Page 4 of Violent Love: Viktor (The Caged Hearts Pet Play #5)

Natalya

When I arrived at his suite, Mr Petrov had been obnoxious and far too handsy. I’d considered asking a male colleague to deal with the esteemed guest, but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle of irritating my manager. The man had complained about not having enough towels and that the toilet hadn’t been cleaned properly. I suppose all politicians lie.

It was his fault I was now locked away in this filthy black prison.

I thought of the dark-bearded man, the way he’d forced my mouth open and pushed the barrel of his gun inside. The scarred brute with tattoos crawling over his hands had fed off my fear. I saw it in his black eyes. But his words—cold and deliberate—haunted me most.

Do you want to live, bitch?

The Bratva never left witnesses. No one ever testified against them. Was he offering me a way out? Or was he simply toying with me, only to kill me later?

I shivered at the memory of the curved pink scars that ran from the side of his forehead to his cheek, disappearing beneath his beard. They were not scratches. They were deep, vicious wounds—old and unforgiving.

When I woke, I was still on the cell’s filthy floor, my damp skirt and tights clinging to me. The room reeked worse than my urine. After retching several times, I forced myself to breathe through my mouth. I lost all sense of time. I dozed in and out, trying to escape the nightmare with fragments of sleep.

A key turned in the lock. My stomach heaved.

The door swung open, and I stared up at a towering silhouette. The light behind him was blinding, so I raised my hand to shield my eyes.

“Get up,”

he snapped.

It was him—my abductor.

“Pozhaluysta, miloserdiye,”

I whispered, the only words I could form through my disoriented mind. Please, mercy.

He crossed the room without pause and grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragging me across the floor. I scrambled to stand, but he was too fast, too strong. I clawed at his hand, trying to pry his fingers loose, screaming as pain tore through my scalp. He did not pause. Did not flinch. Just dragged me down the grey, dingy corridor.

“Next time I give you an order, I expect you to obey,”

he growled before yanking open a light grey door.

I saw black scuff marks along its bottom. The proof that people couldn't escape. Then, he pulled me upright in a single motion.

Petrov lay on an operating table, sobbing. Naked. Helpless. It wasn’t a pretty sight. There was a doctor beside him. When the man turned, I gasped—and stepped back into the brute.

His eyes were wrong. Not clinical. Not cold. But hungry. A doctor who had sworn an oath to save lives… now preparing for something else.

“Is this the one, Viktor?”

the doctor asked.

“Yes,”

Viktor said curtly, beginning to pull me back.

Oh God. The one? What did that mean? Next on the table?

“Please—”

I tried again, but the words tangled in my throat as I saw the doctor lift a scalpel from the metal tray.

I began to shake.

Viktor dragged me back until I hit something cold. He took my wrists and tied them down. I jerked, but then he tipped me backwards, strapping me to a wheeled frame. He pushed me closer to the bed.

“No. Noooooo,”

I screamed, thrashing, but he stopped at the foot of Petrov’s table.

Viktor vanished into a darkened corner of the room, and I heard the sound of running water. That was when I saw it.

The camera. It sat on a tripod, aimed at the table.

They were going to film everything.

“Let me go. I did what the Pakhan wanted! Why are you doing this?”

Petrov wailed.

The doctor chuckled, low and manic. “The Pakhan’s wife is the one to thank. She sentenced you to death a year ago.”

I snapped my gaze back to Petrov in shock, but he looked just as lost.

A woman had orchestrated this?

Viktor returned, sliding on a white glove. He snapped the second into place, covering the tattoos on his hands.

“How many children have you raped, Petrov?”

he asked, calm as ever, while drawing a substance into a syringe.

I gasped at the question. My eyes flew to the pig on the table, and I saw it.

Guilt.

Viktor pressed the needle to his neck and injected him without pause.

“This will keep you nice and still for the next part, but you will feel everything. I want you to think of every child you hurt. Every one you killed,”

Viktor growled.

The door flew open, and a well-dressed man in a tailored suit entered the room.

“Pakhan, I did not think you would come,”

the doctor said, sounding pleased.

“I wasn’t intending to. But I needed to watch this one suffer,”

he replied with a cold smile.

“P-P-Pa…”

was all Petrov could manage as the drug took hold.

Viktor looked wary for a second but nodded before reaching for the scalpel.

“Nearly thirty years you got away with your crimes,”

the Pakhan said, moving to the head of the bed. “Did it not occur to you that something was wrong when you couldn’t get hold of children this past year?”

Viktor pulled a stool over and wheeled it to the base of the bed. He sat, took a long, needle—thin, like an acupuncture pin, and drove it into the base of Petrov’s fat penis, pinning it to his belly.

The groaning was only just beginning.

Then he slid the scalpel between the folds of flesh beneath Petrov’s balls.

I gagged as blood began to drip down the old man’s ass crack.

“Don’t throw up in my room,”

the doctor snapped at me, drawing the Pakhan’s attention.

His icy blue eyes locked on mine. They were just as dangerous as Viktor’s dark ones.

“I hope you survive, Viktor. Because if you don’t—”

“She will be an obedient suka,”

Viktor barked, turning to glare at me.

They were the owners of my life. I shuddered and remained silent.

Until I made the mistake of looking down and whimpered.

Viktor was holding Petrov’s testicle. It looked small in his gloved hand, almost absurdly so. But the sight of the open flesh, fat glistening under the lights, made my stomach lurch.

Petrov moaned again—an awful, endless noise like something dying by inches.

I fought to keep breathing. Laboured, shallow breaths. Anything to keep the panic at bay. But when I opened my eyes again, the second testicle was out and resting in a metal bowl on Petrov’s stomach.

“Not bad for your first try,”

the doctor said, inspecting the bowl with a clinical nod.

Viktor unpinned the cock and pulled the foreskin down.

Then he began slicing into it.

“He knows how to handle a dick well,”

the doctor quipped.

The Pakhan chuckled, but Viktor said nothing. He was focused. Precise. The scalpel traced a clean incision straight down the shaft.

I closed my eyes, trying to block it all out. But that only made it worse. Petrov’s muffled cries were clearer in the dark.

“All those orphanages you visited,”

the Pakhan said.

My eyes snapped open.

I had lived in one. Even though I had a father, I had been classed as a social orphan because of his drinking.

“The little boys you hurt. We saw it all,”

the Pakhan went on, moving to the foot of the bed.

He reached out. Under the bright surgical lights, I saw a glint of steel as he took a scalpel from the tray. The doctor handed him a pair of gloves from a cardboard box.

When I looked back at the table, I realised Viktor had peeled back most of the skin from Petrov’s cock.

My stomach clenched. My throat burned. Tears spilled down my cheeks.

The scent in the room was suffocating.

Disinfectant. Blood. Flesh and looming death.

Then the Pakhan sliced Petrov’s forehead open.

Blood ran in thick trails down the man’s face.

I could barely see through the blur of my tears. I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to witness the moment a man lost everything, even his humanity.

I do not know how long I kept them closed. But the whimpering changed.

Wet gurgles. Animalistic grunts of pain. Not human anymore.

When I opened my eyes, I regretted it instantly.

The Pakhan was peeling the skin from Petrov’s face—not just cutting, but peeling.

It was not only the act but also the look of satisfaction on the Pakhan’s face that undid me.

I looked to the doctor, who now stood still, simply watching the carnage. And Viktor, who had begun carving what remained of Petrov’s genitals.

The world tipped.

My stomach gave way. Bile surged up, burning my throat as I vomited across the floor.

And then—

Darkness.

They were monsters—all of them.

I was surrounded by the epitome of evil.