Crawl, pet

ANYA POV.

Pain.

That was the first thing I felt when I woke up. A dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes, pounding like a drum.

My head was splitting, my body stiff and sore, my wrists raw from the cuffs that had bound them.

I sucked in a sharp breath and winced. Even that hurt.

The scent of expensive cologne and polished wood filled my lungs, but underneath it, I still smelled the faint traces of sweat and cheap perfume clinging to my skin.

Slowly, I pushed myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. My legs wobbled as I stood. Where the hell am I?

The room was nothing like what I expected. No damp dungeon, no chains hanging from the walls.

Instead, the decor was… feminine. A vanity mirror, a plush bed with silk sheets, velvet curtains that framed the large window. As if it had been waiting for me.

A shiver crawled up my spine. Someone prepared this.

I turned toward the mirror, and what I saw made my stomach twist.

A mess.

My reflection was barely recognizable—smudged makeup streaking down my pale cheeks, mascara clumped around my eyes, lipstick smeared at the corners of my mouth.

My red costume, once tight and fitted, was wrinkled and stained.

Then it hit me.

Last night.

A violent rush of memories slammed into me.

Celine adjusting my strap. The air shifting. That chemical scent. A moment of confusion, then my vision blurring.

Bodies collapsing. My own legs giving out before I even understood what was happening. The masked men.

Oh, God.

My breathing turned shallow. My pulse roared in my ears. I had been kidnapped.

No. Bought.

I clutched the edge of the vanity, my nails digging into the wood. My body felt like lead, my stomach churning. How the fuck did this happen?

I spun toward the door, heart hammering. I need to get out of here.

But before I could move, the door creaked open.

A man stood there. Broad shoulders. Dark suit. A scar running down his cheek. He looked at me the way someone looked at a stray dog—unimpressed and indifferent.

“Get downstairs,” he said, voice rough. “The Boss is waiting.”

Boss.

I didn’t move. My hands clenched into fists. No. Hell no.

The man sighed, stepping forward. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

I lifted my chin. “Fuck. You. Fuck your boss.”

His jaw ticked. He muttered something in Russian before turning back toward the hallway.

Then his posture changed. A shadow loomed behind him.

The air in the room shifted. Thickened and smelled of danger.

Before I could process it, the man stepped aside, and another figure entered.

Him.

I didn’t need an introduction. I knew instantly this was the man who bought me.

Tall. Broad. Dressed in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the ink that coiled around his skin. His dark eyes were sharp, cold—so cold it sent ice through my veins.

But it wasn’t just his presence that made my stomach drop. It was the way he carried himself. Like a man who was used to being obeyed. A man who had never heard the word ‘no’ in his life.

Viktor.

He took one look at me, then at the man beside him. “Problem?”

“She won’t come.”

Silence.

Then a slow, measured step forward.

My breath hitched as Viktor closed the distance between us, his movements effortless, like a predator approaching its prey.

His eyes dragged over me, from my tangled hair to the bruises forming on my wrists. His gaze was unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface.

Then he grabbed me.

By my hair.

A sharp cry ripped from my throat as my scalp burned. He yanked me forward without hesitation.

“Let go of me!” I screamed, clawing at his wrist. I kicked, fought, struggled. But he barely reacted. His grip only tightened.

I stumbled, dragged through the doorway, through the halls, my feet barely keeping up as he pulled me like a ragdoll.

My screams echoed, bouncing off the cold marble. No one came to help. No one even flinched.

The flight of stairs appeared before us, and panic seized my chest.

“Stop! STOP!” I thrashed harder. “You psycho—”

Viktor didn’t stop.

He dragged me down step by step, my body jolting as I barely kept from falling.

Tears burned my eyes, but I swallowed them down. I wouldn’t break.

Finally, he shoved me forward onto the cold, polished floor.

Pain shot through my knees, my palms scraping against the marble.

A harsh chuckle rang through the grand hall.

I lifted my head and met some unkind eyes.

An older woman, dressed in deep navy, a silver cane resting in her grip. Her eyes were as sharp as Viktor’s. Just as dangerous.

Her lips curled. “Loud little thing, isn’t she?”

Viktor exhaled, rubbing his temple. “She’ll learn.”

The woman tapped her cane against the floor and stepped forward. Slow. Calculated.

I tensed as she raised it—and pressed the cold silver against my back, pushing me down.

My body froze.

A smirk touched her lips. “Ah, much better.”

I trembled, rage bubbling in my chest.

Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “You’re nothing but a pet now, dear. You should behave like one.”

I wanted to fight. Wanted to tear that smug look off her face. But my body was still shaking from the pain.

“Kholodnaya suka,” (Cold bitch) I spat, panting through the pain.

Irina’s smile didn’t falter. “Oh, this one has fire.” She turned to Viktor. “Did you break her yet?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice almost… amused.

Viktor crouched beside me, his voice quiet but laced with threat.

“Try that again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

I wanted to spit in his face.

Irina’s eyes flicked back to me. “Then let’s start.”

She tapped the cane against the floor once. “Crawl.”

I froze.

“Chto?” (What?)

“Crawl, pet.” Her voice was smooth, laced with condescension.

I clenched my jaw. “I’d rather die.”

Viktor sighed, like I was exhausting him. Then his hand was in my hair again, yanking me forward.

I bit back a scream as he pulled me, forcing me onto my hands and knees.

The humiliation burned more than the pain.

Irina watched, pleased. “Good. Now she understands.”

She turned to one of the men. “Put her to work. She needs to be useful.”

And just like that, I was thrown into hell.

I scrubbed floors until my fingers bled. The scent of cleaning chemicals stung my nose, my arms trembled from exhaustion, and all the while, I could feel their eyes on me.

Viktor’s men. Some looked bored. Some irritated. But one woman looked disgusted and stood between the evil old woman.

I rolled my eyes, forcing my aching body to keep scrubbing.

By the time I was thrown back into my room, every inch of me screamed in pain.

But I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t stay here. I had to get out. Not just for me—but for Celine. For the others.

Pain pulsed through my body as I lay on the cold floor of my room. Every muscle ached, my wrists raw from scrubbing, my knees burning. But I didn’t care about the pain. Not anymore.

Because I had a plan.

For the past hours, I had observed. Every door. Every hallway. Every guard. I knew when they changed shifts, when they got lazy, when they disappeared into the kitchen for a drink.

I was going to use it.

Tonight.

My heart pounded as I pushed myself up. The small clock on the wall ticked—11:58 PM.

In two minutes, the two guards near the main exit would switch. There would be a forty-five-second window where the hallway would be empty.

That was my chance.

Taking slow, steady breaths, I crept to the door and pressed my ear against it. Silence.

Good.

The lock had already been tampered with. The loose hinge—something I had worked at earlier when no one was looking. With careful precision, I nudged it open.

No one.

Swallowing the panic rising in my chest, I moved.

Silent. Quick.

I padded down the hallway, keeping close to the walls, my bare feet making no sound against the marble floor. My breath came in slow, measured inhales.

The staircase was empty. The corridor to the side entrance? Empty.

Step after step, I passed through the shadows, undetected. I was winning.

Then—the kitchen.

I ducked inside. The heavy scent of cigars and liquor lingered in the air. A guard sat in the corner, half-asleep, a bottle of vodka in his hand. His head drooped.

I slipped past him.

The back door was right there.

My pulse raced as I reached for the handle, twisting it with trembling fingers. The night air hit my face.

I was out. I exhaled.

I clung to the wall, surveying the grounds. The garden stretched out before me, a maze of hedges and stone paths. The tall iron gate loomed in the distance.

The final step.

I darted forward, each step controlled. One mistake, and it was over.

I pressed against a statue, watching the last guard on patrol. He yawned, rubbing his face, turning his back to me.

Now.

I bolted.

The gate was getting closer. My fingers clenched in anticipation. I could almost taste freedom. I had won.

Then—

A shadow. A presence.

No.

I slowed, confusion creeping in.

Something was wrong.

I swallowed hard, the hairs on my arms standing.

And then I felt him before I saw him.

I turned. And there he was. Viktor.

Leaning casually against the stone pillar, one hand in his pocket.

Watching me.

Calm. Unbothered. As if this had been inevitable.

My stomach dropped.

How? How did he—

He tilted his head slightly. "That was impressive, kukolka.”

He took a slow, measured step forward.

Panic seized my chest. Run.

I turned—

A hand fisted my hair and yanked me back.

A choked gasp escaped my lips as I crashed against him, my back hitting his chest. His grip tightened, fingers tangling in my hair.

“You almost made it,” he murmured, his voice was like ice against my skin. “Almost.”

Terror flooded my veins

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t yelling. He was calm. And that was so much worse.

His lips brushed against my ear, his voice dangerously soft.

“But I don’t let my possessions run.”

Then—

Darkness.