Pyotr spent weeks sifting information and forwarding snippets to his men with Izzy. As they tracked closer to Kuznetsov he felt he was falling behind her in the chase for vengeance but knew it would soon be over, one way or another. Though worried, he knew it was something she had to do. He only prayed she'd survive. After two weeks of silence he was feeling quite frantic until her team unexpectedly informed him they were returning. His relief was palpable, but only until they flew in. Alone! Izz had done what she'd sworn and the extended Kuznetsov family were no more but now she'd gone dark.

He was furious with his men but understood they had little say in the matter. He was also aware his behaviour was the subject of much speculation. It was the first time he'd ever refused a toy, let alone to train a cocksleeve, but his interest was only for Izz. He'd take a night with her over a month with the best trained fuckpet every single time.

Pyotr used every one of his numerous contacts and other resources to track her down but it still took weeks of frustration and worry. Eventuallly getting a lead had him rushing to the airport. He needed to see her with his own eyes! Leningrad was only 400 miles away but he was grinding his teeth before they were halfway there.

The change in her shocked him. Instead of the elegant fucktoy he knew, she seemed more like a wild creature. She was skinny, unkempt, lost in her own headspace, with an empty, blank look in her eyes. His heart broke for her. Even somebody 'accidentally' walking into her got no reaction. Reaching out to Dr Chene the options he got were limited. Either have her committed or hope she snapped out of it herself were his only choices. She sure as hell wasn't going into any psych ward in the country, not with her secrets, so that left him no choice. Within hours he had a loose cordon around her, set up on an 8 hour rotation. A couple of unkept women in similar clothing stayed nearer to her. As time passed she seemed unaware her room was paid for, that nobody hassled her.

Four months later he got the call. She'd flipped out. He got there in time to stop the men of the drinking club. He was done. Enough was enough. He took her. (see Prequel, Pt.1)

It scared him she didn't recognise him but it opened up more possibilities. He was prepared to give up everything for her but realised it was now possible to both keep her safe AND his. Midnight had been busy and quite a few people would pay a lot of money to get their hands on his ubiytsa, either to take revenge or force her to work for them. Neither would happen while he drew breath!

After all the arrangements were made he gave Izz some sleeping tablets crushed in a drink. She'd wake up in a new world, a new country. She didn't stir the entire flight, not even as the plane touched down, so she missed seeing the patchwork of fields and houses that made up much of the pretty island.

Pyotr woke her when the plane had stopped and they walked down the steps into a wet-blanket type of humidity, reminiscent of December, monsoon season in Singapore. There was nobody waiting, not even a car, which pissed him off. The family started the fucking island, had turned it into a thriving business and not sending a car was an insult he wasn't going to stand for. It was odd there was no sign of security or anybody else. His skin crawled. Pulling a gun he checked but the offices were empty. He thought about leaving Izz in the plane but she'd be alone and he wouldn’t risk it. Finally, near dusk, he got the motor of a battered work truck to start. His spidey-sense still had him on high alert but he had to find what was wrong, where everyone was.

As he drove them along the pothole covered road he saw no lights which made him more wary still. Arriving in Main Square he cut the engine and listened. A few distant screams from cunts was interspersed with insect noises and that was it. No conversation, no radio, no lights, no noise... More worried than ever he kept gun in hand as they left the car. Walking over to Main Hall he pushed the door open, unsure what he'd find.

He found a hellhole. He found a stinking nightmare. The coppery tang of blood was inescapable. He found men chained to the walls, some injured. Some fucktoys also, but mostly men. Blood and hacked body parts, mostly cocks, were on the floor. Recognising one of the men by his fragmentary clothing he started questioning him, even before freeing him, but the man needed water before he could form words. Only allowing him sips Pyotr listened, furious at what he was told.

A new group of 'tourists' had arrived for what they thought was a month of fantasy but these cunts were different. They brought guns, knives, even the odd shuriken and garotte. This wasn't an impulsive plan, it was considered, planned. They'd executed many of his soldiers, the guards and other staff in the first hours. The ones who didn't die that night were hunted over the next few days, captured and chained as he'd found them.

The 'tourists' had brazenly told the cunts they were free to do as they wished if they joined them. A lot died that night as old hatreds surfaced. Some of the now 'free' cunts used the males as fuck pigs before castrating them. Others forced weaker cunts to service their holes, flogging them if tongues and fingers weren't diligent enough. Tears and pleas just got ignored until they were too noisy, in which case a new cunt replaced the silenced one. Seeing what happened to the previous lot made the new ones extra dedicated to fucking the cunts with their fingers and fists. Men screamed as cocks were hacked at with scissors, as knives were forced into urethral openings, as their asses were fucked with whatever was handy. It was a fucking bloodbath.

Many of the cunts further along in their slavery, who understood their true place, that they were simply toys for use by strong men, had taken off. They wanted no part in revenge, in cruelty to real men, let alone to their Masters. Some had managed to save theirs, running together, hiding while these ferals hunted them down. It appeared that ammo was running low as shots were rarely heard, just screaming as they tortured and killed any they found.

Izz found food and water, caring for the men as best she could while the man talked with Pyotr. The only positive note was they hadn't thought to look for the armoury. The men had all been held thru one chain so it wasn't hard to free them. After more food and water they were itching to get to the weapons. Even the cunts were wanting guns but Pyotr wasn't taking any chances, giving them knives instead. Thankfully there were more than enough zipties to be distributed to each person. Being ambidextrous Pyotr kept a gun in each hand, another two in his belt, and his usual one hidden in an ankle holster. Izz simply carried a Twilight, several boxes of .50 ammo, zip ties, and a skinning knife in her belt. He assumed her garotte was still in her bra. He wanted to take the 'tourists' alive if possible. Interrogation then life as public use holes was their future. The ringleaders would be begging for death.