Page 77 of Reckless Woman
“¡Hijueputa!” I curse loudly.
The BratvaPakhanis my third least favorite person in the world. He’s an integral part of Vindicta, but I go out of my way to avoid him whenever he’s in Miami. Short and thickset, with lifeless iron-gray hair that he wears combed back from his fat, fleshy face, he reminds me of all the men I was forced to give up my innocence to.
“I see the daughter has returned.” He flashes me a frozen smile to match his dead-inside eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“You’ve disappointed us, Viviana,” croaks Papá, driving thorns into my fear. “You should have died on that island at my brother’s hand. It is a dishonor that you even made it out of there alive.”
“W-what are you talking about?” I stutter, as the winds of change transform into a cyclone of hate. “I escaped. Vindicta survives. Your identity is still safe—”
“Disappointments must be punished accordingly,” he caws, as if he hasn’t heard me. “That way, if we decide to let you back inside Vindicta one day, you’ll be less inclined to fail us again.”
My head must be foggy from hunger and fatigue. I can’t seem to register what he’s saying. In a daze, I watch Morozov stride over to a large oak desk in front of the window and open up a laptop.
“It is all done, Señor Emilio,” he calls out, twisting the screen towards us.
From what I can see it’s a live, black and white feed from a security camera on a busy street. The plates on the cars and the mailboxes locate it somewhere in the US.
“What’s that?” I demand.
“Someone else’s punishment, and a little of yours.”
My head whips round. “What the hell is going on, Papá?”
He shrugs and wheezes. “Take it like a good girl,mi vida, and then maybe I will forgive you. Teresa. Time to go.”
I find myself backing away from him with an image of a trapped fly in my head, bouncing off the glass. “I told you, it won’t happen—Ow!” I cry out as I collide with the hard and soft bulk of Benni Morozov.
He moves quicker than me—far quicker—wrapping his arm around my neck and forcing me over the desk in seconds, deliberately grinding his stiffening cock against my ass as he wrenches my head sideways to face the laptop screen, my eyes blurring and then focusing on the live feed.
“Get off me!” I scream, but Morozov just laughs.
“Keep biting and scratching at me like a cornered cat, Viviana. It will make it so much more pleasurable.”
Those are Miami plates I think wildly, as a car pulls up to the curb by the camera.
“Power,” declares my father from somewhere behind me. “I know it is what you truly desire,mi vida. You want it so that no man will ever hurt you again. After figuring that out, it was easy to tailor your punishment accordingly.”
At the same time, Morozov starts yanking down my dirty jeans.
“No!” I scream, but he just drives the side of my face further into the cold surface of the desk. “I’ll do better, I swear! Anything but this!”
“Would you like to watch, Emilio?” Morozov leers, his strong accent thickening in tandem with his cock.
The cruel sound of my father’s cackle destroys all the barriers I’ve built up over the years to protect what’s left of me. “I’ll let you have your fun alone, Morozov...Make her bleed. Make her suffer—”
“Like Santiago’s daughter suffered?” I cry out, scraping at my memory in desperation. “He told me all about her, Papá. He told me how you sold her into sexual slavery to punish him. That you’re just as bad as he is!”
My father cackles again. “That was a sweet, sweet moment, I’ll admit.”
A fresh horror washes over me as truth becomes lies and lies become truth.
“After you’re done with her, tell Smirnov to expect a new whore at his party in Istanbul next week,” I hear him say to Morozov.
Vomit surges up into my mouth as a rough finger gets forced inside me, his dirty nail scratching at my insides.
“You could at least be wet for me,suka,”bitch, he hisses, jerking it out again.