Page 126 of Prey

“You broke this when I was twelve,” I tell him as he writhes against his restraints. “The doctor said it was a fall. I was so scared to tell the truth.”

“Jenna, stop, I’m sorry?—”

“No.” The word comes out sharp as the blade. “You don’t get to be sorry now.”

Nikolai’s quiet instructions guide me. Where to cut to avoid major arteries. How deep to go to maximize pain without ending it too quickly? He teaches me the art of torture and how to turn brutality into craftsmanship.

“His ribs next,” Nikolai suggests. “Small cuts, just beneath the bone. It’ll burn like fire.”

Richard screams as I follow his guidance, the sound echoing off concrete walls that have heard worse. Blood runs down his abs, painting abstract patterns across skin that once seemed so frightening, so repulsive.

“Please,” Richard gasps. “I’ll do anything. I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again.”

“You’re right.” I lean close enough to whisper in his ear. “You’re going to disappear. But first, you’re going to pay for every night you tried to make me believe I deserved what you did.”

Hours pass in a blur of blood and confession. I make him admit to every physical and sexual assault, every broken bone, every psychological wound he carved into a child’s mind. Nikolai guides me through anatomy lessons written in blood—where nerves cluster, where pain lives brightest, how to prolong it.

When Richard finally breaks, sobbing and begging, I feel a shift inside me. Not satisfaction. The fear I’ve carried for so many years crumbles like ash, leaving space for strength to grow.

“I think he’s learned enough,” I tell Nikolai, stepping back from my handiwork.

Richard’s head lolls forward, consciousness flickering. Blood pools beneath his chair, and his breathing comes in ragged gasps.

“Would you like to finish it?” Nikolai asks, offering me a clean blade.

I shake my head. “He’s not worth it. He never was.”

Nikolai moves behind Richard with fluid grace, one hand tilting his head back to expose his throat. The knife slides across his neck in a single, smooth motion—professional, precise, final.

Blood sprays across the concrete floor as Richard’s eyes go wide, then empty. The man who haunted my nightmares for so long becomes nothing more than a memory.

“It’s done,” Nikolai says simply, wiping the blade clean.

Richard Moss is dead. The monster who stole my childhood, who broke my bones and violated my body and convinced me I was worthless—he’s gone. Forever.

“How do you feel?” Nikolai asks, studying my face with intense focus.

“Alive.” The word comes out as a whisper, then stronger. “I feel alive and stronger than I can ever remember having felt.”

Blood covers my hands, my arms, and spatters across my face and clothes. I should be horrified by what I’ve just done. Instead, I feel electric in ways I’ve never experienced. The violence has unlocked a primal side of me that’s been caged since I was a child.

His mask can’t hide the pride radiating from him, the satisfaction of watching me reclaim my power.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says, voice rough with desire. “Covered in his blood, carrying my baby. Perfect.”

The words shouldn’t turn me on. The situation is deranged, twisted, soaked in fresh violence. But heat floods through me anyway, desperate and immediate. Adrenaline mixes with triumph, with the headiness of finally taking control.

“Nik.” My voice comes out breathy, needy. “I need?—”

He’s on me before I finish speaking, backing me against the concrete wall with hungry intensity. He lifts his mask and his mouth finds mine, claiming and desperate. I taste copper and violence on his lips, and it makes me wild.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls against my throat. “My perfect predator. My beautiful Fury.”

His hands roam my body, worshiping every curve changed by pregnancy. When his palms cup my fuller breasts, I arch into his touch with desperate need. The baby has made me more sensitive everywhere, and his calloused fingers feel like brands against tender skin.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, tearing at my blood-stained shirt. “My woman.”

Buttons scatter across the floor as he strips me with impatient hands. Cool air hits my exposed skin, making meshiver, but his touch burns hot enough to chase away the chill. When his mouth fastens on my nipple, I cry out at the intensity.