The Beast

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight
Running Doesn't Get You Far

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LEV

   Expressive as she was, I anticipated the kukolka's next moves the moment she bent her knees and widened her shoulders. It seems that she surprised even herself with her quick reflexes, because the moment she sprinted toward the elevators, she stumbled but fortunately caught herself before disappearing around the corner.

   Even as she ran, she resembled a mouse, running from a trap destined for her.

   The sight brought the urge to always make her run, just so I could chase her.

   I was taken back to when I first met her, running with so much fear in her eyes before she hid herself behind me. Using me as a shield against that stick. Now she tried to hide from me? If I could laugh, I would have done so in that moment.

   No one could hide from me. But I'll let her have this false sense of security.

   My men didn't move without my orders, but I felt some questioning stares. I knew some wondered why I hadn't stopped the kukolka from running, but if they were smart enough, they would learn the answer soon. For now, I had a kukolka to play with.

   Bringing my eyes to Viktor, he read my expression and within a second, he handed me a towel. I wiped my blood-stained hands and watched with a sick pleasure as it stained the white fabric.

   Toward the end, there were some stains in between my nails, but I didn't have enough care. I cleaned the SRK and threw the tinged towel toward one of the newer men assigned to me. Aistov.

   He caught it swiftly. Somewhere in the room, a voice spoke in Russian, "Would you like I deal with her, boss?"

   The idea of someone touching my kukolka turned my vision red. Landing my eyes on the man who dared to suggest such thing, I gritted my teeth a little too harshly before warning, "She is my doll to play with. Touch her, and my knife will find itself in your trachea."

   I didn't need to ask if he understood. If he knew anything about me or my reputation, he would ensure everyone heed the threat.

   "Make sure he doesn't die." Those were my last words before I strode toward the elevator, a sadistic thrill coursing through me.

   I wondered what my kukolka was doing. I didn't need to wonder too long.

   As the doors closed, I took my phone and opened the security footage to the building. I found her in a matter of seconds, impressed by her speed. The kukolka was already in the elevator going toward her floor. For a moment, I studied her posture and considered the possibilities as to why she didn't attempt to run to the police. Had fear clouded her judgment?

   My head tilted to the side when the doors parted in front of her. She stumbled, nearly falling from the gap between the floor and elevator. I watched her with a trace of interest as she shakily lifted the keys to the doorknob.

   I was surprised by my frustration when she rushed inside, hiding herself from me.

   Holding the phone tighter, I waited until the doors opened before I strode out, my steps wide and harsh. The closer I got to the kukolka, the harder my heart pounded with adrenaline.

   It was less than a few minutes later when I stopped in front of her door. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine her on the other side, pacing. Gasping for air. Playing with that hair of hers. I wanted to see her fear. It belonged to me.