Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
“You can say what you want, but it’s human nature. Of course, they’d go for her. She showered with them. She slept with them. She flaunted her body. And then, when they took her up on the offer, she said no?”
Motherfucker. I want to kill him with my bare hands, but that’ll be too easy. “Are you fucking serious?”
“The decision wasn’t mine to make. It was the court-martial’s ruling.”
Right. Sweeping a scandal under the rug. “The special commission the court appointed leaned heavily on your opinion and recommendation.”
“As I said, a woman had no place in the elite corps. It was a lesson for our future selection process.”
“A lesson in discrimination, you mean.”
“Look, I can’t take back my decision. Do what you have to. It’s not going to change anything.”
I lean closer to him. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
He blanches a little. “What do you want from me? Money? Is that why Belan sent you?”
“No.” The smile I force hurts my face. “As I’ve already told you, Belan didn’t send me, and I don’t want your filthy, measly money.”
“What then?”
“Justice.” I put my nose an inch from his. “An eye for an eye.”
“If you’re going to beat me up, get to it.”
I shake my head.
“Kill me?” He laughs. “Go for it. I’m not afraid of dying.”
“Of course not.” I smile snidely. “You’ve been trained all your life to die. No, dying will be too easy.”
He stares at me, his slack mouth parting a fraction.
“You turned a blind eye,” I say. “You kept quiet when you should’ve spoken up. I’ll let you choose. Eyes or tongue?”
His foul breath washes over my face as he cries, “What?”
“Do you want to live the rest of your life blind or mute? Oh, the part you don’t get to choose is your dick.” I didn’t show Mina those pictures, the ones where her assailant had his dick stuffed in his mouth. She looked upset enough that he’d been beaten up.
Tóth shakes his head. Drops of sweat fall around his face.
“What?” I grin. “Didn’t the men who warned you tell you about that part? I guess they’re too ashamed of what they’ve been degraded to.”
He utters a barely coherent, “No.”
“What was that?” I taunt.
“No, please. Just kill me.”
I will, but he doesn’t need to know that yet. I tsk-tsk chidingly. “And leave your family in the lurch? Some father you are.”
“What kind of man will I be if…?” he slobbers.
I grab his hair. “Tongue or eyes? Choose, or I take both your sight and speech.”
“God. Fuck.”
“Nope. No help coming from that way. I suppose this is what Mina must’ve felt like when she begged for help.”
“I-I… No. Fuck. Kill me. Please. I’ll give you money.”
I go for the shears on the wall. “Fine. We’ll play it your way. I’ll start with your eyes.”
“Tongue,” he cries. “Tongue. Fuck. Jesus.”
“As you wish.”
The fucker doesn’t have an ounce of Mina’s courage or strength. He pisses himself when I grip his tongue and pull.
It’s a pity he passes out before I chop off his dick.
27
Mina
Being locked up is slowly driving me insane. I’m not used to being out of action. I thrive on danger and adrenaline, not being cooped up in Yan’s place with nothing to do but cook. Sure, there’s plenty of danger and adrenaline in my current situation, enough to entice the darkness in me, but I’m a passive participant, unwilling—except for when Yan takes me to bed. But harping on what I can’t change will only make it worse, so I ignore the listlessness eating at me and go to bed straight after dinner.
Yan follows shortly after, his arms folding securely around me, anchoring me to him in more than just a physical way. He intrigues me, this dangerous killer. I’m drawn to him as much as I want to escape this maddening imprisonment. It’s conflicting. Confusing. It makes me even more restless.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers in my ear.
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t say a word during dinner.”
“Is conversation another requirement? In addition to being your sex toy?”
“Mina.” There’s a warning in his voice, and it’s not subtle.
I shut my mouth before I say something that’ll only make an already-impossible situation worse. His hand skims over my stomach under the cotton T-shirt I’m wearing, coming to rest on my hip. He’s hard already. I know what he wants, but I’m not sure I can shake this strange, listless mood.
“I’m tired,” I whisper.
He stills in our spooning position. I wait for him to contest or challenge me, but he only drapes his arm around my waist again and pulls me tighter against him. When he shifts into a comfortable position, like he does before sleeping, I have an inexplicable urge to cry. He didn’t try to force or seduce me. He simply accepted that I’m tired, and I’m uncharacteristically torn, both pathetically thankful for his consideration and irrationally sad that I might’ve hurt his feelings.