“You’re quite edgy, aren’t you?” I continue in the same joking tone. “Is this place similar to where you usually live?”
“This will be your grave if you don’t answer our questions.”
“I don’t like knife play either. All that blood is a hassle to clean.”
“Are you done being a smart fucker?”
“I’m just communicating legitimate concerns, Vladimir. We need to have ground rules for these things.”
“Rules?” He scoffs. “Since when do you believe in those?”
“Since the Bratva. Your rules are no joke, mate.”
“I’m not your mate. Now either answer me or we’ll start with the knife you hate so much.” He pauses to drive the information home. “Who’s your insider with the Irish?”
“And I should tell you because…?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll regret it. That’s your final warning, Hunter.”
“I know we’re doing kinky stuff, but we’re not exactly at the point in our relationship where we’d have a cheeky heart-to-heart, eh?”
Vladimir raises his fist and punches me across the face so hard, I flinch in my seat and blood explodes from my upper lip.
Motherfucker.
“This will only get worse with every wrong answer.” He tightens his fist. “What are your plans?”
“Going home to my beautiful wife. Do you think she’ll mind whatever kink we’re exercising here since she’s the one who set us up together—”
I’m cut off when he jams his fist into my face, nearly breaking my fucking nose. I gasp on air, spitting away the blood that’s gathered at my mouth.
Vladimir doesn’t seem bothered by the red that’s smudging his fingers, but then again, he specializes in torture, so this entire scene is his playground.
“I repeat, what are your plans?”
“I just told you. It’s not my fault you don’t believe me.”
He punches and kicks me in the stomach at the same time. I fall backward with the chair and hit the ground with a loud thud.
I spit blood on the ground as Vladimir’s henchman lift me up so he can hit me again, this time using both his fists as if I’m his punching bag.
While Vladimir isn’t the most reckless like Damien or the most ruthless like Adrian, he’s the most brutish and doesn’t hesitate to use his force to get what he wants.
I need to do something before he smashes my face into the ground and walks all over it, but I have no clue how much they’ve figured out. This could be a ploy to make me talk, but that’s improbable since Vladimir doesn’t move without concrete evidence.
Until I figure that out, I can take torture. Having my background comes in handy at times like these. I had torture training, which was basically being tortured until I was hallucinating and feverish and on the verge of death. After all, the only way to survive torture is to go through it.
Physical torture is nothing. I lived through it and know exactly how to handle it. Pain is concentrated in nerve endings, and the best way to get past that is to numb it. If you don’t think about it, the agonizing sensation eventually vanishes.
The pitfall in my plan is that I can’t forget the reason I’m here in the first place, the reason I am now serving as Vladimir’s punching bag.
My wife.
That type of torture is way different from a physical one. That type of torture is what has led countless men to their breaking points.
Sucking in a breath, I meet Vladimir’s gaze. While it seems like he’s watching me with a neutral expression, deep down it’s anything but. He must be celebrating the chance to finally hit me. After all, he’s hated me ever since the day I came back and snatched Rai from under his protective shield.
It’s not actually jealousy since I don’t think he’s capable of feeling romantic things, but it’s more that he thought Rai was his responsibility after he pledged to Nikolai that he’d protect her.
“How did you get me, Vladimir? Because we both know it wasn’t strength.”
“Do you want to feel my strength, Kyle? I’ve been taking it easy on you, but if you insist, I have no reason to refuse.”
Easy? He disfigured my face and calls it easy?
“I just want to know why you have to be so difficult by tying me up and stuff.”
“You’re here to answer for your sins.”
“Sins?” I laugh through the blood. “Have you suddenly turned into God or something? But it’s useless since I don’t believe in holy things.”
“Just because you don’t believe in them, doesn’t mean you get to escape them.” He drives his fist into my face until a crack of bones echoes in the air.
It hurts like a mother, and I grit my teeth against the constant pulsing of pain.
“If you want to play…” He shows me his fists, which are now dripping with blood—my blood—all over the ground. “I’ll indulge.”
“Where is she?” I murmur, staring at the door opposite me. “Is she there? Or are there cameras through which she can watch the show?”