Page 25 of Milk & Malice: Vadik (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #6)

Vadik

I stood over her silent form as the machine milked her udders. She broke down without warning. This happened before my eyes—the fracture before the sorrow. Her eyes went from bright and excited to flat. Miserable. I held her and let her be while observing her on the feed, studying every twitch, every blank stare.

When she’d inspected her arm again—when her eyes lingered too long on the hooves—I began searching for medical papers on depression in amputees. I couldn’t assimilate emotions, not in the way ordinary people did, but I needed to understand hers. Not to help her. That wasn’t the goal. I needed to get my pet back. And her brain was the key.

Her eyes were dull, her movements wooden. She hadn’t spoken since the gag came off. Not even a single moo.

I watched the milk trail through the tubes. Watched the gentle tug of the suction on her swollen flesh. She didn’t flinch, didn’t moan—no humiliation, no pride. Just silence.

I studied her.

Considered my options.

I could break her completely. Shatter the remnants of her will. Push her into a deeper abyss—so far gone she wouldn’t think, wouldn’t remember, wouldn’t do anything but lie still and take it. An obedient fuckpuppet, pliant and dumb.

But no.

I frowned.

That wouldn’t do.

I liked when she flinched. When she gasped. When she tried to be brave and failed. I liked the fight in her bones, even if her limbs were gone.

An empty pet wouldn’t beg.

Wouldn’t blush.

Wouldn’t tremble under my hand.

I reached out and grazed my knuckles down her spine. Slow. Measured.

She didn’t react.

Yet.

I’d fix that.

***

I sat at my desk, watching Lena lie in bed. She stared into space or at the milking station. She remained in the barn like nothing had changed—but everything had.

She was breaking, and I didn’t want a broken cow—not yet.

I unlocked my second phone and sent a message to Alexei, my usual pharmaceutical contact—the Bratva’s unofficial supplier. No questions, no paper trail.

Me: Need Risperidone, Duloxetine, and Domperidone. Oxytocin spray if you’ve got it. Overnight delivery. Quietly.

A minute later, he replied.

Alexei: Done. You want benzos?

I thought about it. Briefly.

Me: No. That’s all. When you deliver it, make sure it’s addressed to me.

He would deliver everything I needed at work. Returning to work during this time had been fortuitous. My little HuCow could consider the purpose of her existence alone.

I closed the phone and looked back at the screen. Lena’s head had moved from her side to her back, staring at the mirrors with dead eyes. She was coming apart at the seams. I needed to stitch her back together—but on my terms.

The medication would do the trick—flatten her extremes, dull the panic, and keep the milk flowing. It would all be slipped into food in harmless doses. Not enough to damage my pet’s faculties. Just enough to reshape.

Once she stabilised, I’d wean her off one or two to see how she responded.

Maybe.

If she behaved.

If not… there were other drugs. Other tools.

I stared at her pale, tear-crusted face and reached for my notebook. I wrote the schedule—doses, expected effects, and observation times.

I wasn’t healing her.

I was fixing my investment.

***

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Tchaikovsky wasn’t doing it for me today. The gates opened, and I drove into the compound. This felt comfortable. Not a fancy hospital, but it served its purpose—my passion to inflict pain.

Viktor had confirmed my package had arrived.

It was no surprise to me that they were waiting in my operating room. I walked in, ignored them, and crossed to the countertop. A few small packages waited, stacked neatly. I scanned the space. It was clean and in order.

“How long do you think he’ll ignore us for?”

“As long as he can avoid talking about his pet.”

“I’m surprised you tore yourself away from Ayla.”

“They’re having a mother and daughter afternoon. I wasn’t included.”

“Mother and daughter afternoon? What’s the krolik going to do with a seven-month-old?”

“I didn’t ask. She said something about me hogging the baby.”

“Ah. A baby hogger. Ayla has that effect.”

“She does. Vadik, how long are you going to ignore your Pakhan?”

My grip tightened around the box cutter.

Just a few slashes here and there. I sighed. I couldn’t kill my boss.

“I’m not back until Monday,”

I said, slicing the seam of the box.

“Alexei said you ordered drugs. For your pet or yourself?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. They both married their pets. I would never marry again, and my pet wasn’t my partner.

I owned her.

Viktor whispered something, the gossiping monkey, and they sniggered. When I turned, the scar-faced man’s gaze dropped to the box cutter in my hand. The amusement vanished, and his eyes cooled.

“So, is it true? You got yourself a pet?”

the Pakhan asked.

Why wouldn’t they let this go?

I grunted and checked the contents of the box. Months of supply. If I needed more, I’d order it.

She could grieve. She could cry. As long as she functioned. There were only two outcomes: a slow death of her mind, or adaptation. Either would serve me.

Her sobbing killed my mood.

I wanted my holes back.

I turned to face them, box checked and tucked under my arm.

“Yes, I have a pet. And no, it’s none of your business,”

I said flatly.

“I’ll be back Monday. Keep them warm for me.”

I walked past without looking back. But I still heard Viktor’s mutter.

“Shit, I’m not one for empathy, but I pity her—whoever she is.”

The Pakhan said nothing.

He knew exactly what I was.

And what I am now.