31. Diego
DIEGO
I'm not built for this world.
Her world.
If our places were switched, I have no doubt Valentina would be faring a damn sight better than I am. Maybe she already did. Maybe that's why she was in such a mess the night she threw herself into my car, determined to escape whatever was chasing her.
They let me keep my boxers, a small grace when they stripped me naked and tied me to a rickety chair with no full seat. Something that felt ridiculous at the start, but now the pressure has increased, and my back aches from keeping myself supported on wooden armrests caked in my blood.
If I let myself fall, I'm stuck in this chair and even more vulnerable.
That can't happen.
So I remain tense with my body quivering and my head hanging low between my shoulders as pain I've never experienced before racks through me from head to toe.
I thought going cold turkey was hard enough. Oddly, now, I might prefer it.
They beat me, whipped me, punched me so hard in my guts that I think I coughed up a bit of my kidney.
Three teeth throb in my lower jaw, knocked out of place by several solid punches.
They've torn fingernails from their beds, cut into my skin, drilled into my thigh with a power drill until I passed out from the agony and the grotesque sight of my flesh being chewed up with a drill bit.
Every bit feels worse than the last.
This one, though? This might be the worst of them all.
A fist lands in my hair and drags my head back, pulling hard enough that the entire chair tips back on itself. I glimpse the shadows of two bulky men darkened by the single bulb flickering above their heads, and then the water comes again.
It always comes.
A rag is slapped over my nose and mouth, then ice-cold water pours over my face, and I can't breathe.
The chill is enough to force a gasp, but all that comes through the rag is water that fills my mouth and creates a seal that I can't breathe through.
The back of my throat tenses and a gag rolls through me as I try to expel the water, but there's nowhere for it to go.
I'm drowning.
Then the rag is removed and they grant me a moment's respite of gagging and coughing the water up onto the stone floor beneath me. Then it starts all over again.
I'm not built for this life.
Seeing Tech fall down dead in front of me was horrifying. I've seen dead bodies before, but I haven't seen the death of someone I know since my brother. Tech was so cold and so motionless, so utterly quiet even as I yelled his name and then came face to face with a gun.
I didn't know the man behind it, but he knew me.
He knew the bounty on my head was good enough.
Valentina would have fought back. She's skilled like that.
Not me.
I took the blow and the darkness, almost as if it were easier to absorb than facing the death of Tech at my feet. Waking up here? This has to be the hell I know.
I lose track during the waterboarding. Sometimes, it feels like all there is is water pouring and agony in my lungs. Other times, I'm just constantly coughing and gurgling while praying for it to be over.
It's never over.
Until it is.
The chair tips forward, my head is released and flops between my shoulders, and I curl my throbbing fingers against my palms while reflexively testing the bindings around my wrists.
Nothing budges.
Heavy footsteps slosh through the water on the floor, sending bites of cold splashing up my ankles and calves. Then a door opens and closes.
I'm alone.
Alone with my pain. My knees throb from being sat for so long, my fingers throb from being ripped apart, my thigh continues to be on fire, and every breath is like scraping my lungs over hot coals.
They won't kill me.
Why?
"Diego," comes a thick, accented voice that I can't quite place, and I flinch.
I had no idea someone was still in here.
"That is your name, correct?"
What accent is that? It almost sounds Russian, but I can't quite tell. I'm hardly a well-traveled man. Lifting my head, I squint through old blood sticky on my brow from the water and glimpse a bald, burly man walking toward me from a dark corner of the room.
"Sure," I croak painfully. "That's my name." Silence doesn't buy me any favors. Maybe talking can give me a glimmer of respite?
"Tell me," he demands. "Where is Valentina?"
Ah.
The billion-dollar question.
"No idea," I reply weakly. The truth, technically. I have no idea where she is right this second or if she even noticed I was gone. Everything going on with her is so intense, and I hope her memories are her priority. She deserves her life back.
The man's fist slamming into my face is like being struck by solid brick, and my brain bounces around in my skull for a moment. Pain blinds me, and I let my head hang as I feel pain and blood drips out of my mouth. It splatters onto my thighs, a hot touch after so much cold.
"Tell us where the nosy redhead is. You two were together. We know this. Always together. Now you are alone. Tell us where you left her?"
"Wait a second," I wheeze, lifting my head and raising my hands the best I can. "Why do you even care? Isn't the bounty for me? Am I really not enough for you guys?"
Two punches this time. One from the left, another from the right. It's a wonder my face has any structure left to it given how pain spreads through my skull like a rampant fever.
"No jokes," the man snarls, and he grips the back of my head, then lifts me to face the light. "Where?!"
I grin weakly. "No clue."
This punch collides with my gut, causing bile and water to rise up like a burning wave and splutter past my bleeding lips.
"We care not for you. You are a dumb American. Easier to track. She is our target and she was with you. Now. Where?!"
I gaze up at his doughy features, struggling to commit any of it to memory. Of course they want her. God knows what she did to them, but I can't imagine it was pleasant. What they're putting me through would only be a fraction of what they would do to her, I'm certain of it.
She's home, though.
Home with her family.
Surrounded by people who love her and care for her, who can protect her much better than I can. She can get her life back and maybe, in time, come back to get revenge on these guys. But most importantly, right now, she's safe.
I have nothing at home. She was the only light in my life. I'm just a footnote on everyone else's page, living on borrowed time ever since I survived my OD. I used that time to try and save Mindy but in the end, I saved Valentina and got her back where she belongs.
That's the best use of my time I could have ever wished for.
Nothing is worth giving her up.
I have nothing worth going back to.
With a sluggish tongue, I gather the blood in my mouth and use the last of my strength to spit it into the man's face with a weak grin.
"Kill me," I croak. "Because my dying breath is the only chance you have of me ever giving her up."