His princess

I stepped into the cold, dark basement of my office—my personal interrogation chamber. The air here was thick with fear, and today, it was going to be heavier.

There they were—those bastards, tied to chairs, blood already staining their faces from the warm-up my men had given them. Bruised, beaten, but still breathing.

I walked slowly, my boots echoing on the concrete floor, and they all flinched at the sound. Good.

I removed my coat and handed it to Thorne, who stood silently near the door, his eyes already red with rage. He had seen Tanya’s condition. And he wanted blood too.

I cracked my knuckles.

“You touched what's mine,” I said, my voice cold and even. “And now, you're going to wish you hadn’t.”

One of them whimpered, the same one who had laughed at her. I remembered his face.

I grabbed a metal rod from the table beside me, its weight comforting in my hand.

“No one,” I growled, “no one touches my Tanya and walks away.”

And then the screaming began.

Their screams echoed through the stone walls like music to my ears, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

I walked over to the one who had held the gun to her. His hands were trembling even while tied. Pathetic.

I bent down, getting level with his bloodied face.
“You pointed this hand at her?” I asked softly, almost gently, as I gripped his wrist. “This hand?”

He tried to shake his head, tried to deny it, but I wasn’t asking for an answer.

With one sharp twist—CRACK.
His wrist snapped, and his scream rang louder.

“That’s one.” I stood up straight, wiping blood off my hands with a white cloth like it was dirt. “For every touch, for every tear, for every bruise she has—one of you pays.”

I turned to the man who had dared pull her by the hair.

“You.” I nodded to Thorne. “The knife.”

Thorne handed it to me without a word. I could see it in his eyes—if I let him, he’d rip them apart himself.

I dragged the blade slowly across the man’s cheek, watching as blood welled up in its wake.
“This is just the beginning,” I whispered, voice lethal. “You thought she'd break. But now... I’ll make sure you do.”

Each of them begged, cried, screamed. But I didn’t stop. Not until they felt a fraction of what Tanya had gone through.

Not until I bled them for every second she was in pain.

I turned to Kartik—tied to the chair, legs bandaged, blood drying on his lips.

His eyes widened as I stepped closer, the silence between us more terrifying than screams.