Page 6 of Milk & Malice: Vadik

Soon, folding her limbs wouldn’t be necessary at all.

???

Viktor was proficient enough to continue with my work. The clumsy oaf managed to work those chunky sausage fingerscarefully enough to inflict precise pain. The careful slicing, severing the correct nerves, and cracking the chest open. His dick work had definitely improved.

My time off was agreed with the Pakhan. Never had I taken a single day off in four years. But this was my time.

I glanced at the rearview mirror, but the laundry cart was in the trunk.

It was our time together.

Doctor, and patient.

Owner, and cow.

I turned the music on and wondered about the cranial measurements I took before putting her in the vehicle.

She was in excellent condition.

She was only twenty-four years old.

Prime milking years left in her.

I tapped the steering wheel and hummed with the music.

Everything was dull before.

Just another body.

Another cut.

Now?

I was excited.

Alive.

Loving my work again.

???

The hedges masked the property entirely—rows of dense, manicured growth wrapping around it like a secret. Even thetrees were placed with intention. Mature trunks, spaced for visibility gaps that didn’t exist. To the outside world, there was nothing here.

To me?

It was paradise.

The gate creaked open as I unlocked it by hand, the metal cold under my gloves. I always locked it after.

No one could come in.

No one could leave.

The house itself was unassuming, but the extension was where my genius lived. The barn conversion stretched the length of the property. One side was the operating theatre—fully equipped, clinically lit, stainless steel gleaming.

The other was her enclosure: padded flooring, tether points, soft lighting, carefully chosen ventilation.

Clean. Sterile. Purpose-built.