sofiedekker

[sofiedekker]

Text @varden-lefebvre

Sofie: I live.

[sofiedekker]

Sofie had long since given up on listening to Svetlana's insane ramblings. Or really even fighting back. All that remained as the scalpel dug into her skin over and over again was resignation. She didn't even have the energy to lift her head, let alone struggle against her bonds, and frankly she didn't want to spend whatever precious time she had left giving one second to the Russian's words.

Instead, she was back on stage, her body clad in a white tutu with feathers in her hair. Her movements were soft and beautiful, as befitting the White Swan. But, the more she danced the faster the music grew, the sharper her movements. As the variation drew to a close, she was no longer the White Swan, but the Black, hardened and tempting instead of innocent and demure. Just as she was starting to take her bow, the absence of sensation jolted her back to reality.

The blood loss had to be making her delusional. Sofie could have sworn she heard Pavel's voice. With the last bit of strength in her body, she raised her head and found herself staring directly into familiar blue eyes. Well, fuck her. Now she owed the bastard her life twice over.

They held the gaze for a moment before the exertion grew too much for Sofie and her head fell back down once more. Voices echoed around her, angry ones, judging by the tone, but they were too far away for her to make out. It was like she was in a bubble, or underwater. The last thing she felt before she fell back into the dark oblivious was a rough pair of hands undoing her bounds and hoisting her back up.

"Atta' girl," Sveta called over her shoulder, that age-old sickening grin bright, twisted...the unveiling of a monster in their true element. What was it they said? Once they got a taste of blood, it was game over. And much like Olga, who'd ruled Miami with an iron fist, Sveta always aimed to be the double of her. One in the same. "Nice to know you're still breathing -- " reaching her hand across the table to grab hold of the knife, holding it towards Vitaly. "There's no fun if you don't get to see this part."

She couldn't tell if that was defiance in the eyes as he took the blade, but under her command, he'd done what she'd asked: and that was all that mattered. She didn't need to pistol whip, or wave her cock around to get people to listen to her.

London was nothing like the place she'd left behind, and she hadn't grown to love it like she'd originally hoped. It was bland, dull, and always so grey, with the drizzle, and the fog, and then there's more rain. And yet days like this, made it all the better.

She'd been brought here for a reason.

"While Vitaly does his job." grabbing a hammer, she smiled, walking over with little care, or embellishment. "I'll keep you company, we can play a little game of truth. You answer, and I determine whether you're lying..."

Vitalys blade met skin. Torture was the highlight of her day. "Question number six," Sveta said. "Wow, little doll, are you still there? You're a little pale...what's the matter?" a cackle of laughter, a dig of knife into skin as he buried deeper, and depper. "Question 10."

....

The door to the room creaked open, and that enjoyment melted into nothing.

"What...the..." she didn't even have time to turn around, the crashing of boots against concrete rushed upon Svetlana, as a large, familiar hand encircled her upper arm, yanking her to stand. "fuck are you doing, you psychotic bitch."

Oh, he was pissed.

"Vitaly, get up her up, out and back to wherever the fuck she came from." and Sveta could've hissed, venom trapping itself inside of her racing veins, teeth bared as she watched Pavel's eyes find Sofie, that lingered a moment longer than she would've ever wanted, in any lifetime. "Now."

And just like he was told too: Vitaly scrambled into action.

[sofiedekker]

📸, 🍷, 😬, 💕

send 📸 for an instagram post about your muse

send 🍷 for a drunk text from my muse

[Sofie]: Your face is so fucking unfair. [Sofie]: You should have to wear a bag over it.

send 😬 for a worried text from my muse

[Sofie]: How are you doing? [Sofie]: I heard about the shooting.

send 💕 for a loving text from my muse

[Sofie]: I really appreciate you. [Sofie]: I feel safe with you around.

[sofiedekker]

One hour.

Seven hours.

Or was it three hours?

Time had truly lost all meaning to Sofie. At first, all she'd known was pain. And then that pain had blurred together and become her new baseline. It was simultaneously an instant and an eternity.

Sofie twitched a finger and it responded. She blinked and lifted her head slightly more to stare at her nine remaining fingers. One bloody stump remained on one hand and the more she thought, the more she realized she didn't actually remember its removal. Though, she didn't exactly remember any of the last however long it'd been. The one small mercy of her brain, she figured.

Cut a Russian symbol into her hand.

Another fucking sign that the Russians would always own her. Or at least thought they would. Oh god, how Sofie wanted to feed Svetlana Vorshevsky her own fucking fingers. Maybe that's what she'd ask for for Christmas, if she left this fucking hellhole.

"Go to fucking hell."

Over the space of twenty minutes, that was the length of time that Svetlana played with Sofie, as if she was a rag doll, easily sewn back together, as if everything she was doing wouldn't leave marks that could never be taken back. But the state of the woman was what she believed to be only phase one. Her eye, now more blood than pupil, stuck out: the mace hadn't been kind. And the paralytic they'd administered had done the job: although, she had to admit; it was nowhere near as fun when she wasn't fighting back.

An hour.

Two hours.

Five.

Nine.

At that time, Svetlana had worked like she was an artist with a paintbrush. The wreckage of her body was a show of how little she cared for human life, how little the whines of a woman trapped in her own body. Broken, bruised, cut up...a singular piece missing. Sveta carefully wrapped it in cloth, placing it into the box that was placed upon the metal tray beside her. "I know that it wore off a while ago. Are you still with us?" a cruel laugh followed, head cocking to the side as she used her arm to wipe at her brow.

A break from the headphones had only been granted, so when they were done, they could prolong it. But even Vitaly stood in the corner, uneasy in his features as he raised his chin. "Think we should take a break?"

A cutting look was all she gave him: shut the fuck up. Did I ask?

"Cut a Russian symbol into her hand...seeing as you want to question me."

[sofiedekker]

If you have no eyes left, do you think you’ll still be able to dance?

Sofie hopes you die. Slowly. And painfully.

[sofiedekker]

How’s the basement?

Fuck off.

[sofiedekker]

Sofie squirmed away from the needle on instinct, even though she had nowhere to go to escape it. For the first time since she'd come to, her eyes widened and her heart was beating hard enough to burst out of her chest. Physical restraints, she could handle. But losing control over her own body?

She breathed fast and shallow was the paralytic spread through her body. First her fingers and toes stopped responding to her furtive commands and then her arms and even her breathing became automatic. Sofie tried to move her head from one side to another, but it was useless.

There was one spot on the wall in front of her that was darker than the rest. She focused on that one spot as headphones slid over her ears. If she just stared hard enough, she wasn't in a dingy, Russian torture space, but back on a beach in Miami. Even the ear splitting music faded away as her brain did. She wasn't here. She wasn't here. She wasn't here.

"Let's begin."

There was no room for debate in her tone, and in true Sveta fashion, she dragged another metal chair across the floor as the screech filled the room. It was enough to make the toughest of men cringe.

Seeing Sofie's face, though, was enough to elicit an excitement in her. It was Svetlana's trademark, that well-known slow, predatory smile that she'd perfected when she'd been In Miami. It was reserved for times like this, the one that looked closer to someone demented rather than normal. She thinks this is about nerves? She couldn't stop the thought, especially as her head cantered to the side, blonde locks spilling with it. Breaking someone apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but to mock their sorry state was a fan favourite of hers.

And those who appreciated her work.

“Here’s the thing about nerves...they won't last long once my work begins.” A couple of minutes later, a metal tray was wheeled in by a masked individual. Vitaly was already here, standing in the corner now, because she'd asked, and she was thankful for the friendship that'd brewed there over time. His brother, though...she'd failed to mention to her beloved Pavel their whereabouts for the evening.

Motioning toward Vitaly, who pulled a glass bottle from the tray, followed by a needle began the process for her. The faint clink of tools inside stirred Sveta alive: she needed it...that anticipation, the power.

“You don’t need to beg. Not yet, anyway. We’ll save that for later.” looking down at the syringe, she gave it two distinct flicks as liquid spurted from the end. "This will paralyse you, just for a little bit...so you'll be awake...just so I can make sure you feel every ounce of what I do..." tuts leaving from between her lips. This woman had no fear, or was falsely portrayed as so...either way, it only made her want to play more. How far could she go?

"Sorry," though her tone held no remorse, as she pushed the needle into her skin, watching the clear liquid disappear just below her pale skin... "and under she goes, down and down and down..." She only waited a beat. "Headphones." holding her hand out as the wireless Bluetooth beats found her hands, glancing over to Vitaly. "Did you choose something fantastic? Ear bleedingly so?"

"Oh, just you wait and see." Vitaly grinned in response, watching as Sveta placed them over her ears with a blossoming grin, making sure it couldn't be shaken from her head, she gave Sofie's face an aggressive shake. "Ready?" Vitaly called.

"Ready."

And the blaring Skrillex, top volume filled her ears. The rule was they'd blast the same, 10-second piece of music on repeat for hours while they worked on her body. At some point, they'd blindfold her. And then they'd turn it off...and every time she looked like she was about to fall asleep...they'd turn it on again.

Rinse and repeat. Over and over.

"Right...now, where did we put the mace?"

[sofiedekker]

"Time… is only valuable if you have something to lose."

There was no hiding the scoff that left Sofie's lips. Svetlana Vorshevsky really was daft enough to think she had anything left to lose. For a mob with such an imposing reputation preceding them, they really were one trick ponies.

"I think you guys need to learn a new song and dance. You really think I've never been humiliated before? Please, I already have one brand thanks to your little besties. I've already been tortured, had my freedom taken. And I know people barely leave the basement alive the first time, let alone the second."

She was raving like a mad woman, but what did it even matter? Crying and pleading wouldn't change anything. At least with defiance she got some entertainment on her way off the earthly plain. And clearly it was already getting to the Russian. Good.

Truthfully, Sofie was starting to tune out the little Bond villain monologue going on, only to be brutally brought back to reality by a fist slamming into her nose. Sharp pain hit her face and the metallic tang of blood lingered in her sinuses.

"Clearly I hit a nerve."

Kicking her foot out, her heel connected with her chair, the screech loud.

"Such a prissy little bitch."

Sofie wouldn't submit, it seemed...never could just bow like the others. It awoke a beast inside of Sveta that had long slept in hibernation. Circling around like a predator watching its prey.

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that." looking to the door where Vitaly stood, watching. He wasn't a servant, he was here willingly. And for that, she'd be forever grateful. The fact that Pavel didn't know...well, she'd deal with it later. "Time… is only valuable if you have something to lose." Stopping behind the chair, close enough that Sofie should've felt breath on her neck. "I’m here to make sure you understand exactly what you stand to lose."

There was no fear there. Not yet.

"You think you’ve got nothing left to give? Nothing left that matters?" a pause, the sound of the monotone dripping, the warring of a fan in the distance and the grunts of an old building moving: the basement was the perfect place for the manifestation of what she'd wanted.

A torture chamber.

"You see...the difference...Sofie," her hand reached up, running through blonde hair, until she grasped at the root and tugged as hard as humanly possible. "I have all the time in the world — I get to show you just how accommodating we are to those that join us in the basement for a second time."

A silent signal, the jut of her chin.

"You used pepper spray on me..." she confirmed, a nod of her head --- she looked almost impressed. "I thought we'd experiment with the one eye you've got left...find out how it feels." Slowly, that was how she planned it. Whispering "And when we're left alone...I'm going to show you what it feels like to be humiliated."

Releasing her hair, she walked around to the front of Sofie and without another word, the draw back of her fist, landed directly to the nose.

[sofiedekker]

There was something almost free about knowing you were going to die. The sense had clung to Sofie's skin, her very essence, since the first time she'd escaped torture at Russian hands. So far, the experience was much the same. Concrete room, metal chair, no sunlight whatsoever. Was this special training they underwent when they joined the Russian mob?

You were lucky to leave the Basement once. Few that she knew of left it a second time. Her end wasn't going to be pleasant, but she'd been granted over a decade of freedom that she never dreamed possible. And what could Svetlana Vorshevsky really threaten her with? A death that was practically inevitable? Torture that would eventually lead to sweet oblivion?

Sofie took her sweet time raising her head to look at the other woman, her own sardonic smile spreading over her lips. "On the contrary, I have nothing but time now."

FOR: @sofiedekker WHERE: The Basement.

Svetlana had been here before.

Lisette, prior to this...adventure, had sat in that very chair. While that had been more business related, this time...it was personal. It might've been absurd to some, but once Sveta got something in her head, it wasn't going anywhere. Not unless she dealt directly with it head on. Images of Pavel, and...her. It might've been a thing of the past, and had they not crossed paths -- she would've never thought about this woman again?

But in the same city? There were some chances Sveta would never take.

Pavel was hers.

Heels clicking against concrete, she peered down at the woman before her, hair matted, tied to a rusted-metal chair in the center of a near-concrete room. It was her favorite setting: the loss of time, and the loss of sunlight was always an added favorite of hers. Off in the distance, the sound of water could be heard dripping against a metal pipe: the smell of damp stuffing itself up her nose.

"Wake the fuck up," Sveta snapped a moment later. "You don't have all day." a sardonic smile slipping over nude painted lips.

[sofiedekker]

There was one brief, solitary moment of hope.

The alley exit was just in front of her. If she could just run fast enough then she could alert the neighborhood before they could grab her.

A solid pair of arms wrapping around her midsection and pulling her close to his body crushed those hopes into the dust. Sofie wiggled and kicked frantically in a vain attempt to stun her attacker enough to drop her momentarily. A hand closed over her mouth before she could scream and Sofie bit down on a finger as hard as she could. A morbid thought about a finger only taking the same force as a carrot to bite through crossed her mind but she pushed it out as soon as it entered. There was no time to freak herself out out.

Sofie's eye widened as Svetlana walked up to her. She wasn't delusional enough to think she had a chance of walking out of this situation alive. Not a second time. Strangely enough, that thought was more freeing than anything. What did it matter what they did to her when she was meeting the same inevitable end anyways? She bit down on the hand once again and a feral grin spread across her lips when her captor pulled his hand back.

"You can rot in hell. I'm sure I'll be seeing you there soon enough."

One minute, she could see, and the next she couldn't.

Everything erupted in blinding pain. A bellowed scream fell from parting lips. The pepper spray hit her, searing her vision. She shot up to wipe her eyes, a mistake as she groaned, kicking her foot out in frustration. "That fuckin' little shlak." But even through the pain, she was furious now, and that anger quickly transformed into that same, be-known cold, calculating determination that had plagued her in Miami.

And now, what would've been simple fun for Sveta.

Was a personal fucking vendetta that had just gone from 600% to around 90%. She had the fight in her, at least. It'd make this so much more interesting, especially when she got her hands on that pretty blonde hair.

“Fuckin' go after her, you dunce” blinking rapidly, trying to clear her vision, she yelled. Igor didn’t need telling again. That giant of a man was already stomping down the street (his size didn't help with speed, but that man could move).

"Fuccccck." She yelled, as her hand found a bottle of water, and she tipped it over her face. However, her vision began to clear, even though the burning remained. Enough to see Sofie sprinting down the alley, the flash of her pale coat against the dark bricks, and stingy off-yellow lights. Svetlana smiled—grim, predatory. The chase was on, bitches.

And Igor was closing in.

“Vitaly, pull up behind him so he doesn't have to wrestle with her,” she barked.

It took Igor only a minute until his hands were grasping her mid-section and hauling Sofie into the air as if she weighed little more than a handbag. And as the car rolled to a stop, stepping out, as she peered through squinting eyes, Svetlana practically bared her teeth.

One massive hand pressed over Sofie's mouth, the other wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. The girl might try fighting, but it was useless. She was no match for Igor’s strength. Not even Svetlana could take a man off his statue. And Sveta packed one hell of a punch. She much preferred torturing people than fighting them, though.

Svetlana approached slowly, wiping the last of the pepper spray from her eyes as she took in the sight. “Shh,” she cooed, taking a step closer. Hell lived inside this woman. “You really shouldn’t have tried to run — and the pepper spray...we might have to test that on you. Prolonged use...it'd be great for science.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Thanks for the idea, darlin'. With the one you've got left, you might've wanted to stray away from that particular area...don't you think?"

Sveta hated this cunt.

“You’ll learn soon enough." She turned her head to Vitaly, who was looking between the two. "Get her in the car. I want to go." looking back to Sofie once more. "Unless you wanna do this right here..." sarcasm dripping from her tone.

[sofiedekker]

How's it going with Svet?

How do you think it's going?

[sofiedekker]

Who would win in a fight to the death for Varden, Sofie or Ayda? xoxo

Sofie.

Easily.

[sofiedekker]

Sofie was ready to go home, fall into bed, and sleep for twelve hours. It was the part of night that blurred into morning and darkness surrounded her as she stepped out of Vixen and onto the street. She had the next two days off and she intended to barely leave her couch for both of them.

One hand curled around her phone while the other held her trusty pepper spray, just as she did every night when she left Vixen. Even when you thought you were safe in London, you weren't. The car pulling up in front of her and opening to reveal Svetlana Vorshevsky only proved her point.

Sofie scanned the street for any possible way to duck or weave away from the Russian woman. She pulled the pepper spray out of her purse and sprayed it directly in Sveta's face before taking off running to the nearest alley. Thank god she was wearing sneakers. Her other hand hit the emergency dial keyed to Varden's number. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," she muttered under her breath. Part of her wanted to look back and see if the Russian was following, but she kept her gaze focused forward as she ran.

FOR: @sofiedekker WHEN: August 24' (End) WHERE: Vixen.

Svetlana watched them from the back seat of the black sedan, the rain rapping like a hum in the otherwise deafening silence. For a woman who showed little to no emotion, this was probably the most emotionally charged decision she'd ever made. Olga would be turning in her grave if she could see her daughter.

It looked like a slip of power because it was.

This plan had been in motion for weeks, like a ticking time bomb in her mind. It was unreasonable jealously, unreasonable rage. She couldn't feel anything else, and she never really did. Indifference was a word better suited to her in the "other times" she found herself living. Everyone was positioned exactly where they needed to be. Vitaly parked a few blocks away, engine idling, ready and waiting. He was reliable because he didn't ask questions. She knew he wouldn’t question her orders—he never did. She liked that about him. But Vitaly wasn’t the one who would be getting his hands dirty tonight. That honour was reserved solely for her.

He knew nothing of what they were doing. That way Pavel couldn't bring down hell upon his shoulders.

Igor stood at the alleyway’s edge, waiting for her signal. A high whistle, just as she'd used in Miami to signal incoming orders. He was a brute of a man, his size alone enough to intimidate even Sveta. Which was a rare occurrence.

It wasn’t about sending a message to the French, although that would certainly be a much-appreciated side effect. Especially gaining favour with the Rutherfords — which they needed right now. No, this was far more personal. Svetlana’s lips curled into a smile as she thought about the pretty face that had once captured her husband’s heart. A heart that now belonged to Svetlana, or at least, what was left of it.

Pavel was hers.

Svetlana had never been one to share. Not wealth, not power, and certainly not love. So when the back entrance opened, they moved. Igor moved. The car rolled close and she smiled like she'd set eyes upon her prey.

"Sorry, you might've not saw this coming — y'know, one eye and all."

[sofiedekker]

Sofie: It's good. I just got back from some much needed sun and relaxation in Crete. Sofie: How about you?

text: @sofiedekker

Maria: Hey babe Maria: How's it going?

[sofiedekker]

Sofie hadn't meant to stare. In fact, her brain was screaming at her body to get away as fast as possible and find Varden or Jean, or any of the French. But, Vitaly looked enough like his brother that her eyes and her body betrayed her.

What she would do if it was Pavel there, Sofie didn't know. The love she once felt evaporated away in the safety of Utrecht, where time and freedom made it clear that even if he saved her, he still played a role in keeping countless women captive in the same way. And yet, Pavel was achingly, nostalgically familiar.

Unfortunately, Pavel was nowhere to be seen and his bitch of a wife noticed her. Sofie held her head straight and put on the best apologetic smile she could manage. "Sorry, I thought you guys were someone else."

FOR: @mobscene-starters WHERE: Italian Food Festival.

Water sloshed with each step, two barrels being carried behind Sveta. Keeping her shoulders back, she attempted to keep her features stoic and withdrawn. Click clack went her heels against dusty, cracked concrete. This place held no hope. Windows were non-existent. And in the centre of the room sat Lisette.

That hadn't been too long ago, and yet Pavel had advised her not to come here. Well, to be honest, he'd outright told her she wasn't coming to an "Italian-filled festering pit of hell" — she thought maybe he was being overly dramatic, but what the hell. The second he'd been tending the Tasmanian devils that were their children, she'd slipped out the door without so much as a word. It was reckless, something she'd been coined for early on.

So as she walked through the crowd, Vitaly was four steps behind, looking like someone had slapped with a wet fish. She walked past each stall, and activity. The streets filled with people all around, her hands brushing over items as she passed occasionally. Being here though, had its intentions.

"I can see you staring," Svetlana purred, catching the eye of someone through the crowd, head tilting like a predator watching its prey, the corner of her lips curling cruelly. "Were you ever told that was rude, or do you people have no manners?" Maybe she'd gauge their eyes out just to teach them a lesson. It's something Olga might've appreciated in her hell-fire rein in Miami, just as Sveta attempted to replicate.

[sofiedekker]

"The Netherlands lost to England, so I understand your pain," Sofie gestured to the story as she stepped to the side to allow Varden unfettered access to the sun once again. She opened her mouth to speak again, but no words left her mouth as her eyes settled on the story on the next page.

An idle part of her brain wondered if one of the dead Russian gangsters was Pavel. An even larger part of her brain found she didn't care one way or another. The distance of a decade did wonders for letting reality settle in. She loved him once upon a time, but that didn't change the fact that he was complicit in her captivity, only helped her get free because of a soft spot, abandoned her, and no doubt helped keep countless other women in the same position she was once in.

Instead, Sofie helped herself to the free seat across from Varden as a smile spread across her lips. "I see pest control is in effect in Haringey. The city needs it."

@mobscene-starters Location: Idk some French ass café in Kensington. Date: 10/7/24.

France knocked out of the Euros in the semi finals. Brutal news. Two Russian gangsters ate lead outside of a bar in Haringey. No civilians injured beyond the trauma of watching them bleed out. Much better news.

The man flicked through his newspaper idly, skipping right over the French national team being a hot mess, and instead focusing on the scarce details of what had happened to those he could only hope were Vorshevsky's men. The sun was shining, the bread was good, and the city was rid of two more scumbags. Only thing that could've made it better was if he'd pulled the trigger himself.

Suddenly, the rare stream of British sunlight was blotted out by a figure hovering nearby. Perhaps, had he ignored them instead of indulging in his curiosity, they would've just pissed off and left him alone. Alas...

"Sunshine is rare here. I'd appreciate it if you stopped blocking out mine."

[sofiedekker]

"Really, Olivier, if that's the kind of welcome I get, I'll just leave you to drink alone." Sofie flagged down the bartender and ordered a Sidecar before turning in her seat and facing Olivier. Truly, running into him here was a coincidence, but who was she to turn down the company of the French?

Though, for once the French might be turning down her company. There was a first time for everything.

"Now, what's got your panties twisted into a bunch?"

FOR: @mobscene-starters WHEN: July 24' WHERE: The Shard, Southwalk. GŎNG. Int. 52nd floor.

The past few months had been harder than he'd experienced in the years since he'd joined the French Organization, and by his maths, that was a long fucking time ago. This was beyond that of small fuck ups, because that one had been monumental. Olivier had caused things that he could never take back. The only difference this time was he hadn't let it drag him under. The guilt ate him live with every breath he took, but the mask that he wore was solid. Unmoving. Unflappable.

Instead, he'd buried himself in work — and come his hours off. When he wasn't being a father, he hunted.

His actions may have been unredeemable to some, but Olivier wasn't willing to accept that. Especially when the stepping stones for his career jump were beginning to align. Tonight was a prime example, sat the bar located in the Shard. It'd been a quick meeting, and unfortunately for him, he'd learnt nothing more than he'd known an hour ago: his bank account, however, was a lot lighter after this fruitless trip.

However, the shuffle of his seat had him casting a side-long glance.

"Fuckin' hell," Olivier barked a laugh. "No matter where I go — you just seem to pop up."