The Russian Fighter (Mafia Men #1)

Broken

Chapter 26

Edited

Day 88

I was on the brink of dying.

My world was crumbling.

What was I suppose to do come the time I was to be released? How would I face my family? Or Nina?

I cupped my head in my hands, and stared down at the pictures Gold Eyes gave me weeks ago. These images have kept me up for days. Seeing their smiles. Seeing them enjoying life without me to mess things up.

It was okay.

I was okay.

I had to be.

But it was hard on my heart.

The blowing of the horn alerted all the Slaves to rise, gathering at the foot of their beds to be examined and escorted to the dinning hall for the meal that would carry them during working hours. But not me; I was overwhelmed by the evidence spread on my cot that I couldn't move.

Gold Eyes came to me as he always did, sighing, knowing what we both knew had to be done next. "You are not standing, Rapunzel. You know what this means."

I nodded. "I'm lost. I keep thinking this is all a dream, but these pictures remind me that I'm not. But I don't want to believe it. I don't believe Maksim would do this me. Or Nina and Vitaly. I had a feeling of those two, but to see it. Why would they go behind my back, and not tell me?"

"Come," Gold Eyes tossed me the gray dress and heels I wore only once before. "Get dressed. I have something to show you."

We loaded into the elevator a while after I covered myself, and a nurse pulled my hair into a braided crown. We rode to the top level. The doors accessed, and he lead me to a entrance in the hall, pushing inside what was a office; Natasha's office to be precise.

Sat behind a long, rectangular desk she kept her eyes engrossed in papers I had no idea what they were. She wore a pencil skirt and red blouse, her long hair twisted into a bundle atop her head with chopsticks; a liner of rouge glorified her pretty lips.

Finally as I was shoved in the chair across, Natasha raised her head. "Good. She's here."

Gold Eyes positioned my hands, strapping my wrists to the arms of the chair, my feet to the legs, and upper body with a belt over my thighs, shoulders and neck. I couldn't move, and the eerie way Natasha was staring unsettled me.

"What am I doing here? Ah!"

My outspoken inquisition earned me a whip to my backhand. I cried out, fisting my hand against the burning ripples condemning my knuckles. There was a slash there, small, but open with blood.

Looking up I saw the whip in Gold Eyes's hand, rolling it back around his large fist. "Why? Why am I here?"

Natasha said, "You're here because you refuse to submit. These teachings have done nothing to break you. We need you broken, or else Igor won't be pleased, and that effects everyone in this Institution."

"How is that my problem?"

Another slash, right above my bare thighs. This one hurt worse, like a knife slicing me ten times harder. Blood dribbled between the apex of my thighs, pooling on the hem of the dress.

"This torture is not one of our more ethical practices, but we can make an exception for you. You see I always give results. And what other way than to slice this pretty skin of yours."