30. Deniz
Chapter 30
Deniz
W ell, this is quite the scene. Two vigilante crime syndicate members, their partners, a doctor, an engineer, a real estate investor, and a hit man, standing under an expanse of stars only visible from the desert, beneath the midnight moon.
There has to be a joke about this.
Clara and Charlie had let my friends know that, by joining us tonight, they’d be agreeing to a lifetime of surveillance. While Bashir had balked and Taf had looked nonplussed, Chase requested an in person monitor “if all the Costas are this hot.”
Eventually, everyone had agreed to the terms. Clara’s one stipulation was that Taf had to leave before Lev’s inevitable end; she didn’t want him compromising his Hippocratic Oath.
“We’re going to discuss how you went after one of Konstantin’s assassins alone once were done with this,” Charlie chides as he tosses a bucket of cold water over Lev.
With a dramatic gasp, Lev stutters back to consciousness, his sunken eyes wide. Despite my efforts to keep him hydrated and fed intravenously the past week, his lips are chapped and bleeding, giving him an eerie Hannibal Lecter look. That first night, Taf removed the tourniquet on his leg and splinted his knee, but I had told him not to bother doing anything more.
My friends hang back as the Costas move toward their prey, watching Lev take in the scene in front of him. The fact that he’s about to die can’t be a shock. He’s been trying to find ways to kill himself for the past few days—refusing food and water, slamming his head against the trunk of my car when I transported him here, taunting me, thinking I might get so frustrated I’d kill him myself. None of it has worked, and now he must realize the torture he’ll have to withstand.
Clara kneels so she’s eye level with him. I wince, knowing she’s pulling at her scar. But Taf removed her stitches yesterday and gave her a metric ton of local anesthetic about a half hour ago, so I’m not sure she feels anything at all.
“Am I predictable now, Lev?” she taunts, smiling widely in the face of his stoicism. I don’t know if I’ll ever completely get used to this version of Clara, so cold and lethal.
Lev is silent, but both Clara and Charlie saw this coming. Lev’s been trained to endure as much anguish as the Costa siblings, if not more. It will not be easy to break him. But we have quite a few strategies to employ.
Clara steps back, the manicured grass of the course crunching under her feet. Charlie takes her place, a long, lethal blade in his hand. He rests it against Lev’s mangled knee. I can’t imagine how much pain he’s in, especially with no medication, but he doesn’t flinch.
“Tell us how to access Konstantin’s stronghold,” Charlie demands. Lev stares him down, neither of them giving a single inch. After a beat, Charlie sighs. “Have it your way.”
He tries to contain it, but the agony can’t be muzzled, and Lev lets out an ear-splitting cry that shakes me to my bones. Through it, his bloodshot eyes stay focused on Charlie, refusing to break completely.
“Jesus fuck,” Chase whispers behind me. When I look over my shoulder, he’s turned around, his hands on top of his head.
“Charlie,” Gwen calls, bringing her husband back to the land of the living. He had plunged the knife so far through Lev’s leg that the point protruded from the other side.
If anyone was able to understand Charlie’s insurmountable rage, it would be me. Brothers seeking vengeance and all.
“Why don’t you let me handle this one,” Gwen says softly, rubbing Charlie’s shoulder as he pulls the blade from Lev’s knee. Someone retches, and we all turn to stare at Chase.
“If you need to leave, please, be my guest,” Clara announces, gesturing toward the clubhouse a few holes away. Chase keeps his back toward us but shakes his head.
“No, I’m good. Just don’t like blood.”
Clara shakes her head before raising her eyebrows at Taf.
“Not exactly do no harm , doc,” she says. It’s an offering. Giving him an out. Taf clenches his jaw.
“I am not personally doing any harm at the moment,” he hedges, staring at Lev’s wound. I wonder how much worse than this he’s seen.
Clara takes him at his word, nodding at Gwen to move forward.
She takes her time with Lev, asking simple questions and making precise cuts when he refuses to answer. Stripping layers of skin from his arm, removing his family crest from his body with the tip of her blade. Slicing through fingers so slowly that Lev’s cries become less controlled, more garbled. Eventually, Chase has to sit down and put his head between his knees. I’ve gotten better about the bloodletting after this past week, but it still makes me queasy. Who knew the redhead could be so fucking vicious?
“You’re one tough cookie,” Gwen compliments, tapping her knife against Lev’s cheek. “Maybe you’re not motivated by your own mortality. We’ve got a plan for that, don’t we, Deniz?”
I take my tablet out of the bag strapped around my shoulder, bringing up the satellite images I found of Ilya. I turn the screen around, letting Lev get a good look at how many images I have of his brother.
“You and your little brother are quite close, aren’t you? I get it,” Gwen sighs, her countenance eerily similar to Clara’s when she’s in this headspace. “I’d do anything for my little sister. But you and Ilya? It goes a bit further than that. You owe him a life debt.”
Lev breathes out slowly, staring at his brother’s face on the screen.
“Now you may be willing to die for Konstantin,” Clara says as I change the screen to a live feed of Ilya. “But are you willing to let your brother die?” He’s sleeping on a couch at a rental house somewhere in eastern Washington. How Emily knew where to look when we requested information on the Andreeva family, I have no idea. But once she gave me a few cities to hunt through, it didn’t take long to find him.
Except for the pale skin and hair, he and his brother look nothing alike. While Lev is slight and tall, like a walking skeleton, Ilya is a mountain of a man. Shorter than Lev, but much broader, with thick corded muscles. They’d look ridiculous standing next to each other.
“We know death is inevitable,” Lev chokes out, his first words the whole evening. Clara’s eyes spark, knowing she’s hooked him. He would only speak if he was affected.
“Death, sure. But pain? Much more avoidable.” All of a sudden, Clara walks a few feet away, close to the edge of the sand trap. She crouches, digging in the grass for something, before making her way back to us.
Pinched between her fingers is a pale scorpion. It thrashes in her grip, contracting and releasing its small body, trying to strike. But Clara’s grip is right above its stinger, preventing it from attacking. She holds her hand out to Charlie, who pulls a small flashlight out of his pocket. We didn’t discuss this beforehand, but Charlie is a lot more used to Clara’s style of torture than I am. He must be ready for anything.
“From this moment on,” she says, holding the arachnid beside my screen, “whatever torture you endure, know the same will happen to your brother. You choose how slow his death is. Give us the information we need, and we will be merciful with both of you. Refuse…” she trails off, clicking on the flashlight and letting it shine on the scorpion. It glows, a blue-green biofluorescence emanating from its frame under the UV light.
Clara doesn’t wait for Lev to respond. She places the glowing creature on his shoulder, and we all watch as it climbs across his collar.
He tries to shake it off, but strapped to the chair, the motion only serves to further agitate the creature, pinching and trapping it as he shakes. It plunges its tiny stinger into his neck without hesitation.
I’m not an entomologist, but I know a venomous creature when I see it.
“Clara, that won’t kill him,” Taf warns, stepping closer to the Costas. Clara doesn’t look away from her prey.
“Oh, I know,” she admits, shining the UV light into the grass. “But a dozen or so stings? For someone with that low of body weight, in his condition? I imagine the effects of the venom will be more drastic.”
Even though Taf is usually calm and observant, it’s odd to see him maintain his composure in such a violent setting. In my mind, he’s always been a pacifist. But if the hints Clara has been dropping over the past few days mean anything, Taf is even more familiar with this way of life than I’ll ever be.
Clara finds another scorpion a few feet away and drops it on Lev’s pant leg, letting the creature skitter toward his ruined knee.
“Gwen, you’re welcome to continue your work.”
But Lev is already thrashing in his seat, the venom likely compounding the pain of his existing injuries. He twists roughly, trying to throw the creature off his shoulder, his tattered shirt falling askew with the movement.
Under the pale moonlight, I almost miss it. Without thinking, I drop the tablet and grab Gwen’s shoulder to stop her from advancing toward Lev. Charlie pushes me off immediately, but I can’t hear what he says. All I can focus on is the leathery skin of Lev’s chest.
Clara’s warmth at my back is a comfort, strange as it is, as I squat so I am face to face with Lev. His eyes are bloodshot, breaths coming too shallow as he pants against the pain. I feel no empathy, no regret.
“Istanbul?” I ask, my voice surprisingly controlled considering the torrent raging inside me. I press my fingers against the burns, a scorpion skittering dangerously close to their tips. Charlie’s heavy presence joins his sister’s behind me.
“What do you…” he starts to ask, but thick silence fills the air as he stares at the evidence. The burn scars are thick, mangling the skin into tight lumps of bright white and angry red.
“How did you get those?” Clara asks, ruthless cruelty evident in her quiet question. Lev refuses to answer, breathing heavily through his teeth, perhaps hoping death will take him. But I won’t allow him to get off that easily.
“Gwen, do you mind lending a hand?” Clara asks on my behalf as I step back to give her room. Her face is blank, but there’s a hesitation in her movements as she takes her position in front of Lev. Maybe she can sense how little restraint the three of us have left. The world is starting to blur at the edges, my friends forgotten in the background as every one of my senses focuses on Lev.
It's him. He’s the reason Kerem no longer breathes. The reason my father can’t look at me fully—my face far too similar to my brother’s. The reason my mother still pays for her dead son’s cell phone, so she can listen to the sound of his voicemail. The reason I’ve contemplated any and every way to seek vengeance upon the people responsible for his death. Even myself.
Especially myself.
“Remember,” I say, picking up the forgotten tablet and stepping out of my grief. Lev has more to share before I beat the life out of him. “Everything that you endure, he will have to as well.”
I hold the feed of a sleeping Ilya up to Lev, ensuring he remembers who he’s damning, hoping he sees in my eyes he has a chance I never did. To spare his brother needless pain.
Gwen moves behind her victim, careful to avoid any stingers, and gently places the tip of her blade under Lev’s left eye.
He stares at the screen, and I can see exactly when he gives in.
“Please,” he pants, shame and dejection filling his eyes as he watches his brother sleep.
“Answer the question,” Clara demands. “How did you get your scars?”
Lev’s eyes are soulless as he looks between Charlie and Clara.
“Burning your bitch mother to the bone, that’s how,” he spits.
Gwen’s blade twitches against Lev’s face, but her soft eyes are on Charlie as he holds back his rage. Unconsciously, I reach out for Clara, lacing my fingers with hers. She squeezes, so tightly I feel my knuckles crack, and something about it is soothing. We share our rage.
A common enemy, fighting wars together. Just like I promised.
Gwen maintains her position as Clara asks her questions. Lev doesn’t give any more detail than he absolutely has to, but it doesn't seem to bother the Costas. Neither of them bother to hide their wrath, and while I know they wouldn’t hesitate to rip Lev limb from limb for striking the match that nearly killed their mother, their true hatred is aimed at a bigger target. But that doesn’t hold true for me. The man strapped to this chair is responsible for every ounce of my pain over the last two years. I’ll let the Costas get their vengeance on the one who ordered the hit—but this one is mine.
Not one day with Clara, neither before nor after the night at the bar, have I felt this level of madness. Clara’s hand in mine is the solitary thing keeping me from beating this man to death. He sings his confession to the rhythm of the slow, agonizing memory of my parents’ sobs at their dead child’s side, Kerem’s mischievous laughter, the pop and crackle of flame.
I feign composure, breathing through my nose, and imagining all the ways I could kill him. The questions go on for what seems like hours, and each time Lev seals his lips, Clara has to remind him how many more venomous animals there are in the deserts of eastern Washington.
“Was Ilya involved with the attack?” Charlie asks, making me grip the tablet harder. Another man to kill. Another life I’ll take without remorse.
This time, Lev doesn’t speak. Charlie takes a step forward, like he’s about to charge at his victim. I can’t say I blame him.
“His silence is answer enough,” Gwen says, stopping her husband in his tracks. Whatever he sees in her eyes soothes him enough to get him to agree.
Finally, Clara squeezes my hand and lets go. My vision tunnels, and I try to remember that Clara and Charlie deserve their vengeance too, but it’s difficult to remember anything as I toss the tablet aside.
“Time for you to go, doc,” she says to Taf. He looks like he’s about to argue, but something in Clara’s expression must stop him, because he nods. Chase gets up too, following Taf toward the clubhouse, mumbling about blood in the lawn mower.
“You should go, Bashir,” I say, putting my body between my friend and the man I’m about to kill. “You don’t need to see this.”
He glances over my shoulder, gaze distant, like he’s barely absorbing the scene in front of him.
“He killed Kerem?” he asks, a quaver in his voice that nearly breaks me.
All I can manage is a grim nod. If I could turn back the clock, save my brother from this, save all of us from this pain, I would. Without hesitation. Even if it would have meant never forcing myself into Clara’s life.
I would have found her. In any lifetime, whether painful or effortless, fate would bring us together.
“I wish I never learned the world was such a terrible place,” Bashir whispers, blinking back tears as he finally meets my gaze. Then he raises his voice, ensuring these words will be the last Lev hears. “He was just a boy.”
Time stands still, the sounds of the crickets and Lev’s labored breathing filling the air. I turn from Bashir and lock eyes with Clara. So much agony and empathy, understanding that exists between us, passes through our gaze. She gives me a single nod. Lev is shrouded in shadow, but the moonlight blankets my shoulders as I step in front of him.
I don’t feel a single blow. Not as I crush the fragile bones of his eye sockets beneath my fists. Not when his blood seeps between my fingers. I don’t feel a single thing until I watch the life drain from his pale gaze. And after, with Clara’s hand in mine once again, I finally feel something.
Peace.