"Ana," he replied, his voice thick with a Russian accent, and a wide smile forming on his cruel face. The noise finally stopped, and my shoulders slouched in relief.
"What are you doing?" I asked him, attempting to suppress the nervousness that was fighting for control of my body.
"Idi syuda," he commanded coldly, causing two more men to appear. One of them frisked me, running his fingers along the side of my legs and arms. He found everything, except for knife stuck in my hair, holding it up.
Marc stepped forward as the man nodded sharply, taking a small step back, yet still hovering over me warily. He stopped right in front of me, and I lifted my head, pushing my chin up, so I could glare at his icy gray eyes. He smirked as he lifted his hand, as if to caress my face, before running his hand up to my hair, and plucking the knife from it. I breathed a heavy sigh, as he threw it onto the pile of my weapons.
"What do you think I am here to do?" he asked, his voice disgusted, and his expression still smug.
"Zhazhda mesti?" I suggested, keeping my eyes trained on him.
"No, all is forgiven," he assured me, nodding at the men restraining me and taking a step back.
"Really?" I asked, incredulity and sarcasm both seeping into my tone.
"Net," he said curtly, "but it will be after this."
I gulped quietly, my eyes widening in fear, as one of the men handed him a jagged knife, which he cleaned carefully with a white handkerchief.
"I would give you this to bite down on, but I trust you not to scream," he informed me, gesturing to the handkerchief, and advancing slowly, brandishing the knife. I glared at him, as he stopped in front of me again, touching the cool tip of the knife against my cheek softly.
"Now, let me list my grievances," he muttered, pressing the knife against my cheek harder, cutting through my skin easily. I tried to free my legs, so I could kick him, but both of the men grabbed my legs as well, dragging me into my bedroom and pushing me onto my bed. They each held an arm and a leg down, as Marc followed them in, the knife in his hand now tinted with red.
"First, you pretend to be my friend," he began, bringing the knife to my arm and cutting deeply down from my shoulder to above my elbow, ripping the sleeve of my shirt.
"Then, you seduce me," he said disgustedly, his nostrils flaring, "but instead of sleeping with me, you bring me to a dark chamber, where I don't get food for days, and the only water is dirty and full of vermin."
With this, he brought the knife to my leg, cutting a slash on my calf. My sheets started to stain red, as my blood soaked into the linen. I looked up at him with guilt, but his eyes didn't falter in displaying pure hatred.
"Finally, you bring me into your 'gang,'" he breathed out unevenly, "and a few months later, instead of being the interrogator, I am the one being tortured."
I didn't try to defend myself, knowing that it would only anger him more, as he lifted the knife upwards, bringing it to my throat. I tried to slip out of the grasp of at least one of the men, but as I did, annoyance flickered through Marc's eyes.
"Break it," he ordered, which was followed by a flick of my wrist, a sharp pain erupting from it.
"You aren't getting out alive," he told me, "bitch."
YOU ARE READING
Bloody Hearts ✔️
Novela JuvenilShe's been raised to be heartless. He's been raised to be ruthless. She feels trapped. He feels tied down. She is broken. He is bloody. They aren't perfect. They're beautiful. - - Adrianna has been leading the "Black Cobra" gang since her fa...
