On Construction Site Of Petrova Brothers
Nikolai was bored.
That was the problem.
The girl tied to the chair sobbed quietly now. Patches of skin had been peeled away from her arms and shoulders, raw and red, wrapped in clumsy bandages already soaked through. Not screaming anymore. Screaming meant energy. Screaming meant hope.This—this was just leaking fear, slow and useless.
He crouched in front of her, knife dangling loosely between his fingers, rocking on his heels like a child waiting for someone to say something interesting.
"You see," he sighed, tilting his head, "I'm getting bored. And when I get bored, I also get… ideas."A slow grin crept across his face. "You don't want that."
Her eyes flicked up at him, glassy, unfocused. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Nikolai frowned. "Ah." He straightened slightly. "Why are you looking at me like that? Your dad was the one who fucked up. Not me."
The phone on the table buzzed.
