“I don’t know.” His voice is high and whiny with pain.
I’ve seen him hurt before; it doesn’t usually affect him this way. It must be the drugs in his system tampering with his ability to remain stone-faced. Sighing, I go to the next finger and snap that one as well, ignoring his pleas.
“Where is Anastacia?”
Nothing. Taking his silence as an act of defiance, I snap his middle finger, my cock pulsing at his ragged screams.
“I will break every finger on both hands, then start somewhere else if you don’t talk. You know me well enough to know that I don’t bluff.”
At his wheezing silence, I break his ring finger. This time, the middle bone snaps, resulting in it protruding out from the skin. In morbid fascination, I watch the blood well up from the gaps in the skin.
“I don’t know!” He wails, his body thrashing about in the chair.
I should probably hold back for a little bit. I don’t need him passing out again and wasting precious time.
“Convince me.”
He starts babbling, a mix of Russian and English. Nothing he tells me is anything I didn’t already know. Sighing, I shake my head and lean back on my heels. Back at fucking square one. Hopefully, he can bring more insight into where Chelsea is. As much as I want my cousin back, Chelsea is my number one priority. I never thought I’d be willing to sacrifice my family, but if I had to choose between Chelsea and Anastacia, Chelsea would win. I would be devastated if I lost my cousin, but I’d have my submissive in my arms where she belongs.
"Fine. You don't know where Anastacia is. Where is Chelsea then?"
"Why tell you? I'm dead anyway."
I flip the knife over, dragging the sharp end along the frayed part of his jeans. His struggles renew as I slide the tip in, feeling the flesh give way to the sharp edge. My cock throbs behind the cage of my underwear, demanding release.
"I'll make a deal with you, tell me where she is, and I'll spare your balls."
His eyes widen as I slide the tip through the jeans, slicing it away from his body. Pale, pink stripes line his legs from where the knife skimmed him but didn't fully break the skin. I slice away, my mind detaching from my body. In one strong swipe, I slice his opposite thigh open, watching the blood drain from his leg and splatter on the floor. I keep my cut shallow enough not to knick the artery. No use having him bleed out before I’m done with him. My own balls draw up as I bring the knife to his underwear, cutting through the band with efficiency.
His member lies flaccid on his balls, his whole package jiggling about as he shifts away. I bring the tip to one of his balls, poking it lightly, drawing just a drop or two of blood.
"Miami. She's heading to Miami. There's a major auction, and several bidders want her."
"Miami." I poke the other ball, my cock pulsing as Ivan whimpers. "You're sure?"
"Yes. I planned it with Dima's men."
"Why?"
Everything hinges on his answer; it determines where I place the killing blow. He already revealed his treachery, but if it’s all about misplaced loyalty, I might be able to show a small bit of mercy. Money, after all, is a major motivator. If he had it out for Chelsea, that wouldn’t be forgivable.
"After you killed his brother, he's been gunning for you. You were so stupid. You actually thought he’d buy that? That your father’s death was an accident? Well," he chuckles. "After I confirmed it for him, there was nothing he wouldn't do to bring you low."
"And Chelsea?"
"That cunt was collateral damage. If she hadn't resisted me in the hall, I might have changed my mind."
Pulling back, I stand up, patting him on the shoulder.
"Thank you for your honesty."
The sigh spilling from his lips stutters as I ram the knife between his dick and his balls. Piercing screams rattle through the room as blood gushes out from between his legs and onto the floor. I step to the side to avoid getting any of Ivan on my shoes and undo my pants to pull out my cock. His wheezing cries are music to my ears as I jerk my hand up and down, using my precum as lubrication. The hard friction hurts as I beat my meat to his screams. Everything in me tightens as I watch the life drain from his eyes. As he gives his last, shuddering breath, I shoot my load onto his body, yelling out Chelsea's name as I paint him in my rage.
Once my vision clears, I rip the clothing off of his lifeless body, turning out every pocket of fabric. There, in his jeans, I pull out Chelsea’s piercing. I knew he had it on him. That fucker having something so intimate of hers makes me see red. Every bit of her is mine, and he will never be allowed even a piece of something I own.