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CHAPTER NINETY-SIX:
Ivan’s POV:
I’d hurt her. That much was obvious. And it was never my intention. Never. I had thought avoiding her was necessary, for her own good but that turned out to be a mistake.
My eyes trailed her sleeping form from where she lay cuddled against my chest and my heartbeat thudded faster.
‘I love you, arsehole.’ I could still hear those mumbled words of her from weeks back. Did I love her back? Could I give her what she wanted? Protect and care for her?
It scared me that I may not be able to keep her happy all the time. Scared that if I let her go deeper into my world, it would hurt her but the selfish part of me still wanted to stay with her, didn’t want to let her go. That part of me kind of looked like an obsession and I was unashamed about it.
Thinking about keeping her safe…. I had unfinished business with that fucker, Harry. It was time to make him pay, time to make him suffer and I was really going to enjoy torturing him.
I stretched, careful enough to not wake Sophia. I reached for my phone and I dialed Sid’s number.
After two rings, he picked.
“It’s time.” Was all I said to him before hanging up.
2:31 AM.
I entered the abandoned warehouse, tucked away in a secluded lonely street. It was perfect for what I was going to do tonight. No interruptions whatsoever.
And since this was London, another man’s land, I needed to be careful, make things more discreet. To an extent, it didn’t matter if I got caught, I’d find my way around it, although it may be harder dealing with all that messiness. So it was better to avoid it from the beginning.
Heavy footsteps and the sound of shoes crunching against scattered gravel echoed, bouncing off the walls as we approached the store where Sid had kept Harry earlier. “No one saw you take the bastard, yes?” I asked Sid who was trailing closely behind me.
“Da, nachal’nik,” he responded almost immediately in a firm voice.
“Good.”
The closer we got to that fucker, the more my blood pumped for bloodthirsty revenge.
We got to the store and Sid moved around me to kick the door open, lo and behold, my newest victim, bound to a chair in the center of the dimly lit room.
At the sound of the door slamming open, his head snapped up, eyes growing wide with fear but the anger underneath those fear-clouded eyes was unmistakable. “You?!” He snarled, thrashing against the chains trapping him in place. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you bloody fucker!!!!!”
My lips curled, not in a smile, but a devilish smirk as I grabbed the gloves, Alek-one of the guards with us-was already holding out for me. I put on the stretchy, latex material as I stalked closer to Harry, each step cold, measured, and dangerous. I needed to see terror in those eyes, especially when he drew his last breath.
That’s too fast, I needed to draw this out.
His Adam’s apple bopped as he swallowed hard, eyes darting around like he was looking for some kind of escape. Which was laughable cause he’d have to free himself off that chair first.
“Lord Harry,” I said with a mocking tone as I brought up one gloved finger to trail his cheek. “I assume you’re comfortable, yes?”
“Fuck you!” He spat, breath ragged, fat drops of sweat trailing down his temples. “Let me go! Do you know who I am? Who my father is? You’re done for you disgusting pig!”
That got a little chuckle out of me, my brows arching as my eyes searched his eyes. “Your father and your position in this country can not save you from my hands today, Harry.”
His face paled, his fear was more prominent now as he forced saliva down his throat. “You can’t do shite to me! If I’m gone for too long, they’ll look for me and you’ll be shaking in your goddamn trousers!”
Fear?
I feared no one did he not know that?
Well, he was a stupid, spoiled English brat.
“Get me the tools,” I ordered, still keeping my attention on Harry who I would bet my nuts was about to shit himself.
“Wh- what tools?” His voice sounded panicked, eyes the size of saucers as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “What are you going to do with tools? What the fuck is going on here, mate?”
From behind me, I could hear rustling and movements before Alek and Sid came into view, dragging a table with a toolbox perched firmly on top.
If possible, the bastard’s eyes grew wider as they fell on the toolbox, those eyes moved back to me, scared, pleading. “Alright, alright. Let’s talk things out man, you don’t have to do this,” he pleaded in a high-pitched voice, more sweat dripping down his face. “Please! I’ll give you whatever you want, my man. Don’t do this!”
I didn’t say a word as I moved carefully to the table, staring at the toolbox looking for the perfect tool to start with. I wasn’t joking around when I said I was going to draw this out, make him beg and pray for death.
Pliers then. I thought to myself as my eyes fell on them, their metal jaws slightly open. The handles were worn from use, and the red rubber grips faded. With a simple squeeze, they could bend, twist or break, their purpose both precise and unforgiving, just what I need to get started.
Without a second thought, I grabbed them and turned back to my newest prey. He began thrashing, shaking violently as he saw the pliers in my hand. “Please! No! Please!” He was screaming, sobbing loudly. “If I offended you, I am sorry, okay?” He sobbed harder. “I’m so fucking sorry!”
Did he know how much I liked having him cry and plead for my mercy? Did he know he was only fueling me?
I doubt that.
Unlike most of my victims, he was a big pussy. Most of them preferred to maintain their dignity until I broke them beyond repair but him… he was a weakling just as I suspected and I was going to have so much fun breaking him until he was near death’s door.
“Where do I start?” I asked coldly, eyes roaming his form as snot and tears stained his face. “Fingers or teeth, you pick.”