Made for crime

No Mercy

The sound of Viktor's labored breathing echoed through the room as I stepped back from him, wiping the blood from my hands onto the rag that hung from my belt. His body sagged in the chair, broken and bent, but I knew he still had more left in him. They always did. The real fear didn't come from the pain. It came from the waiting, from knowing that there was no end to what I could do next.

I looked down at the pliers still gripped in my hand. Blood smeared the metal, glistening in the dim light, and Viktor's shattered fingers twitched involuntarily. His groans were nothing more than weak whimpers now, but he wasn't dead yet.

I wasn't done yet.I turned the pliers over, considering what to do next, though in reality, I already knew. There were still so many ways I could make him scream. And he would scream again—louder, if I wanted.

"Kai..." Viktor croaked, barely able to lift his head. His voice was broken, hoarse from all the shouting. I waited for him to continue, but he just sat there, shaking, as the words stuck in his throat. His lips trembled like a man teetering on the edge of death, but there was no pity in me, not for him. Not for someone who sold us out.

"Ты хочешь что-то сказать?" I asked coolly, my tone even, as though we were simply having a conversation over drinks. *You want to say something?*

He tried to speak again, but what came out wasn't a plea. It was a cough, thick and wet, and a trail of blood dribbled down from his mouth, staining his shirt. His head fell forward, but I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up so he had no choice but to look at me.

"You're pathetic," I whispered, my voice barely audible but dripping with disdain. "You thought you could betray us and walk away? Thought you could sell us out and hide?"

His eyes flickered with something—maybe regret, maybe defiance—but it didn't matter. Whatever he thought, whatever he was about to say, wouldn't change the outcome. It never did.I let go of his hair, and his head slumped again, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He was on the verge of passing out, but I wasn't about to let him off that easy.I walked over to the table, picking up the blowtorch. The weight of it in my hand was familiar, comforting in a way. I flicked it on, watching the small flame roar to life. The sound of it filled the room, a harsh hiss cutting through the silence. Viktor stiffened at the sound, his body jerking in the chair despite the restraints.

"Нравится звук?" I asked with a smirk, approaching him slowly, the flame lighting up the cold, dark room. *Like the sound?*

"N-no... please..." Viktor finally rasped, his voice cracking. His eyes widened in terror as I moved closer, the light from the flame reflecting in his dilated pupils. I could smell the sweat on him, the fear mixed with blood and desperation. He was losing it. Good. I wanted him to break. I wanted him to feel every second of this.

"Please?" I echoed, the word rolling off my tongue with mockery. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

He tried to pull back, to shrink away, but the ropes held him in place. His one good eye followed the blowtorch like a man watching his death approaching. And maybe he was.

"You see, Viktor," I continued, my voice calm, measured. "The thing about betraying the Bratva is that there's no room for forgiveness. You gave our enemies something they wanted—information that only you had. You cost me my men. Мои братья. My brothers." The last words came out like a snarl, and I brought the blowtorch closer, feeling the heat radiating from it. H

is breath quickened, panicked now. "I swear... I didn't... I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to?" I snapped, my calm demeanor cracking for a brief moment. "You sold them out. You handed them over to the feds and walked away with blood money, thinking you were untouchable." I lowered the flame toward his chest, just close enough for him to feel the heat. His body jerked violently, a fresh scream tearing from his throat.

"You *chose* this, Viktor. You chose to betray us," I hissed. "And now you're going to suffer for it."

I pressed the flame closer, and the moment it connected with his skin, he screamed so loud the sound echoed off the walls. The sickening smell of burning flesh filled the room as the flame left a searing mark on his chest. He writhed in the chair, trying desperately to get away, but there was nowhere for him to go. No escape.

His screams became sobs, and the sobs became incoherent gasps, but I didn't stop. I moved the blowtorch lower, the heat burning through his shirt, searing his flesh. His body convulsed, jerking against the restraints, but I held him there. I wanted him to feel it all, to know that there was no way out for him.

"Kai! Please... *please*!" he screamed, his voice hoarse, barely able to form the words through the pain. His eyes were wild now, full of agony and desperation. "I... I'll do anything... anything..."

I flicked off the blowtorch, the room suddenly feeling colder without the hiss of the flame. Viktor sagged in the chair, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths. The air stank of burnt flesh and sweat, and his skin was an angry red, blistering where I'd left the flame. He was broken, finally.

But not enough.

I crouched down in front of him again, gripping his chin with my bloodstained hand. His eyes met mine, and all I saw there was defeat. He was done, ready to give up anything, say anything, if it meant an end to the torment.

"Do you understand now?" I whispered, my voice low, almost soft. "Do you see what happens when you betray your family?"He nodded weakly, the movement barely more than a twitch.

"Good," I said, letting go of his face. "Because I'm going to ask you a question now, Viktor. One question. And if you lie—if you even think about lying—this will feel like child's play."

He didn't move, didn't speak. Just stared at me with wide, terrified eyes.

"Who paid you?" I asked, my voice cold, steady. "Who gave you the money to sell us out?"

For a moment, there was silence. The room was heavy with the weight of his decision. He knew that whatever he said now determined whether he lived or died.

He swallowed, his throat working hard to form the words. "It was... it was Ivanov," he croaked. "Alexei Ivanov. He... he wanted to take your place. He wanted you gone."

Ivanov. Of course. The name didn't surprise me, but it still sent a wave of fury rolling through me. I let it simmer for a moment before nodding, standing up and tossing the blowtorch onto the table.

"Thank you for your honesty, Viktor," I said, my voice eerily calm again. "But you know, I can't let you live."

His eyes widened in horror, and he opened his mouth to beg, to plead, but before he could say a word, I pulled the gun from my holster and pressed it to his forehead.

"Прощай," I whispered, my finger tightening on the trigger. *Goodbye.*

The gunshot echoed in the small room, and Viktor's body slumped forward, blood dripping down his face. The room fell silent again, the only sound my own steady breathing.I holstered the gun, feeling the familiar weight of it settle at my side. Viktor's body lay still, his betrayal finally costing him everything. But my job wasn't finished yet.

Alexei Ivanov had just made the top of my list. And unlike Viktor, he wouldn't get the chance to beg.