Viktor(23)

“You were right,” he says with a croaky voice. “I am a monster.”





Chapter 8





Viktor





Sixteen Years ago





I open the door and bring the food into the room, silently placing it on the table.

“Thank you, Sir,” the kid says loud and clear, bowing in my presence.

I ignore it as I leave the room again. I don’t ever show my emotions in front of the servants.

It’s forbidden.

But it isn’t right. Or normal.

I’ve grown numb.

Numb from seeing the girls picked up from the streets like fucking cattle and prodded into a van.

Numb from watching them grow up in a tiny cell, being told they only live to serve.

Numb from participating, from using them, knowing full well what I was doing. And I did it anyway.

For years, I’ve helped the company grow. I say company, but they’re actually a bunch of mafia assholes selling or killing souls for other rich assholes.

And I’m one of them. The youngest bastard of them all.

We kill. We sell. We do anything to get our hands on money.

But our specialty is finding the perfect, submissive girls and training them to be dolls. Nothing more than fuck-dolls for others to use. Even boys don’t escape our grasp. There’s a kid for every sick bastard out there.

Fucking disgusting.

And still, I take part.

The other day, I brought in a girl; she was crying for her mommy while being dragged toward her new home. It could’ve been me … I’m almost the same age. But it didn’t even faze me. That’s how numb I’ve become.

We put the girls in underground facilities and train them from day one to obey.

Obey or be killed.

God, I’ve killed so many, I can’t even count them on two hands.

I’ve probably sold even more of them.

If there’s a heaven, I probably won’t ever get to see it.

So why do I do it?

I ask myself this question every single day, and the only answer I can come up with is that it’s become the norm for me. The easy route to money. As shameful as it is, I grew into this lifestyle as much as it grew on me.

I still remember being taken under my boss’s wing as an even younger pickpocket on the streets. He was a feared mobster, head of the Snatchers Division; an underground company that sold girls and boys to the richest of the rich.

I should’ve been scared of him, but I wasn’t. I was in awe. I craved his power. He was a man who could buy anything he ever wanted. Food and warm beds—as many as he wanted. I wanted all that and more … I wanted to be like him.

When I was caught red-handed after stealing from one of his guards, I thought I was a goner, but he didn’t kill me. He didn’t even touch me. Instead, he took me with him and showed me everything I wanted … Everything I could have.

He saw something in me no one else saw, so he took me in as one of his own. He taught me how to kill. How to find the girls we’re looking for. How to strike a deal, gamble, cheat, and steal. He taught me all the dirty tricks in the book, and when I was young, I thought that was actually worth something.

I thought surviving was more important, and since my boss was giving me a means to survive other than stealing, it was good.

But the more kids I saw in his filthy hands, the more bitter I became.

They were like me.

Only they weren’t me.

I was picked to be his apprentice. I became one of his best men.

They didn’t.

I was chosen. They weren’t.

It was so simple, yet it meant everything.

And at the same time, it was worthless.

Now, I don’t know what to do anymore.

I’m tired of watching my boss use kids like fodder to get more money. I’m tired of this company that has devolved from people looking for a way to survive in a harsh world to people living off other people’s backs.

We’re not doing this because it’s needed.

We’re selling kids because we’re selfish. Because we want more.

Always more, more, more. That’s what it’s about, this world … more … and it sickens me to the point that I puke nearly every day. Especially when I realize his sick plans never end.

And the sickest part about this is that our Division isn’t even the only one. There are a few Divisions specifically focused on assassinations and on dealing drugs; there’s even one for hacking, and then there’s the Tribunal—a Division that makes sure everyone follows the rules.

Even mobsters have rules.

Rules that are company-wide policy.

I doubt we’re the only ones. There must be dozens, maybe hundreds of companies just like ours.

I feel sick just thinking about it.

But it’s about to get worse.

Two years ago, Vladim decided it was time to start breeding our own servants. He thought they’d be easier since we didn’t need to snatch them off the streets, and we could raise them from the get-go. Babies. Human babies. Raised to be sold like cattle.