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I pulled the knife out before plunging it again. I did it over, and over, and over again until he passed out from the agony. Not even his unconscious state managed to stop me. All I wanted was his blood, and that was exactly what I got.
In the meantime, Ilya disappeared. He was gone for less than ten minutes and returned with a bucket of water. It was filled with ice.
Ilya and Ekaterina didn’t have the best relationship. However, she was the little sister—and only sister—of his boss. Therefore, he was pissed too. Though it was mainly out of respect for their family name, it still managed to anger him.
He gave David an ice bath, pouring everything on his head. My patience was long gone, and I wiped the blood off on my shirt instead of grabbing the cleaner knife.
Groaning sounds came from the bastard, but he was still out of it. I was about to smack him, but Ilya cut me to it. He slapped him seven times in ten seconds, and he slowly came back to life.
This time, it didn’t take him too long to realize what had happened. Eyes widened, he glanced down at his crotch. It was as if all the pain had returned, and he screamed out. It was futile but fun to watch. He looked disoriented, as if he couldn’t believe it was happening to him.
“I’m begging you,” he groaned out, whimpering in the process. He looked like a stray, wet dog, begging people to take him in. It was hilarious.
“Begging? What for? Mercy?” I laughed. “I’m not a merciful person. You shouldn’t have touched what’s mine. You shouldn’t have even looked at what’s mine. You shouldn’t have even thought of her. You made your own bed. Now lie in it.”
He chuckled in a mocking manner.
“Then you should put a leash on your bitch. Otherwise, she might keep running off.”
I didn’t bother containing my anger. My hand fisted, and I hit him straight in the face. His nose cracked under my fist, blood oozed down his lip, and a few droplets fell into his mouth. His teeth gritted together as he tried his best not to make a sound. Yet again, I hit him on the lips.
I grabbed the knife and started making cuts all over his torso, but it wasn’t enough. Next, I began to slice his skin off. Little by little, piece by piece, it started falling off. It got ugly quickly, and his screams never subsided. It was such a perfect melody—music to my ears.
Yet again, he was tossing and turning to the side. His wrists were heavily bruised from all the tugging he'd been doing. Veins on his neck popped out, and his face slowly started to lose its color. Bloody nose and bruised lips were all I could see.
By the time I was done with half of his upper body, a gruesome scene awaited. It was red; however, this time, I went as deeply as possible, but not too deep. He couldn’t die yet.
With a gloved hand, I picked up a piece of skin off the floor and waved it in front of his face. He was utterly and completely terrified of what was to come, and I was feeding off that look of agony on his face.
I threw the knife in the air and caught the blade. Through the thick gloves, it didn’t inflict any pain. Even if it did, I was too far gone to notice it. With the back of the blade, I pried his mouth open, smashing a tooth or two in the process.
“Say aaah.” I laughed it off, the terror on his face bringing pure bliss.
With the help of the blade, his mouth was open just enough for me to shove the skin into it. Forcefully, I closed it and smiled.
“Now, chew on it, motherfucker.”
Gurgling noises came from the depth of his throat, eyes widening almost to the point of them popping out of their sockets. I stepped back, satisfied. The motherfucker spit it out, and his vomit followed suit.
The time went on and by the time I grabbed the acidic knife, blood was everywhere. David was screaming, crying, and begging for me to stop. I couldn’t imagine being in his place, every sinew of skin being ripped from the nerve endings. The pain must’ve been unbearable.
He coughed and made gurgling noises before it all came out. He was throwing up in waves from the agony, choking on his vomit.
“Hey, hey.” I slapped him across the face. “You can’t fall asleep.”
He was very weak, too weak to speak properly. He was stuttering and speaking incoherently. All I understood was a pathetic prayer. Not even God could save him from my wrath. Yet all of his pain, all of his screams—none of it was enough. I wanted to torture him more.
He started speaking. “Bogdan.” His eyes started to close, and it pissed me off.
I jabbed the knife into his right eye as a way to force him not to close his eyes. Ignoring his pleas and screeching, I twisted the blade a few times, probing it further into his eye socket before forcibly taking it out, his eye on the dagger.
A wide grin spread across my face. It was almost too beautiful, the state of his body. Ruined by wicked acts, covered in his own blood. The torment had truly begun, and it triggered something inside of me. Something sinister. Something evil.
A feeling that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Heh.” I grinned. “This is for daring to lay your filthy eyes on my woman.”
“There’s two possible locations,” he groaned. I nodded at Ilya, and he wrote down both in his phone before locking it and continuing to watch our interactions.”
