakes the icy chill in my voice for part of the game. His hips rise off the bed, ass clenching eagerly, readying for his release.
“Please,mucmpecc,”he pants.Please, mistress.
No wonder I have no respect for the male species. I’ve yet to find one whose head isn’t completely owned by coin and cock.
“Please,” he pleads again.
Then he feels the thin edge of steel against his balls and freezes.
“You really are a dumbmudak,aren’t you, Ivanov?”
This time, his cock doesn’t leap at the humiliation.
Georgiy is starting to realize that letting someone like me bind him spread-eagle to a bed might not have been the wisest idea.
“Don’t bother calling for help,” I say as he opens his mouth. “The men outside your room were dead an hour ago. And there’s no point struggling,” I add as he tugs at the cord around hiswrists. “I learned to tie knots at a very young age. My father taught me.” I lean forward and pull his blindfold off, fast enough to leave a red burn on his skin. “You’ve heard about my father, haven’t you? About how he died?”
I smile coldly as his blue eyes widen.
“Yes, I see you have. But like most Russian men, you thought the stories couldn’t be true. How could a sixteen-year-old girl murder her own father?”
I draw the flat edge of the knife along the underside of his balls, and he gulps. “I’m not going to cut you,” I say calmly. “Not yet. But perhaps the feel of my blade will be enough to convince you that the stories you’ve heard are all true.”
I trail the tip of the knife up his chest, and he watches with horrified eyes until it comes to rest at his throat.
“Yes, Georgiy, I did torture my father with his own whip for days before I let him die.” I draw the flat of the blade along his arms. The pulse jumps in his throat as he watches it. “Yes, I did hang him up, naked, in his own nightclub and make his men stand and watch when I killed him. And yes, Georgiy.” Lightning fast, I pull the whip away, fast enough that the rawhide lacerates the thin skin beneath his balls, making him squeal like the stupid pig he is. I wrap the whip around his throat and draw the cord so tight his eyes bulge with fear, then move down his body and press the tip of the knife against his perineum. “I really did cut off my father’s cock and balls and stuff them in his mouth.”
I twist the knife tip enough to draw blood, and Ivanov writhes uncomfortably.
“I don’t tell you any of this to frighten you, Georgiy.” I bring the knife up and tap the bloodied tip on Ivanov’s mouth, letting him taste himself on the blade, then take a seat on the chair next to the bed and place the bloodied knife on the table, inches from his face. Ivanov’s eyes don’t move from it. I pour myself a small measure of Disaronno Amaretto Riserva, my favoritealmond liqueur, and close my eyes in pleasure as it slides down my throat.
I must remember to thank Helena for remembering to stock it for me.
“I tell you all of this,” I go on conversationally, “to save time. I have a business to run, and every second I waste with you is money I’m not making. I suggest that if you value that tiny cock of yours, you answer my questions directly. Nod if you agree.”
The pale blue eyes are sullen and resentful, but the dumb prick nods.
Of course he does.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that there’s little point wasting time pulling nails or bashing kneecaps. A blade to the balls is infinitely more efficient.
Particularly when it’s being held by a woman rumored to be the worst kind of psychopath.
Most of London may not be certain of the truth regarding my father’s death, or the exact circumstances in which I rose to power; bratva organizations aren’t known for publicizing their internal disputes, and I don’t tolerate loose tongues. But if they aren’t certain of the facts, they’ve certainly heard the whispers about Zinaida Melikov.
And sometimes, a good, frightening whisper is all it takes.
Especially combined with a sharp blade to the balls.
“Good.” I take another sip of Disaronno, turning the blade slowly on the table. “Then let’s start with the names of your associates.” I give him an inquiring look over the cut crystal glass. “You can speak now, Georgiy.”
He swallows. “I can’t—”
Fast as wind, my knife is back under his balls. I shake my head slowly. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t waste my time.”
This time, the blade draws a thin line of blood right up the divide between his testicles.
