CHAPTER 5 #2
Sven sneers. "You got a problem with the lady, Torv?" Leon’s voice drops a fraction of an octave, turning instantly lethal.
"Just wonderin' if she's got the stomach for it," Sven mutters, turning back to Russo.
Leon physically maneuvers me. He steps right up behind me, acting as a massive wall between my back and the steel door.
He shoves me forward until I am standing exactly three feet away from Russo's chair.
His broad chest presses flush against my shoulder blades.
His right hand is still anchored to my neck, and his left hand comes around to grip my waist, his long fingers digging brutally into the fabric of my blazer.
He is turning me into a captive audience, using his own body to keep me upright and perfectly centered on the violence.
"Stay right here, Claire," Leon commands, using my undercover name like a weapon. "I want you to see everything."
I try to turn my head.
"Don't look at me," he snaps, his grip on my waist tightening painfully. "Look at him. This is what happens to people who lie to me."
Leon gives a microscopic tilt of his head.
Sven doesn't hesitate for a fucking second. He pivots and delivers a short, devastating hook directly into Russo’s exposed ribs.
The sound makes me want to vomit. It’s a wet, muffled crack that vibrates straight through the floorboards into the soles of my shoes.
Russo’s scream is cut off instantly as his lungs are robbed of air.
His body seizes against the plastic zip-ties, and the heavy metal chair skids a few inches backward on the concrete with a harsh screech.
My eyes dart wildly to the door, my pupils blown wide.
Every single hour of federal training I have is screaming at me to execute a takedown.
Duty to Intervene. It’s muscle memory to draw a weapon, issue a command, and neutralize the threat.
My shoulders twitch as I actively fight the urge to throw an elbow backward into Leon’s ribs.
Leon feels the tension coil in my muscles immediately. He knows exactly what I’m fighting.
He leans down, his face pressing so close to the side of my head that his rough stubble scrapes against my cheek. "You want to help him, don't you?" he whispers, his voice a dark, mocking purr right into my ear.
His grip on my neck tightens just a fraction. A silent warning.
"Where's your badge now, Alessia?" he taunts. "Does the FBI teach you how to watch a man break?"
Sven winds up and delivers another blunt-force blow, this time catching Russo flush across the cheekbone. Russo’s head snaps back violently. A fine mist of blood sprays across the floor, and a few warm, red droplets catch on the toe of my shoe.
Russo begins to sob. It’s a pathetic, wet, gurgling sound that completely guts me.
"Please... Leon..." Russo begs, gasping for breath. "I didn't say anything... I swear to God... I have a family, please..."
He's lying to save his skin. I know he’s the one who gave up the shipment at the docks last week. But seeing him chained to a chair, crying through a shattered jaw, makes the logistics of his guilt totally irrelevant to the horror of what's happening.
I stare blankly as the drop of blood slowly soaks into the porous leather of my right shoe. I can't even move my foot away.
"Liars always talk about their families at the end," Leon says coldly.
I can't take it. The hypocrisy is suffocating me. A man is getting beaten to death for being a rat, while the actual federal agent who typed up his ruin is standing two feet away, protected in the arms of the boss.
I try to bow my head. I fix my gaze on a jagged crack in the concrete floor, squeezing my eyes shut for a second too long. My eyelashes are wet with unshed, furious tears. I just want to mentally retreat. If I don't look at it, I'm not an accessory. If I don't see his face, I'm still a good guy.
"Don't look away," Leon orders.
I keep my eyes on the floor.
Leon’s fingers dig sharply into the nerve clusters at the base of my skull.
With a sudden, forceful jerk, he snaps my head up, forcing my chin toward the ceiling until my line of sight is dead-centered on Russo’s pulverized, bleeding face.
I let out a small, broken gasp, my breath hitching in my chest.
"The floor isn't going to save him," Leon says, his voice devoid of any mercy. "This is your world now, Alessia. Witness it. Every drop of it. You wanted to know me? This is me."
Sven steps back from the chair and reaches for a rusted metal tray sitting on a small utility table. He picks up a pair of heavy, stained pliers. He tests the tension on the hinge. Clink-clink.
The metallic echo is a fucking death knell.
Russo sees the tool and completely loses his mind. He starts thrashing wildly in the chair, his muffled, wet screams pitching up into an animalistic wail. The screech of the chair legs against the floor is deafening.
My knees actually go weak. The transition from a beating to outright mutilation is a line I can't watch someone cross. My stomach violently churns, sour bile rising fast in the back of my throat. I lean slightly backward, my body betraying my pride as I seek the solid anchor of Leon’s chest to keep from collapsing.
"Let's see if he talks better without a few teeth," Sven growls, stepping into Russo's space. "Hold him steady, Russo. It only hurts if you fight it. Should I start with the molars, Boss?"
In a moment of sheer, terrifying clarity, Russo stops thrashing. His one unswollen eye focuses past Sven, locking directly onto my face.
The recognition hits him like a lightning strike.
He remembers me. He remembers Claire from the front office. And in his desperate, fractured mind, he sees an out. He sees a civilian.
My mouth parts slightly. A silent, desperate 'No' forms on my lips, but my vocal cords are paralyzed.
"Claire..." Russo gurgles, choking on his own blood. "Please... you know me... tell them... please help me..."
He just armed the bomb. If he outs my real identity to Sven right now to save himself, Sven will put a bullet in my head before Leon can even blink. If I speak up to stop it, I blow my own cover and confess to being the rat.
"She can't help you, Russo," Leon says softly.
Leon isn't looking at the man in the chair. He is staring at the side of my face, watching every single micro-expression register on my features. He sees the panic. He sees the moral collapse. He pulls me backward against him, pulling me flush against his hot, heavy frame.
He springs the trap.
"He’s asking for your help, Alessia," Leon whispers. "Tell him the rule. Tell him what happens to rats in my house."
The silence in the room drops like an anvil. Sven pauses, pliers hovering inches from Russo's mouth, looking back at us with pure malice.
"Say the words, and let Sven get to work."
If I say it, I cross the line. I stop being an agent held captive and become an active participant in a syndicate torture session.
I legally and morally murder my own soul.
But if I don't say it, Russo talks, and I die on this concrete floor.
Trenton abandoned me. The Bureau doesn't know I'm here. There is no cavalry.
My hands stop shaking. A cold, absolute stillness washes over my limbs, freezing out the panic and leaving behind nothing but the crystalline, jagged edge of survival.
I look directly into Russo's pleading, desperate eye. I swallow the bile.
"There is no help for you here," I say. My voice sounds hollow. It doesn't even sound like me. "You broke the rules, Russo."
"Claire, no—"
"Rats bleed," I state flatly, staring right through him.
The hope in Russo’s eye extinguishes instantly. His jaw drops open in pure, unadulterated shock. His final plea dies in his throat as he realizes the woman he thought was a lifeline just handed the executioner the axe.
"Again, louder," Leon commands, demanding total submission to the bit. "Let him hear his future."
"Rats bleed," I say, louder this time, my voice bouncing off the acoustic foam.
Leon lets out a low, dark chuckle. The vibration of his twisted pride rumbles straight through his chest into my back.
His grip on my neck finally relaxes. His large hand slides around to the side of my face, his thumb gently tracing the sharp line of my jaw in a possessive, sickening gesture of approval.
He leans down and presses his lips to the top of my head.
"Good girl," he murmurs against my hair. "I knew you had it in you. You're finally starting to see clearly."
I am sick to my stomach, entirely hollowed out, and the absolute worst part is the pathetic flare of gratitude my broken brain feels because he’s pleased with me.
Sven doesn't need another invitation. He steps forward, his massive shadow completely engulfing Russo.
As the pliers meet bone and the first horrific, tearing scream rips out of Russo's throat, my knees finally give out. I just shut down. I would have crumpled straight to the bloody concrete if Leon wasn't there.
He catches me effortlessly. Both of his powerful arms wrap tight around my waist, pulling me backward into him, locking me upright against his chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head back against his shoulder as the wet crunching echoes through the small room.
"Don't fall now, Alessia. You're just getting started," Leon says, his grip unyielding. "I've got you."
I stand there, held up by the monster who broke me, listening to a man get dismantled on my word. There was no badge left to save me. Just a basement, a pair of rusted pliers, and the stark reality that I belonged to the man holding me up.