23. Volkov
VOLKOV
T he metallic scent of blood mingled with the damp chill of the room. It was intoxicating—a sweet reminder of her suffering and my triumph. Mila hung before me, her delicate wrists shackled in chains, her body a masterpiece of her pathetic attempts of rebelliousness. This is what happens when a pet thinks they can overcome their master. The chains creaked with every shallow breath she took, a rhythmic song signaling her fragility.
My pet.
I stepped closer, the soles of my boots echoing against the cold concrete floor. Her head was bowed, a curtain of disheveled hair hiding her face, but I could feel her hatred seething beneath the surface. It was palpable, like a storm waiting to break.
“Mila,” I said, my voice a low murmur that sliced through the silence. “You look exquisite like this. Vulnerable. Helpless. Exactly what you were always meant to be.”
She didn’t reply. Good. I liked it better when she saved her strength for the screams. I reached out, curling a finger under her chin and forcing her to look at me. Her eyes—those fierce, unyielding eyes—met mine, blazing with defiance despite the dark circles beneath them. A twisted grin tugged at my lips.
“Still so much fire,” I mused, brushing my thumb over the bruise blooming on her cheek. “But that’s what I love about you, Mila. Breaking you will be a pleasure.”
Her jaw clenched, that spark of rebellion igniting in her gaze. “Go to hell.”
I laughed, the sound reverberating through the room. “Darling, I’ve lived in hell my entire life. The difference is, I thrive there. But you? You’re just a passerby. Here to watch as I destroy everything around you.”
I moved to the table behind me, a gleaming array of instruments laid out with precision. Each one had a purpose, a story. I selected a blade, its edge honed to perfection, and turned back to her.
“You should thank me, you know,” I said conversationally, trailing the blade lightly down her arm. She flinched, but her glare never wavered. “Most men would’ve killed you by now. But I…” I pressed the blade against her skin, just enough to draw a thin line of crimson. “I like to savor my rewards.”
Her body tensed, her breathing ragged as I moved the blade lower to outline one of her succulent tits, teasing, taunting. I tilted my head, watching her with an almost clinical detachment.
“Do you know why you’re still alive, Mila?” I asked, sliding the knife down further and carving another shallow cut into her thigh. She winced, but her silence was defiant. “Because you’re useful. A bargaining chip. And because…” I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her ear. “I enjoy watching you break over and over again.”
I stepped back, wiping the blade clean on a pristine white cloth. “But enough foreplay. It’s time to give your protector a call, shall we?”
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dialed the number. It rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered.
“Detective Garcia.”
“Ah, Noel Garcia,” I drawled, savoring the way the name rolled off my tongue. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
“Volkov,” he said, his voice sharp and unyielding.
“You didn’t you could keep her for yourself, did you detective?”
“What did you do, Volkov?” Noel’s voice was a low growl, every syllable laced with barely restrained fury.
“Oh, Detective. I haven’t done anything…yet,” I smiled cruelly.
“Where is she? Where’s Mila?”
The name hung in the air like a challenge, thick with unspoken threats. I glanced at Mila, still bound, her breath hitching as she fought against the weight of her terror. Even now, there was fire in her eyes, though it flickered like a candle about to be blown out.
I smirked, savoring the moment as I tilted my head to study her. She looked up at me, desperation and fury battling for dominance on her face. Her wrists strained against the cold bite of the chains holding her, the metal clinking softly as if mocking her efforts.
“She’s right here,” I said finally, the smirk spreading into a wicked grin as I brought the phone closer to her.
Mila’s breath hitched, and her wide, panicked eyes darted to the phone. She shook her head frantically, her chains rattling with the force of her movements, but there was no escaping this.
I leaned closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with deliberate care. "Say hello to your knight in shining armor, Mila."
Her lips trembled, her breath shallow as though the weight of the moment was crushing her chest. For a second, she didn’t speak, the silence stretching between us.
“Mila?” Noel’s voice, louder now, cracked with an urgency that sent a chill through the room. "Mila, are you there? Say something!"
I tilted the phone closer to her lips, savoring the way her resolve wavered, how the fight in her eyes dimmed just slightly. "Come now," I urged softly, the false gentleness in my tone designed to cut deeper than any threat. "Don’t leave him hanging. Or do you want him to worry?"
A small, shuddering gasp escaped her lips, barely audible but enough to send a bolt of tension through the line.
“Volkov,” Noel snapped, the fury in his voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "Let me talk to her. Now."
I chuckled darkly, leaning back against the wall. "Oh, you’re talking to her, Noel. Don’t you hear her? That trembling little breath? It’s quite enchanting in person, I must admit. Such a shame you’re missing it."
“You bastard.” His voice was a low, dangerous rumble now, the kind of tone that promised vengeance with every syllable. “If you’ve hurt her?—”
“You’ll do what?” I interrupted, my voice rising slightly in mockery. "You’ll storm in here like the hero you think you are and save the day? I don’t think you’re quite in a position for that, are you?"
Noel didn’t answer immediately, and I could almost feel the storm of rage building on the other end of the line.
“What do you want, Volkov?” he demanded finally, his voice tight, controlled—just barely.
I paused, letting the silence drag out, savoring the way it coiled around him like a noose. Then, with deliberate care, I brought the phone back to Mila, my grin widening.
“Tell him, Mila,” I said softly, my voice dripping with venomous sweetness. "Tell him where you are. Let him know who’s keeping you company tonight. Who’s going to fuck your hot slutty twat tonight."
“Fuck you!” Her jaw tightened, but I could see the tears pooling in her eyes, the cracks forming in her fragile mask of defiance.
“You son of a bitch,” Noel barked, his voice raw, desperate. “You lay a finger on her…”
“And what?” I let out a slow, satisfied laugh, the sound reverberating through the room. "Oh, Noel, you wound me. I’ve barely begun."
I chuckled, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back. “Speak,” I commanded.
“Cipher,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “Don’t list?—”
I cut her off with a slap, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “That’s enough,” I said, returning the phone to my ear. “She’s feisty, isn’t she? But I’ll break her soon enough.”
“If you touch her again, I am going to rip?—”
“You’ll what?” I interrupted, my voice dripping with mockery. “Storm in here like the hero in some pathetic fairy tale? Let’s be honest, Cipher. You’re no savior. You’re just another pawn in this game I’ve created.”
Mila’s breath came out in a broken whisper, the weight of the moment dragging her voice into something small and fragile. “Noel...” she murmured, her voice cracking on his name.
I smiled. “Jesus Christ, Mila,” he breathed, and the rage in his tone faltered, replaced by something sharper, deeper—fear. “Are you hurt? Did he?—”
“She’s quite intact,” I interjected smoothly, though the amusement in my voice darkened. "For now. Whether or not that remains the case... well, that’s entirely up to you."
“What do you want?” Noel demanded again, his voice a growl that barely masked his desperation.
I grinned, the thrill of control coursing through me like fire. “That’s the right question,” I purred. “And we’ll get to that, Noel. But first, I want you to understand something.”
I shifted, swinging Mila closer. Her breath hitched as I pressed the cold barrel of a gun against her temple. She stiffened, her tears spilling over, her fear palpable.
“Do you hear that, Noel?” I murmured into the phone, my voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "That’s the sound of your precious whore realizing just how much of her fate lies in my hands. And the sooner you come to terms with that, the better."
The line crackled with silence, and for the first time, I heard it—the quiet, deadly resolve in the Bastard’s voice. "You forget yourself, you Russian piece of crap.”
“Is that right?” I chuckled.
“Detectives follow rules, but Royal Bastards’...we have no rules when it comes to protecting one of ours. If you touch her—if you harm one hair on her head—I will tear you apart, limb by limb, with my bare hands."
I laughed, a cruel, cutting sound. "Oh, I’m counting on it, biker. Let’s see if your knightly heart can save her before it’s too late."
"I ended the call, savoring the frustration and desperation in his voice. Turning back to Mila, I crouched in front of her, tracing a finger along her bloodied cheek.
“He’ll come for you,” I said softly, almost tenderly. “And when he does, I’ll make him watch as I destroy you.”
Her eyes, though filled with tears, burned with defiance. “You’ll never win,” she whispered.
I smiled, a cold, cruel smile. “Oh, my pet. I already have.”