“I… I have my reasons!”
I laugh as I turn to face him. “You are really bad at this. You just told me you have secrets, and I have a way to extract them. You must know that, right?”
Victor leans back in the chair, trembling, and his face pales, making the freckles even more pronounced. Fuck, they’re so delicious. I’ve always liked various irregularities on people’s skin, but he’s... a work of art. I could spend months studying every single mark on his flesh. Too bad he’s here for the wrong reasons.
“You will tell me what I want to know either way. Why suffer first?” I ask without much hope, and open the pliers. Then, all it takes is to lift his T-shirt, and I can latch it onto the nip—
“Oh my God! No! No!” he cries out, taking massive gulps of air. “I’ll tell you what— Anything— Please, plea—”
I haven’t even done anything yet, and he’s unable to speak?
I stare at him in disbelief when I realize what’s happening. He’s shaking, won’t stop crying, and he can’t breathe.
I’ve never had information extraction be this messy before I even started.
My prisoner is having a panic attack.
Chapter 3
Victor
Ican’tbreathe.I’mchoking on air. My head is a black hole filled with pain and terror.
How the fuck was I supposed to know Sevastyan is a serial killer?
Hiding in plain sight means exactly that, and he’s been good at it.
I, on the other hand, am about to be tortured and violated for fuck knows how long. As if my life wasn’t bad enough already.
The dark fog lifts a bit when he pulls the pliers away, but I flinch as I sense warm arms wrap around me.
Is he… hugging me?
“Shhh… it’s okay. You’re okay. I mean… you’re not, but I won’t torture you today. Deep breaths.”
My mind can’t comprehend what’s going on, but I still lean into the warm man in front of me. How ironic is it that I’ve not been hugged in years, andthisis how I’m breaking that pathetic streak? I sob helplessly, just letting it all come out while he strokes my back in calm circular movements.
He smells of oil paint. And charcoal. So at least he does create his own paintings. Presumably.
“You’re okay. I won’t hurt you, and maybe by tomorrow you will decide to tell me everything without all that blood and pain, hm?” He leans back, that agonizingly perfect face smiling for me as he cups my cheeks and wipes tears with his thumbs.
I’m not a child. I don’t need to be consoled like this, and yet—
Yet it feels so good, even if he’s only playing with me.
A part of me still can’t believe I’m interacting withSevastyan. He’s nothing like the version of him I created in my head. He looks as if he’s stepped out of one of his paintings, and that ruins the plan I so carefully constructed.
A plan I now see was doomed from the start, because while Sevastyan might be a painter, he’s also an absolute psycho.
But as I stare into his eyes, he aligns his breathing to mine, and I’m slowly able to inhale again.
“Yes?” I whisper, because what else am I supposed to do? I can only attempt to run away in the future if I stay alive.
He grins, freeing my legs from one of the leather straps holding me in the torture chair. “I knew we could come to an agreement. You look like a reasonable person,” he says in that melodic accent I can’t initially identify. He sounds Russian, so maybe his nationality wasn’t yet another fake story to accompany the art after all?
“I am.” I can hardly recognize my voice through the thudding in my ears. Now that I can breathe, the pain in my leg comes back with a vengeance, but I won’t be complaining to the person who had no qualms about putting that bolt there in the first place. “I’m very agreeable,” I add even though I’m analyzing if kicking him in that beautifulface would give me enough advantage to make a run for it. I’m afraid not, unless I convince him to free my hands. I don’t even know where we are inside this massive house.
Once all the straps hang off the chair, Sevastyan slides his fingers around my arm and guides me off. “You were lucky. I could have lured you to the trap that shoots people in the chest.”
