Page 73 of Violent Pawn

The man releases an ear-piercing shriek that brings my attention back to the scene. Anastasia whirls a knife until the tip pokes the open wound where his thumb used to be. The finger in question is a lump of skin by her feet.

“Thieves who steal my product lose things. But you…you’re pissing me off. Something about your face does it for me.” She readjusts the knife to his cheek, pressing deeply until red forms, which he barely registers, still panting through the pain of his lost limb.

“I paid”—he sucks in a sharp inhale—“for the whore.”

Her bouncer meets my gaze from across the room, a smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth, which I match. Both of us recognize those were the wrong words when having someone as vicious as Anastasia in front of him.

“The whore.” Anastasia chews on the word, the impact bouncing through the otherwise quiet room. It’s the announcement before the show; the curtain lift before the performance. “If she’s a whore for taking your money, what does that say about you, who paid?”

“A hole’s a hole,” the idiot grunts, only for his cocky attitude to transform into a screech when the knife makes another jagged noise of skin ripping. Gone is the pinky.

“If, as you say, a hole is a hole, then it won’t matter which one I poke?” She prods the fresh wound where his pinky was. “Or I could always form new ones.” The blade shifts to where his heart is buried beneath skin, earning a pathetic whimper as he leans away.

Anastasia entertains his attempt by straightening and staring down over her nose at him. “I planned on cutting off only one finger, but then you opened your mouth and irritated me.”

“Yeah?” he grits, a hazy gaze flicking behind her. “This how you conduct your business?”

“It is under the Bratva’s control. They have standards, you see.” She pauses, purses her lips dramatically, and taps them with the bloody blade. “Oh, did I leave that fun fact out? You chose the wrong club to be a svoloch’ within. But let’s return to the real issue. The lovely young woman up there who had the unfortunate job of spreading her legs for you instructed you to pay for what you were trying to do. Rules are rules, and she was following them.”

He licks his cracked lips and bobs his head.

She hums. “Yet you chose not to listen.”

Another nod after a second’s hesitation when he realizes he’s writing his own future.

“Then, to add to your list of crimes, when she went for help, you attempted to prevent her from getting it. That is what I will not forgive. Your blatant ignorance and lack of respect for the goddess upstairs.”

He mutters something in Russian, to which she replies in their language, her sharp tongue lashing around in accent, and I swear my cock hardens for that alone. He spits on her shoe, blood tainting his saliva.

She sighs and spins the knife downwards in a sharp arc. Gone is his middle finger, the flesh thumping to the ground with the others. “You really don’t learn, do you?”

The screams last longer this time, the deep pants louder as he slumps forward. It’s a couple of moments before he tips his head sideways and glares at her. “Gonna kill me?”

“Although I’d like to, no. How else will you learn your lessons if you don’t go on living? So, this is your time to start talking. Tell me why I should save your pathetic life.” She plants herself in front of him, a reaper of pain.

“I’m…sorry.”

“What’s that?” She crouches, lining their faces up. “Repeat what you said.”

“I’m s-s-sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Finally you’re correct about something.” She straightens, clapping once and giggles a bit manically. “You are so damn right that it won’t happen again because by the time I’m through with you, you won’t have any fingers left to use.”

He jerks again, jolting his body to be freed from the bounds that keep him locked to her mercy. “You fucking crazy bitch. I’m having you arrested.”

“That’s a lie. If the term police enters that little mind of yours, the Bratva will pay you a visit. How will your wife take it when she learns you haven’t been staying late at work?” She gestures to his entire body, and then his hand. “I’d love to hear how you explain this one away. And what about your brother, living it up in Mongolia? We’ve heard he’s into some sketchy shit.”

His face pales, having little to do with the lost blood. “How…?”

“You assumed we don’t collect backgrounds for each guest, picking and choosing who we’d like to give memberships to? You were granted entry because we don’t care about your adultery or money-laundering family business. Your wife might not enjoy your secret life, but for us, money’s money. But now, you’ve gone ahead and made me your enemy. Which means, if you breathe a fucking word about what happened here, you’re a dead man walking. Do not test my kindness.” She steps back to examine the blood, the panting, injured man before gesturing to her staff. “Get him out of my sight. Ensure his name is on the banned list for each brothel.”

The man puts up no fight as the bouncer hauls him for the stairs. Between the cursing, huffs, and groans, the room isn’t quiet until they’re gone, the door shut behind them, and Anastasia and I remain behind.

Her bloodied knife clangs on the cement as she turns, spine straight and shoulders back with defensiveness. Her walls are erected, and gone is the vicious Elite. Everything is one step forward and two back with this woman. She’s not Anastasia from earlier either. She watches me shove off the wall, readying to face her judgement. A different mask, but one worn proudly nonetheless.

Before she invents more bullshit excuses to push me away, I wrap my arms around her and bring her against my chest, tilting her chin up. “You’re amazing.”

A nerve in her cheek twitches. “You’re fine that I’m not the prim and proper woman that most men want?”