Chapter 23 Drowning #3
Why can't I pass out? My body begs for darkness, but it won't come. My left foot—gone. Blood pools beneath what remains of my leg, but the pain keeps me viciously present.
A hand grips my chin, forcing my head up. Ruslan's cold eyes meet mine as he slides a needle into my neck.
"No sleep for you yet." His voice sounds distant through the ringing in my ears. "This will keep you awake. Aware. Present for every moment."
Fire races through my veins as whatever he injected takes hold. My heart hammers against my ribs like it wants to escape. Everything sharpens in vivid distortion: the taste of blood in my mouth, the sweat dripping into my eyes, the throbbing agony where my foot used to be.
"Fee," I croak, tongue thick and uncooperative. "I wasn't going to kill her."
Anton steps into view, his knuckles raw and bloody. My blood. His expression is carved from stone.
"She was going to be my queen," I manage, words slurring despite the stimulant. "I just wanted her to understand me."
A fist connects with my jaw. My head snaps back.
"She's smart. So fast," I continue between ragged breaths. "I didn't want to damage her mind. I wanted to enhance it."
Words spill from me like the blood pooling beneath my leg.
"She needed to be attached only to me. To see what I built. What I could give her."
Anton approaches me, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes are terrifying in their emptiness.
"You touched her," he says simply.
"I was gentle," I protest. My words slur, thick with blood. "Never hurt her."
Anton's face twists with cold fury. He doesn't respond with words, just brings his fist down again. I feel something crack inside my cheekbone. The impact makes stars burst behind my eyes.
"She was unconscious." His voice is terrifyingly quiet. "You cut her skin while she was unconscious. That's not fucking gentle."
His control is what frightens me most. No wild swinging, no uncontrolled rage. Each blow is precisely placed to maximize pain without allowing me to slip into unconsciousness.
Another blow lands, driving what little air remains from my lungs. I gasp like a dying fish.
Anton steps back, wiping my blood from his knuckles. "Now I'm taking everything from you. One piece at a time."
I try to focus my vision, which blurs and sharpens in nauseating waves. The stimulants Ruslan injected make everything too bright, too loud, too present. My nerves are screaming. I can't escape into shock or unconsciousness.
Italian words come from behind Anton. Lorenzo's voice. My head lolls to the side. Through swollen eyes, I see Aleh still hanging from the ceiling. His chest no longer rises. His face, already misshapen from old torture, now bears fresh marks. Dark blood pools beneath him.
Lorenzo steps closer to examine him, then looks back at us. "He's dead."
Anton's fist connects with my mouth, silencing me. I feel teeth break loose.
Lorenzo approaches and studies me, then glances at Aleh's corpse. "His body gave up. Probably for the best." His focus returns to me, calculating. "Yours won't. Not with what they've pumped into you."
He steps closer, pulling something from his pocket. Brass knuckles gleam under the harsh lights.
"My wife," he says softly, sliding the metal over his fingers. "The mother of my child. You risked her life and my son's life."
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a wet gurgle. "Aleh fixed it."
Lorenzo nods as if I've confirmed something important. "No, Dr. Esposito didn't fix anything; the Basov doctors did. You talk too much. Here, soon, I'll cut your tongue off. But for now, I'll start with one eye."
I want to feel defiant. To spit in his face and tell him he can't break me. But as the brass knuckles are removed and replaced by a scalpel, all I feel is terror. Pure, animal terror.
"Wait," I plead, my voice high and desperate. "I have accounts. Millions. Offshore. I can—"
Lorenzo smiles. It's the most frightening expression I've ever seen.
"I'm not interested in your money," he says. "I'm interested in your screams."
The drugs in my bloodstream make time stretch, contract, then shatter into fragments. Has it been hours? Days? I feel the pressure release as Ruslan lowers my suspended body. My remaining limbs won't support me. I collapse.
Cold metal presses against my back as they secure me to a table. The chill seeps into what remains of me, a mockery of comfort against my fevered skin. Steel restraints bite into the stumps where my hands used to be. I can't even struggle properly anymore.
Time jumps. Skips. I'm missing sections of memory like damaged film.
Voices pull me back. Not the ones from the dark. These are real. Too close. Too sharp.
I surface just long enough to understand I'm still breathing. That alone feels wrong. My body doesn't line up the way it should. Something is missing. More than one thing.
I try to move. Nothing answers.
My mind recoils on instinct, slipping away before the pain can finish forming. It's been doing that for hours now.
Retreating. Returning. Retreating again. Like it's learned the pattern before I have.
Someone says something near my head.
"He's strong," a calm voice says. Clinical. Almost bored. "Stronger than most. But another dose like that and his system won't recover."
A pause.
"He won't last."
"I know," Anton says.
Footsteps come closer. Measured. Unhurried.
Anton moves into what's left of my vision. One eye sees nothing at all. The other struggles to hold him in focus. His face swims, then steadies. Stone. He looks at me the way you look at something already decided.
He takes inventory. "No feet. No hands. No teeth."
I feel phantom pain where my feet should be—where my hands should be. Gone now. All gone. How long have they been working on me? My body is a catalog of agony, each nerve ending screaming in its own distinct voice.
Whatever I was before this, it's gone.
Anton doesn't look away when he speaks. "What do you want?"
Lorenzo's voice comes from behind him. Close. Heavy. Not rushed.
"His tongue."
I try to say something. It comes out as nothing.
"That will kill him," the calm voice says again. Ruslan. "He'll bleed out."
Anton nods once. Not permission. Just acceptance.
My mind scrambles for the dark, tries to fold inward again.
Through my remaining eye, I see Vadim materialize again, leaning against the wall. This time, he's not alone. Mother stands beside him, her face lined with disappointment.
"You took care of her," Vadim says, his voice echoing strangely. "You did well."
I try to nod, but my head is secured in place. "She didn't know," I mumble through broken teeth. "About what I was doing."
Vadim shakes his head. "Mothers always know, little brother."
"She had that instinct," I agree, tasting copper. "That I was in bad business. But I made sure she had everything. The best care. I paid for everything."
Mother steps forward, her expression softening into the one I remember from childhood. "Kirill," she whispers, "open your mouth. You know I don't allow cursing in this house." Her hand extends toward my face. "You need to eat this. To clean your soul."
I feel hands, real hands, prying my jaw open. Anton comes into view, and he speaks to me. "This ends now. She never has to feel this again."
Pain detonates, blinding, absolute. I scream, but no sound comes. Blood floods my mouth, hot and metallic, pouring down my throat faster than I can choke it back.
I convulse against the restraints, lungs burning as I drown in myself.
When Anton stands upright again, he places something wet and bloody into Lorenzo's waiting hand.
My tongue.
Lorenzo examines it dispassionately, like a butcher inspecting an organ before discarding it.
Panic seizes me as I struggle for air. My lungs burn. My chest heaves against the restraints.
The darkness pulls at me, stronger than before.
The room fades. My body fights for air it can't find.
The darkness closes in, heavier than before. Final.
I let it take me.