66. Chapter 66
66
Leonid
B lood drips steadily against concrete, each drop echoing in the basement’s silence. Stephan hangs upside down, zip ties cutting into his ankles. His designer suit jacket lies shredded on the floor, soaking up the growing puddle beneath him.
Dim light flickers from a single bare bulb overhead, casting their twisted shadows against the cold, damp walls. The bricks here are old, stained with stories I don’t need to hear to know they ended badly. Ludis keeps his torture room meticulously efficient. He’s a madman, but his methods are disturbingly effective—and today, they’re mine to use.
Aleksei whimpers from the metal chair to my left. Most of his nails are gone, leaving raw, mangled stubs. His left ear dangles by a thread of cartilage, the rest somewhere on the floor behind me.
Ludis stands by the workbench, wiping his blade with slow, practiced strokes. The steel gleams under the harsh light as he inspects the edge.
“Leonid…” Aleksei croaks, his voice cracking like brittle glass. “Please…”
I crouch, eye-level with him now. The desperation in his eyes flickers when I get close.
Aleksei’s remaining fingers scrabble against the chair’s arms. “We can fix this. I can—”
“Can what?” I lean close enough to smell his fear. “Bring our mother back?”
Aleksei’s eyes widen, tears streaming down his face as his nose runs uncontrollably. His mangled hands tremble, blood dripping onto the floor. I lift his chin with two fingers, forcing him to meet my eyes. “My father trusted you like a brother.”
For a moment, there’s silence, broken only by Aleksei’s ragged breathing.
And with that, I slam his head back against the chair. Hard. The sickening crack echoes in the room, and Aleksei slumps, barely conscious.
I straighten and turn to Ludis. My twin. My blood. Years of hatred simmer beneath the surface, fed by lies and manipulation. I’ve imagined this confrontation a thousand times, but now that we’re here, the bitterness feels insurmountable.
I glance at Aleksei’s limp form, then back to Ludis. “He’s all yours.”
“Twelve years.” Ludis’s voice comes out flat. Dead. “Twelve years I kept her safe, hidden.” His fingers flex around the pliers. “And you thought what? That I wouldn’t tear the world apart to find her?”
Aleksei pisses himself. The stench mingles with his blood and fear.
“Please,” he sobs, “I didn’t know. Stephan said—”
“This is your fault, you sniveling little coward,” Stephan growls, his words slurring slightly from the swelling in his jaw.
Aleksei shakes his head frantically, tears mixing with the blood streaking his face. “I didn’t—I didn’t plan anything! I swear! Leonid, please…” His voice cracks as he looks at me, his swollen eyes pleading. “You know me! You—”
I crouch in front of him, close enough that he can see the disdain on my face. “I knew you, Aleksei. And then you sold me out.”
His mouth opens, but no sound comes. He knows there’s no convincing me, no explanation that will stop what’s coming. But he tries, anyway.
“Leonid, please! I—I didn’t mean for it to go this far! Stephan… Stephan made me do it! He planned everything!”
“Shut the fuck up, you spineless cunt!” Stephan thrashes against his restraints, face contorting. “This is your fault. You’re fucking useless!”
A faint smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as I stand up, ignoring Aleksei entirely, and walk toward Stephan.
“You almost had us fooled.” I circle Stephan slowly, letting my boots click against the concrete.
Stephan spits blood, missing my shoes by inches. His face has purpled from hanging, but his eyes still burn. “Fuck you, Kuznetsov.”
“The thing is—” I pause behind Stephan, my eyes tracing the crude state flag tattooed across his shoulder blades. My fists tighten, but I keep my voice even. “Your plan had flair. Kill Jake Caldwell, pin it on me. Brilliant, really—keep the Kuznetsovs tangled in bullshit rumors, then send Clara after me, hoping we’d tear each other apart.”
I flex my jaw, the muscle twitching as I drag in a breath sharp enough to cut. The urge to crush his throat in my bare hands burns like fire, every muscle in my body coiled to strike. My fingers curl, nails digging into my palms until they threaten to draw blood. I yank back my coat sleeve with a jerk, baring my wrist like it’s the prelude to an execution.
“But instead, here you are,” I snarl.
“I’m sick of listening to your sorry ass blabber on like some brain-dead dipshit with a cocksucking mouth. Just do it, you spineless fuck-knuckle.” Stephan’s spit splatters his own face, pooling at his temple as he dangles helplessly.
Ludis moves faster than the blood dripping from the ceiling. His blade flashes silver under the fluorescent lights as he seizes Stephan’s face with one hand.
“ Ty dolbanyy ublyudok . You fucking bastard.” The knife traces a line down Stephan’s chest, leaving crimson beads in its wake. “Still running that mouth?”
“AHHHHHHH!!” Stephan’s scream tears through the air, raw and primal, like the agonized wail of a dying animal. Aleksei’s sobs escalate as the blade plunges between Stephan’s ribs. Not deep enough to kill, just enough to make him dance. Stephan’s body jerks against the restraints, muscles spasming as Ludis twists the knife.
“Remember what you said about our mother?” Steel parts flesh with surgical precision. Blood mists across Ludis’s face as he works. “How she was just some stupid suka ?” Another cut, deeper this time. “Dying to protect her worthless sons?”
“Ludis.” My hand finds his shoulder. Not to comfort—to control. Stephan’s wheezing breaths fill the silence between heartbeats. “Not yet.” I lean closer, letting Stephan see the promise in my eyes. “Death’s too easy for what they’ve done.”
The blade stops just below Stephan’s heart. “Thirty-eight years.” Ludis leans in close enough for Stephan to see his own reflection in dead eyes. “That’s how long you and this piece of shit played us. Used her death like it was nothing.”
His knife traces patterns in exposed muscle.
“What’s wrong? No more clever words?” Ludis’s knife finds another spot, digging deeper. “Maybe I should give you matching ears, da ?”
“Fuck you, cunt,” Stephan hisses through blood-stained teeth. His body swings like a grotesque pendulum from the force of his struggles, zip ties cutting deeper into his ankles. Blood runs down his face, drips from his hair, pools beneath him in an ever-widening circle.
His next insult drowns in a gurgle as the movement sends fresh waves of agony through his mutilated chest. The fluorescent lights cast shadows across the mess Ludis has made of him—strips of flesh hanging loose, crimson muscle exposed beneath. Still, his eyes burn with hatred, even as his face purples from being upside down too long.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.” Maksim clicks his tongue and leans back against the wall, arms folded. “Patience, Stephan. Not everyone’s as eager to meet their end as you are.” His eyes flick to the hallway as a faint thud of boots echoes closer.
Three sharp knocks echo through the basement. Boris’s massive frame fills the doorway, nodding once before stepping aside. The hinges creak, cold air rushing in.
“What… the… fuck… is this?”
Clara strides in wearing one of my old black Henley shirts, stolen from my closet—sleeves pushed up to her elbows, too big on her frame. She’s paired it with the first things she probably found: dark jeans and trainers. Her hair’s yanked back in a hasty braid, loose strands framing a face that promises murder.
“Stephan…” she whispers.
Clara’s shoes leave wet marks on the concrete as she takes in the scene. Her throat works, swallowing hard. The sight of Stephan—her second father, her protector—hanging like slaughtered meat hits her harder than she expected. I see it in the way her fingers curl against her thighs, in how her chest barely moves with each breath.
My muscles coil, ready to move between them, but Clara needs this. Needs to see the monster beneath Stephan’s mask. Still, my hand twitches toward my holster when she steps closer to him.
“Finally.” Maksim pushes off the wall. “We’ve been waiting.”
Metal wheels creak behind her. Mitch appears, hulking and silent, his large hands gripping the back of Maxwell Caldwell’s wheelchair. The old man’s hollow eyes widen, taking in the carnage. His hands grip the armrests so tightly that his knuckles blanch, trembling as sobriety collides head-on with the brutal reality in front of him.
He looks like a man forced to confront every ghost he’d spent years drowning in a bottle to forget.
Stephan’s thrashing stops mid-swing. “Cla-Clara?” Blood sprays from his lips, painting his chin crimson. His next words drown in wet coughing that splatters red across the floor. More seeps through his shredded shirt where Ludis carved his message.
“Well,” Maksim drawls, drawing his weapon. “Looks like the rest of the family’s here.”