Heart of Stone - Stone and Fire #1 [17+] (REWRITING)

Chapter 39

Two Weeks Later

Adriana's POV

The hilt of my dagger dug into my palm, each ruby a jagged reminder of what lie on the other side of the door.

Or rather, who.

I could feel Petrov's rotting mortality seep under the warehouse door, a wave of tension making me clench my jaw.

Because over these past two weeks, I'd carved myself back together.

Piece by fractured piece, I'd forced the jagged parts to fit, ripping out every bit of weakness that refused to mold into the woman I needed to become. I hadn't waited for the broken parts to heal, not when I knew that healing would take a lifetime. I'd fused them into place, cutting off the parts of me that Petrov had exploited, the parts he'd made weak and vulnerable. Those pieces, those old shards of myself, I'd left behind.

By the time the first week had passed, I wasn't afraid of him anymore. The thought of him no longer made my stomach twist in dread; it filled me with something cold and lethal. 

And by the time the second week came around, I wanted to decapitate the fucker and drop-kick his head into Hudson River.

My body ached to burn every memory of him out of my head, piece by bloody piece. I wanted to take that blade in my hand and let him feel every second of what he'd done, wanted to watch the light fade from his eyes slowly, painfully.

In that notion, I was the one in power. I was the one carving, while Petrov bled fucking rivers.

I was the one killing him, while his blood seeped into me and suffocated every part that was an undignified, frail bitch.

The doubtful part of me wondered if I would even give him the mercy of a clean cut across the neck.

Because jolly jee, was I going to take my sweet time.

Maybe it was the realization that there was nothing left for him anymore. No opportunities up for grabs, no incandescent, torturous ways of beating me down with a simple glance. Hell, if I recalled Nikolas's replay of events, he had one eye left anyways. 

I twisted the knob and stepped through the doorway, spotting a figure in the middle of the room. I was clueless as to how Nikolas had kept him breathing for more than a month- he'd mentioned something about updating his nervous system every couple days to keep it active, whatever the hell that meant.

Petrov lay in the center, bound tightly, a pitiful, heaving figure gasping in the low light. His skin looked sallow, his face gaunt, and I had to bite back amusement at how utterly pathetic he looked now.

Nikolas's body warmed my back, his suit jacket brushing my cropped, white full-sleeve.

Yes, the white had been a choice. 

"I had him tied up in fresh ropes for you."

I turned around with a sweet, fox-cloaked smile, trailing a freshly done red stiletto down his tie. When I got to the pointed tip I tapped it once, twice, and tilted my head coyly.

"Well, then. I might have to go the extra mile considering all your effort."

"Only the best for you, baby."

Mikhail's voice pulled me out of our vanity, his amusement crackling in the dimness as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He looked completely at ease, as if he was the one about to spend hours gutting a fucking blowfish.