Chapter 8 Ruslan
RUSLAN
Igrit my teeth and relax my shoulders as the next fist flies toward my face and makes contact, sending my head snapping to the right. Hot pain explodes through my jaw and another spurt of blood rises across my tongue as my assailant laughs and shakes his hand.
“Fuck,” the man laughs. “You hurt my fucking hand with your teeth, you dick.”
Before I can respond, he punches me again with his other fist on the opposite side of my face and the back of my neck aches. Teeth shake within my mouth and my head hangs low.
Ow.
How long have I been here? It’s difficult to keep track. Ivy and I were snatched right outside the hospital. When I realized I was going down, I tried to contact the others, but I’ve no idea if the signal went off on time. A hard kick to my temple knocked me out like a light and I woke up here.
A dark, damp room with a single lightbulb above my head and enough shadows to keep me guessing how many attackers are in the room. Simple but effective tactics.
Surviving is easy. Taking a few punches and lost teeth is even easier.
Living until I find out where they took Ivy? That will be harder.
I wait for another blow that doesn’t come. When I lift my head, my attacker has melted back into the shadows of the room, so I swirl my tongue around my throbbing mouth and gather all the blood there. The moment another man steps forward, I spit at him with all my strength and he yells.
“Ugh! Fucking hell, that’s disgusting!” His alarm is amusing, but the crack of his fist against my already weak jaw is less so.
“God,” I groan softly. “Is that all we’re going to do? Just swap around and deliver a few punches here and there?” My head sags back and I grin up at the lightbulb. “You fuckers are losing your creativity, that’s for sure.”
“Our creativity?” Out of the shadows melts one of them I recognize from the street. “You don’t know shit about creativity.”
I make noises under my breath, making it sound like I’m speaking but nothing coherent or loud.
“Huh?” The dude squints and leans forward. “Cat got your tongue?”
Soon as he’s close enough, I throw my head forward and headbutt him on the nose.
It crushes on impact and it’s well worth taking the hell of blows that rain down on me afterward.
Fists against my jaw, in my gut robbing me of air.
Something solid slams down against one knee and then finally, they get creative when one uses his belt to wrap it around my neck.
He pulls it so hard that my back teeth cut into my tongue.
It’s not my first rodeo, but time is of the essence.
“Not laughing now, are you?” one spits in my ear as he tightens the belt and robs me of what precious little air I was able to snatch between my teeth.
My heart pounds loudly in my ears, deafening me as my lungs burn and my throat fights with itself, trying to gag to dislodge something that isn’t there.
The belt grows so tight that I see my own heartbeat pulsing in the edge of my vision and my limbs twitch against the restraints keeping me bound to this chair.
Is he going to kill me?
Does it really end here?
What about Ivy?
Poor Ivy.
“Don’t kill him, you fucking idiot,” comes another distant voice, and after the sharp impact of flesh against flesh, the belt slackens.
I drag in a desperate gasp of air. Then another and another. Each one is raw against my throat so I cough and gag, hacking up mucus and spit while gagging on desperate breaths.
“Fucking hell.” The man from the street stops in front of me, then he grasps my damp chin and jerks my head up to the light. “You gonna tell us what family you’re with?”
“Or why the fuck you’re around that fucking bitch,” snarls the second man.
My attention slides to him. “Watch your fucking mouth,” I croak.
“I didn’t say you could speak to him, you piece of shit!” The first man suddenly slides into my lap and presses the blade of a knife just under my ribs. As he leans forward, the tip pierces into my body and I grit my throbbing teeth.
“He asked me a question,” I croak. “I answered.”
The blade slices deeper and deeper until throbbing, burning heat radiates across my chest. “Family. State it, now.”
I narrow my eyes and grunt through the pain. “Fuck. You.”
He retracts the knife and stabs me again, this time lower in my abdomen, and a grunt of real pain escapes me. As he pulls back, warm blood spreads through my shirt while I pant.
“Maybe he needs a little incentive,” says the second man.
“Or maybe he knows nothing,” comes a third, bored voice. “Look at him, he’s nothing but a pretty boy. Hired muscle. The girl will talk once we’re done with her.”
Ivy. I seek out the third voice in the dark and when our eyes meet, he smirks at me.
“Maybe I’ll fuck it out of her. I hear it runs in the family. Though I bet her pussy is sweeter than her mother’s.”
My hands curl into fists and I strain forward, ignoring the man in my lap. “I’m going to kill you,” I hiss. “I’m going to kill you so slowly that you’ll be begging me long before it’s over.”
“Shut the fuck up,” snarls the man in my lap, and his blade slices clean across my abdomen.
I yelp and jerk my chin out of his touch, gather the next mouthful of blood leaking from the cuts inside my mouth, and spit in his face.
Even as he explodes in a rage and repeatedly punches me until I’m dizzy, it’s somewhat calming. As long as they’re busy with me here, they’ll leave her alone.
“S’that all you got?” I ask as blood drools like a fountain from my lower lip.
“Nah,” snarls the man in my lap, and he fists one hand into my hair. “I’m just getting started.” He climbs off me after a light snap, flips his knife around, and starts cutting my T-shirt off with little care to how the blade cuts into my skin.
Water sloshes behind me, along with the ding of metal against metal while the last man, the one who threatened to fuck Ivy, remains steadfast, watching me. He smirks coldly, but just as his lips part to speak, he hesitates and his brow lifts.
“The fuck is that?”
“The fuck is what?” asks the man behind me dealing with the water.
“That. On his chest.” He walks forward and shoves away the man with the knife, then points at my chest. “He’s got a tattoo.”
“We’ve all got tattoos,” snarls the knife-wielding maniac.
“No, look at it, you fucking idiot.”
All three men merge in front of me and stare at the small tattoo on my left pec. It’s a four-sided diamond with a small capital A woven into the top of the diamond.
“So he’s got a diamond tattoo?” The knife man sneers. “It’s fucking shit.”
“It’s the Ace,” says one, a damp cloth dangling from one of his hands.
“Nah,” says the man I’m going to kill. “He ain’t the Ace. What are you, some fucking fan or something?”
“No,” says the cloth man. “That’s the Ace tattoo. I know it!”
“Bullshit,” says the knife man. “The Ace is some old man in his sixties who smokes like a chimney and never goes anywhere without that old bulldog of his.”
The knife man is correct, to an extent. The old Ace was sixty-three and desperate for retirement when he was given his cancer diagnosis. He melted into the background of life when I took over six months ago, so my face is fresh to most.
“Tell him,” the knife man demands, brandishing his blade. “Tell him you’re not the Ace.”
I remain silent, watching them through a slight daze.
Cloth man suddenly spins on the spot and darts into the shadows.
When he comes back, my wallet is in his hands, and he pulls out the biometric ID card that tells the world I can do what I want, go where I want, and no one can say shit.
Even in this dull light, the ACE symbol matching my tattoo will be easy to see.
“Dude,” the cloth guy gasps. “He’s got the fucking— dude, we’re in so much shi—”
His head explodes in a fountain of blood and gore, making his two companions jump out of their skin. The cloth falls from his hand, he takes a single step, and then he crumples to the ground like a balloon rapidly losing all its air.
The other two men scramble for their guns but a familiar, cold voice cuts through the air.
“Do it,” she says. “Pull out that gun and let me rob Ace of the kill he wants so badly.”
She steps forward, melting out of the dark, and just behind her, the door lies open and framed by the men she brought with her.
“Queen,” gasps the knife man, and he instantly drops the knife.
Valentina keeps her silver handgun trained on him and glances down. “Pick that up,” she says coldly. “And untie him. And then you’re going to spend the next hour telling me why the hell you’ve drawn blood from a member of the Fifth Suit.”
I keep my attention locked on the man who threatened to rape Ivy. He takes a half step back but it’s too late. The second the ropes are free from my wrists and ankles, I launch myself up from the chair and tackle him down onto the stone floor sprayed with my blood.
Pain is a distant thought. Even the throbbing ache from my knife wounds fades as adrenaline surges through me and I seal both hands around his throat like a tight noose and squeeze.
I squeeze so tight that my forearms bulge while digging both my thumbs forcefully into his windpipe. He chokes and gags, his legs kick out against the ground behind me, and his hands claw at my wrists in desperation.
Tighter and tighter I squeeze while soundless gasps escape his parted lips. His eyes bulge and as his face turns purple, I slowly lean down.
“Tell me again how sweet you think her pussy is,” I growl. The pressure becomes too much and his windpipe caves under my strength just as my thumbnails pierce into his neck. Skin splits, tissue collapses, and small bones crush while blood spurts up over my hands.
He dies with his mouth open and his eyes on me, staring down at him with all the hatred I can muster for someone as sick as him.
I stay there, crushing his throat until his hands fall limply to the side.
Only then do I climb to my feet, pick up the rag discarded by the man Valentina shot, and face her.
The knife man cowers next to her, pale and secured by one of her guards.
“You good?” she asks, looking me up and down with a wince.
I nod once. “I need to find Ivy.”
Both of us lock onto the knife man and he swallows loudly. “I can take you to her, but she’s with someone and he’s—”
“Don’t care,” I snarl, taking the handgun Valentina passes to me. “Take me there.”
After collecting my wallet and card, the last remaining man leads us through two dark corridors and as we get closer, I hear her.
Through the air, screams of pain and fear waft toward us and I no longer need his guidance.
Breaking into a sprint, I race down the corridor and follow the sounds of her cries, my heart pounding so fast that it becomes a blur of sensation in my chest. Around the next corner, the only thing between me and her is a wooden door that splinters from its hinges when I throw my entire body into it.
Inside, Ivy’s wrists are bound together and held above her head while she dangles from a rope hooked up to pipes above her head. A blindfold covers her eyes and she sways back and forth as the man in the room punches her hard in the gut.
I see red.
White-hot rage takes over and as the man hears my arrival, he turns just in time to get my fist to his face and then several bullets to the chest. He crumples down to the floor, dead, while Ivy screams at each shot and then sobs, whimpering while trying to keep her balance on her good leg.
“Ivy?”
“R-Ruslan?” she gasps wetly. “Oh, my God.”
“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” It’s the only warning I give her before I wrap one arm around her waist. Lifting the gun, I press it to the rope and open fire once more.
Ivy squeals and her bound hands fall down around my neck as I take on her weight.
Then I drop the gun and remove her blindfold.
As our eyes meet, I scoop her up into my arms bridal style while she gasps at me, less than an inch from her face.
“It’s you,” she gasps, choking slightly. “It’s really you.”
“It’s me.”
“I—” She breaks off, coughing violently. “He t-told me they killed you and I was going to be next if I didn’t tell them what family I worked for, b-but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”
“I know,” I soothe softly. “I’m sorry, Ivy.”
“You came.” Her face crumples but before she gives in to tears, her eyes dart all over my face. “Oh, my God, look at you. What did they do to you?”
“That’s not important,” I say, carrying her out of the room to where Valentina and her men wait outside. “What’s important is that I’m getting you out of here.”
“Is this when you tell me I told you so?” Ivy whispers.
“Would I do that?”
“I think you would.”
“You’re right. But I won’t say it.”
Not yet. As terrifying as it was, there’s no better way to show Ivy the danger she’s in. Out in the hallway, Valentina steps forward and cuts through the rope around Ivy’s wrists, but once free, she keeps her arms around me.
“Who… who are you?” Ivy gasps, tears still leaking down her cheeks.
“Later,” Valentina says. “Ace, get her out of here. And you?” She turns to the man behind her. “You and I are going to have a little chat.”
“Ace?” Ivy asks as I carry her down the corridor.
“Let’s get you somewhere safe first,” I say. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”