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I suddenly wish that I had the ability to kill with a look, laser eyes or something like a superhero. Rusev would be so dead right now. There may be a chance he is right, but my bets are on him twisting the truth about my father. My father may think there is something in this for him or maybe biding his time, but he doesn't simply not care, especially when I could be good business for him with Jan dead, if nothing else.
“Do you enjoy fucking Anton as much as you enjoyed fucking me,” he asked, thinking he is being seductive when really, I just want to throw up at the memory of letting him have his way with me at any point.
I think about my answer. It needs to be a good one, and I make sure it stings even though Anton and I are still on the outs right now. “I enjoy fucking Anton a lot more than I ever enjoyed it when I was with you. It really helps if I actually like the person I am fucking.”
Rusev raises his hand to me and smacks me across the face, the loud slap ringing throughout the venue. I know everyone is looking at us now because they heard that. They know something is going on over here. I feel the sting, the burning sensation that follows where his hand has surely left an angry, swollen redness against my left cheek. My eyes sting with tears I did not give voluntarily. They were slapped out of me.
Two years ago, I would be crying, I would be begging, apologizing, running, anything I could do to get out of being hurt worse by this man I was supposed to love. I would be blaming myself, finding where I was at fault, so I could fix it and never get hit again. The problem with that is Rusev has no logic. He doesn't hit because a woman does something wrong, he hits because it makes him feel powerful and keeps a woman around with the oppression of fear.
Fear leaves a heavy stench behind, and I am not in the mood to smell it. Instead, I don't even grab my cheek to show my pain. I feel the need to strike back. He is waiting for me, he is waiting to see what I will do. He is so wrong about anything he thinks, I can guarantee it.
He grabs my neck like he used to, squeezing it in his hand as he holds the power of my life now. He used to do this so often, I know how to breathe, I know how to live through this. I let him do it for a time, because I want him to have a false sense of security before I go after him. I want him to be shocked to silence, maybe to death.
“You’re such a fucking whore. You never change, Tasha. And therefore, Sergei is not coming to save you from this, do you hear me? If he didn't come to save you when we were engaged, why would he come now?” As he talks, I see red. I am so fucking pissed right now. He is going to regret this encounter.
Rusev releases my neck, and I cough once, not wanting to show any more weakness than what's already on display, though, if Anton gets a good look at this, he is likely to come save the day and possibly kill this man in cold blood right here. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but I think I deserve my revenge first. I deserve to get him where it hurts too, more than anyone on this planet does.
“It's funny how you are true to what I always called you now. Do you see how much power I still have over you?” he snarls out at me, too close to my face for comfort. “You are not a woman of wealth anymore. Your last name means nothing because you have tainted it, letting anyone in who knocks hard enough. You are nothing but an entitled little slut and I’m sure your father will never respect that or save you from it. You’ve done this to yourself, you little bitch.”
I down the last of my vodka, looking right at him. Now I do need the liquid courage as I feel the hatred for this man flare within me like a flame being fanned unnecessarily.
I reach behind the bar and grab a bottle, breaking the glass on the bar behind me and swiftly jab it into Rusev’s side. I dig its jagged edges in, pushing it so hard and deep I can feel a cut from on my own hand from it as his shirt becomes stained in the blood that he is building for me. It’s funny that it’s red because I would have expected some other color. He can’t be human.
I don’t care about the way I have injured myself. The point is that I need him to get it, to understand that I am not that weak girl that I was before, when I was with him.
“Don’t you ever touch me again, and never, ever forget my name,” I tell him with an anger I don't even recognize from myself. I may have never accepted or taken to the darkness of my father’s business before, but I will never be walked on again. I know this, in this moment. I won't let it happen, even if it means being that dark.
I am sick and tired of power plays and how men use women to fit their lifestyles just the way they want. So, when I do what I do, it’s not just about me, it’s about all the women caught up with mobsters, dealers, club members, criminals…. It is to make the men around me understand that I won't stand for it anymore. There will be no more forced submission and beatings. There will be no more lording money and power over us as long as I have a say. And I am making sure that Rusev doesn’t mess with me or anyone like me ever again. I am hoping the scar I gave him reminds him of that every day, reminds him of who he was fucking messing with.
I am a Kolosov. Natasha Kolosov. Kolosov’s don't ask, we take what’s ours. I am taking back my dignity. I should never have let it be taken from me in the first place. I can't believe that I did.
“I am not that dumb little girl anymore,” I tell Rusev, letting the bottle drop from my hand, finally. Not that I expect him not to get that as his hand covered the spot where I injured him. He blinks and doesn't give away much of anything other than pain right now. It doesn't really matter, because I know he will feel it later. “I am a Kolosov. It is time you understand what I am capable of. I am my father’s daughter, after all.”
