Chapter 1
Sasha
Present Day
“You’re fucking crazy!”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, because if I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it a million times.
“I really don’t like labels, Drew.” I step around the naked man who’s hanging from the ceiling and shake my head at him. We’re in one of the warehouses our Bratva uses for interrogations, and Drew is wishing he were anywhere but here.
When I come back around to his front, his panicked eyes widen when he catches sight of me again.
I’m not sure if it’s because of the knife in my hands, the skull mask I’m wearing, or the look in my eyes that I’m unable to hide.
Sometimes I can appear normal, and other times I can’t pull it off.
Right now is one of those times. Whatever it is, it almost makes him piss himself.
Again.
Drew gasps for air, threatening to hyperventilate, and we haven’t even gotten started yet. The only blood that stains my knife is from the very light cut I’d given his cheek. Nothing more than a scratch, really. Not nearly enough to satisfy me.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers.
“For?” I ask the question while lightly trailing the knife along his chest. I know exactly how sharp the blade is, and I know exactly how much pressure it would take to split his skin.
“For calling you crazy,” he says, and I laugh.
“Maybe I am, but I’m not the one trying to roofie girls in a club, am I?
” I lean closer, tightening my grip on the black handle as I press in hard enough to prick the skin.
My eyes stay locked on the blood that immediately blooms, beading at the tip of my knife before slowly sliding down.
Drew whimpers as I say, “You think I’m crazy, but you’re the asshole who was planning on raping someone tonight. ”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he pleads. “I just wanted to get her attention. She’s been ignoring me all semester. I thought I could slip her something, and she’d finally just relax around me, give me a chance.”
“Jesus,” I say. “You are one stupid motherfucker if you think I’m going to buy that bullshit.” I pull back the knife and tap the front of my mask with it. “Do I look like I’m going to buy your pathetic I can’t get laid unless I drug her sob story?”
Drew finds the balls that I can see are shriveled up from fear and says, “You don’t look like a guy who gets hung up on morals.
What? Are you some masked psycho who goes around saving women?
” He takes another shaky breath, but adrenaline and a healthy dose of superiority keep his mouth moving.
“From where I’m hanging, you look like the kind of guy who would get caught drugging girls and dragging them back to your apartment so you can kill them. ”
“Unlike you, right?” I ask, eyeing the pile of expensive clothes I’d cut off him. “The perfect, upstanding college student, making Mommy and Daddy so fucking proud.” I smile, even though he can’t see it. “You look like you still shop at Baby Gap.”
His cheeks redden with anger. “And you look like a fucking psycho,” he yells back at me.
Before he can even track the movement, I’ve set the blade against him and flicked my wrist.
“Holy fuck!” he screams. “You just cut my fucking nipple off!”
I watch the small piece of pink flesh roll across the concrete floor. Blood seeps down his chest, running freely from the open wound, and I start to enjoy Drew’s company a lot more.
“Want me to take the other?” I ask. “You just look funny now. It might help even things out.”
When I start to raise my knife again, Drew starts screaming, begging me to let him keep his last remaining nipple. He flails around like a fish on a line, tears and snot running down his face while he frantically begs for me to free him, and I feel nothing.
The only reason he’s here is because he tried to drug some girl in one of our clubs.
It’s been a problem lately, one we need to get control of because it’s bad for business.
I’m not some fucking superhero who’s grabbing perverts off the street to save women.
The honest truth is I don’t give a fuck about the girl he was trying to drug.
None of these people mean anything to me.
This is work, plain and simple, and I fucking love my job.
“You look like a dumbass, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you know who owns the club you were caught in.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. I can see the fear in his eyes. Everyone knows the Melnikov Bratva owns The Red Room. The question is, why didn’t that frighten him off?
“You don’t strike me as a particularly brave guy, Drew. What made you choose our club?”
He clamps his mouth shut, and my heart gives a little jump. Someone wants to play the tough guy, which means I’m going to get to play too.
I grin behind the mask and step closer. I’m half a foot taller than he is, so I get to look down when I say, “You have no idea how happy you just made me.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
His quivery voice seems to echo around the warehouse, and I know from experience that he’ll be hoarse by the time I’m done with him.
I tighten my grip on my knife and sink it into his side, watching as Drew’s eyes widen in shock and then pain as he screams and flails so hard I wonder if he’ll manage to dislocate his shoulder.
The knife slides out easily as a cascade of bright red blood flows from the wound I’ve just given him—the first of many.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I’m really good with anatomy. I didn’t hit any major organs, just muscle and fat.”
Drew sputters and gasps and lets out an unmanly sob while I step back and admire the way the blood has now coated his entire leg.
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t get sex.
I don’t understand attraction like that, have never felt the need to be with someone, never felt the pull to bury myself inside another, but blood?
Well, that’s altogether different. Blood excites me, causes my body to respond in ways that it never does for anything else, and when I see it seeping from Drew’s body, I can’t control my body’s reaction to it.
“Jesus fuck,” Drew whimpers, letting me know he’s spotted what’s straining against my jeans.
“Relax,” I tell him. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Then why are you…” He lets the words trail off, growing paler by the second, but I know he’s in no danger of bleeding out, not yet anyway.
I tilt my head and continue watching the blood drip down his leg. “Why am I hard?” I ask, finishing his unspoken question. “Because I’m thinking about killing you.”
“Oh my god,” he whines.
I bring my eyes to his. “I’m afraid he’ll be of no help to you.
Trust me,” I say, giving a harsh laugh. “Many people have tried and failed.” I spread my arms and use the knife to motion around us.
“Maybe it’s because the place is soundproofed.
” Pointing the blade back at him, I add, “Or maybe it’s because you’re a raping jackass who doesn’t deserve to be saved.
” Shrugging, I say, “I guess we’ll never know.
On the plus side, if there is a hell, you’re about to get a lesson on how to endure it. ”
“What do you want from me?”
“Tell me where you got the pills from.” When he hesitates, I step closer and press the tip of the blade gently but firmly against the exact spot I just stabbed him. Drew starts to hyperventilate, so I pause to give him a second.
After I’ve waited several minutes, I say, “The pills, Drew. Where did you get them?”
“I can’t,” he starts to say, but before he can give me some bullshit excuse, I stab him in the exact same spot, making sure to keep it shallow. This is about prolonging the pain, not giving him a quick death.
Drew lets out a garbled sound, the pain so intense that it forces the scream to get caught in his lungs.
Every part of his world just became reduced to this one moment, to this one feeling.
I’m guessing he’s never felt more alive while also simultaneously wishing for death.
His eyes roll back in his head when I slide the blade out for the second time.
Unable to handle it, his head slumps forward as he loses consciousness and buys himself a few moments of peace.
He won’t stay passed out for long, though.
While he takes a rest, I mentally map out the next hour. I doubt he’ll last another sixty minutes, but a guy can dream.
When Drew starts blinking his eyes open, I stab him in the bicep, bringing him back to the present with a brutal reminder that he’s still at my mercy.
“Wakey, wakey,” I tell him, grinning when reality hits him. I see the hope drain from his face just as quickly as the blood leaves his body. “We’re not finished yet.”
I wait for him to get some semblance of control over himself. While the seconds tick by, I trail the tip of my knife along his arm and shoulder before brushing it along his chest.
“Who gave you the pills?” I ask again, and when he doesn’t immediately give me a name, I flick my wrist and cut off his other nipple. While he wails, I say, “You looked stupid with only one nip, Drew. I did you a favor. Now, who the fuck sold you the pills?”
“He’ll kill me,” he cries, and I start to lose my patience.
“Look at me.” I wait until he lifts his eyes to mine. Showing him the bloody blade, I say, “I’m the one who’s going to kill you. Do you want it fast or slow?”
“I don’t want to die,” he cries.
“I doubt anyone wants to die, Drew, but we can’t live forever, and your time is about up.” With the blade pointed at his chest, I say, “But before you leave this world, you’re going to give me the name of your dealer.”
When the only thing out of his mouth is more crying, I set the blade against his lower ribs and press in hard enough to break skin.
“Fine,” he screams before the cut can get deep. I wonder if I should let him know that he’s caving faster than most. No one can withstand it for long, but just about everyone lasts longer than this dipshit.