30. Deja Who
30
Deja Who
Antonio
I’m dead.
That’s my first thought when I find myself floating in that murky nothingness between sleep and wakefulness.
My second thought stems from acknowledging that I’m not dead and wondering if I would be better off dead. Because, in my extensive experience with fuckery, whatever fuckery is going on here cannot be good.
“I think he’s awake,” a low voice mutters, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to be awake.
I roll fully onto my side, curling in on myself, only to be cued to the fact I’m naked when a warm body presses against my back. Hands stroke my chest, and I resist the urge to flinch or push the offending hands and body away. It won’t do any good anyway.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull,” I mutter tiredly. “But there’s no way you got any kind of performance out of me after the tranqs you gave me.”
I probably should be more concerned than I am, my distinct lack of concern a testament to the sheer level of horrific shit I’ve already survived. I’ve also learned from experience to give them as little reaction as possible. They hate that.
“You like that, don’t you?” a foreign voice whispers near my ear, and I grunt in response, swatting my hand back at the offending tickle on my neck.
“Leave him be,” a new voice commands, and just as quickly as the warmth was there, it’s gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, I remain on my side, eyes closed, wishing everyone would shut the fuck up and leave me to my headache.
Then, the commanding voice is back. “How does it feel to be helpless?’
“I can assure you, I am never helpless.”
The room falls silent, but for some incoherent twittering, and I take the quiet moment to sink deeper into the cool recesses of my mind while doing my best not to think about how many people are staring at my naked ass in this position.
“You will be,” the voice finally responds rather smugly. “Helpless and loving every minute of it.”
Annoyed, I roll over, coming to my feet in one motion, not giving one single fuck that I’m now standing completely bareass in front of a bunch of strangers. “Do you think I give a fuck about any of this?”
The woman behind the commanding voice isn’t quite as commanding now that I’m standing—naked or not. She frowns and moves back a few steps, but when a couple of her men move to intervene, she puts her hand up, stopping them.
“Irina Petrova, I presume?”
She nods but says nothing in response, so I walk toward her, stopping when I’m only a couple of feet from her. Glancing around the room, I push down my urge to choke the life out of her, here and now, knowing I wouldn’t get too far before someone pulled me off her.
“What do you hope to accomplish here?”
“Retribution.”
My hollow laugh cuts through the silence in the room, earning a flinch as I spit out, “Retribution for what, exactly?”
“For stealing my husband, for starters.”
I level her with a bored look, already tired of talking in circles. “I have quite a few blank spots in my memory, but I’m relatively certain I did not steal your husband.”
Irina’s scowl deepens, and, for a moment, it occurs to me that maybe I shouldn’t run my mouth while standing naked in front of an angry, unreasonable enemy. She continues to stare at me without saying anything, so I add, “Listen, you can give me all the Viagra in the world, force yourself on me all you want, but that won’t change the fact that I will never, ever actually want you or anyone who is not Lilith Ferro.”
“What the fuck is it about that bitch that has so many fucking people willing to fall on their sword for her?” Irina seethes.
“Surprisingly,” I answer easily, “she is everything humanity strives to be and fails.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Honest, compassionate, empathetic,” I explain. “And she has zero issues defending those who cannot defend themselves, even at the risk of losing her own life.”
“Maybe I’ll kill her,” Irina snarls, her eyes lighting at the idea. “Maybe I’ll make you watch.”
“That’s certainly an option,” I answer impassively. “But if you do that, you will be hunted every day for the rest of your very short life.”
She frowns, her jaw clenching at a truth no amount of arguing will change. Because even if I didn’t get the pleasure of avenging Lilith, her family wouldn’t stop until everyone linked to her passing was dead and buried.
She continues to glare at me, so after a moment, I add, “You still haven’t told me what the point of any of this is.”
“Other than long overdue retribution for all the wrongs done to me?”
I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. “If that is all, then this seems a bit overkill.”
Lip curling in disgust, she says, “People are sick of you all interfering in our business.”
“I can assure you, none of us interfere with legitimate aboveboard business. That’s not our style.”
Rolling her eyes, she states, “Did you think you could rob us of millions of dollars and get away with it?”
“Did you think you could get rich off the backs of innocent people and get away with it?”
She stares at me angrily, obviously not accustomed to prisoners who always have an answer, which means she didn’t do any real research before deciding to snatch me off the streets.
It also occurs to me that I’ve been spending way too much time around the fuck-around crew because I never used to be this mouthy.
Staring at each other silently, likely both waiting for the other to speak, we’re at an impasse. Suddenly exhausted, I turn and walk back to the mattress I was previously lying on, looking around for a sheet or towel, anything to wrap around myself. Finding nothing, I turn back to Irina. “Can I get a robe or something?”
She goes to reply, but we’re interrupted by a new arrival. An older man walks directly to Irina, whispering into her ear. Irina smiles broadly, clapping her hands as she says, “Splendid. Bring her right in.”
The man departs, and Irina turns her eyes to me. “You won’t be needing one for a while.”
“I won’t?”
“Nope,” she responds. “We’re gonna put on a show for the masses. Got a solid audience lined up already. Record-breaking turnout, I suspect.”
I frown. “What kind of show?”
“Oh, you know,” she responds quite happily. “Show a little skin, shed a little blood. The best kind of show.”
Again, I frown, though I’m sure the look I’m giving her is more haughty than angry. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Mrs. Petrova. I fear I’m not as astute as normal, given the cocktail you’ve force-fed me.
She stops smiling, her lips twisting as she explains, “We’ve got a pay-per-view video link up so people can watch the illustrious Antonio Rossi further victimized by the harlot Lilith Ferro.”
This should bother me much more than it does, a true indication to me of how incredibly fucked up I am. “And the blood?”
“Only the grand finale of the entire event.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
She gives me an impatient look, then adds, “We get to kill you, violently.”
I sigh tiredly, then mutter, “So that’s a no to the robe?
She makes an annoyed sound, taking a half step toward me before catching herself. Then she clears her throat and shakes her head, excitement shining in her eyes. “It’s showtime.”
Shit.