42. Maksim
Maksim
The chair they’ve zip-tied me to is bolted to the floor. I stopped trying to knock it over and opted to save my energy. It feels like I’ve been here for days, but it’s only been hours. I’m barely conscious. I have to focus on staying awake. I can’t fight back or run.
I have to take it.
They work in shifts. Two men. One stays near the door, and one does the actual work.
They’re not creative about it. Fists, mostly, with the occasional open palm across the side of my head.
The one near the door watches with the detached professionalism of a man clocking in for a shift at a job he neither loves nor hates.
They’re not trying to do any real damage; they’re just fucking me up to remind me who’s in control. The real torture is yet to come. They’re just getting warmed up.
My left eye is swelling shut. My bottom lip split during the second round and hasn’t stopped bleeding. My ribs are bruised, but I don’t think they’re broken.
I count the strikes. It gives my brain something to do besides register the pain.
Seventeen. Eighteen.
The one doing the hitting steps back and shakes out his hand. He’s tired. I spit blood onto the concrete floor and look at the single bulb overhead. It’s still buzzing, and I find it oddly comforting. I can hear it, which means I’m still alive and conscious.
I haven’t seen Arlind since they dragged me into this room.
He’s making me wait. It’s deliberate. The beating isn’t about extracting information.
I don’t have anything he needs. He wants me to feel the weight of my situation before he delivers the death blow.
I wouldn’t be surprised if this is being filmed.
He’ll try to blackmail Sergei, which would make me laugh if it didn’t hurt to breathe.
Arlind has no idea about the devil he’s invoked.
I will probably die, but Sergei will have the final word.
And if Nikolai gets a piece, Arlind will be sorry he ever looked at my wife.
I breathe through my nose while I think about Lila in a bikini on a beach in Portugal. Smiling. Tanned. Happy. I hold onto that image and don’t let go.
The door opens, and Arlind walks in. He’s changed his shirt. The scratches on his cheek have been cleaned and dressed. I feel a surge of pride knowing she left her mark on him. It will leave a scar.
He pulls a chair from the corner and sets it in front of me.
“You look terrible,” he says.
“You should see the other guy.” My voice comes out harsher than I’d like. The copper taste of blood slides over my tongue.
He almost smiles. “You have a sense of humor. Even now.”
“It’s a gift.”
“I want to tell you something,” he says. “Before we discuss terms.”
Terms. As if there are terms. The deal has already been made; I’m just waiting for a miracle or a death blow.
“I’m listening.”
“You believe this is about me. My pride. You think I’m insulted that you took something that belonged to us.” He tilts his head. “Part of that’s true, but I want you to know the whole picture. I want you to understand what happens after I kill you.”
I say nothing.
“When Lila’s father came to me with his debt, the arrangement he made was not with me alone. I was the intermediary. The transaction was brokered on behalf of someone else. A man who had been searching for a very specific kind of woman for a very specific purpose. The krye."
Ice moves through my chest.
“He’s not a young man,” Arlind says. “He has many sons from many women. But sons are only useful when they come from the right blood. The right stock.” He pauses.
“He wanted a wife. Not a woman for a night or a year. One who would produce sons to carry his legacy. He was specific about what he wanted.” Another pause.
“Young. Strong. Healthy. The kind of woman who comes from the right bloodlines and looks a certain way. Young enough to be trained.”
I am going to be sick. I swallow it down and keep my face neutral because I cannot afford to let him see what this is doing to me.
"Do you know the name Skanderbeg?" Arlind asks.
I say nothing.
"It was the nickname of Gjergj Kastrioti.
Albania's greatest warrior. The man who held back the Ottoman Empire for twenty-five years.
" He pauses, letting it settle. "Her father's family carries a direct line.
Documented. Verified. A bloodline believed lost for generations.
" He looks at me. "She is the last known descendant of that branch. "
Something goes very still inside me.
Something about her blood makes her worth more than money to the right man.
Lila had told me that, six weeks ago in the med room. Something a dying, bitter man had said to her that she didn't understand, and neither did I.
I understand now.
"Her father understood the honor that was extended," Arlind says. "He owed me a debt he couldn't repay. Rather than punishment, he was offered something far greater. A chance to connect his blood to something much larger than himself." He spreads his hands. "He accepted."
“He sold a ten-year-old girl.” I am unable to hide my disgust.
“He made an arrangement.”
“She was a child.”
Arlind shrugs. “She was meant to wait until she was of appropriate age. The krye is patient. As I said, there would have been training before she got pregnant.”
I close my eyes for two seconds.
“She is strong. Healthy. Beautiful. Exactly what he wanted.” He pauses. “She will be his wife. She will produce his sons. She will live in his house for the rest of her life.”
All this time, I knew there was someone above Arlind. Someone she was meant for. I thought I’d understood what that meant, but I hadn’t. Not until now.
They hunted her for nine years. Not for a debt or a grudge, but for what runs in her veins. For sons who would carry a warrior's blood into the next generation.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I called her voinitsa the first night I had her in my bed. My warrior.
I pull against the zip tie, and the plastic bites into my wrists. I've felt this exact helplessness before. I was sixteen, standing on the other side of a wall, too small to do anything. I swore I would never be here again. And here I am. I cannot let her end up like my mother. I will not.
I have nothing left to bargain with except myself. So that's what I put on the table.
“You can have me.”
Arlind gives me a cold smile.
“You can have me. You cannot have her.”
“He doesn’t want you. He’s always only wanted her. You have made me look bad. I get to kill you, and gain some standing in the community, and he gets her.”
“He’ll never find her,” I hiss.
“She will eventually be found,” he says. “The world is not that big.”
“You think you know me.” I let the anger bleed through my words. “You think you know my family. We will destroy you. The Albanian operation will be dismantled. Destroyed. Every person with any ties to it will be killed. You think you’re ruthless? You’re a dead man walking, Arlind.”
“You’re stalling,” he says.
“No. I’m just letting you know that I’ll see you in hell.”
He stands from the chair and smooths the front of his jacket.
“She will be found,” he says. “This I promise you. Whether it is tonight or in ten years.” He leans forward. “The krye takes pleasure in delivering pain. Your little wife will bleed. She’ll cry out for you. But she will not die.”
I pull harder against my restraints. Fire burns through me.
He turns toward the door.
“Arlind?”
He stops.
I smile. “Nikolai is going to enjoy cutting off your fingers. Toes. Dick. He loves pulling teeth. It’s a weird thing.”
“We’ll see.”
“See you in hell,” I call out.
The guard near the door resumes his position. The other one cracks his knuckles, and I brace for another round.
He doesn’t move toward me yet.
I’m barely holding it together. Damien better not fail. I know the life in store for her.
She has to use the out. She has to go.
The guard shifts his weight. I test the zip tie again. It bites into my wrists. There’s no breaking free.
“You’re not so pretty anymore,” the one guard says.
“Still prettier than you.”
He holds up a stun gun, and I know things are about to get a lot worse.
He turns it on, and the sound of electricity fills the room. I’m bracing myself for the pain when the entire room shakes. The overhead light swings, and the percussion of an explosion knocks the guard by the door to his knees.
I smile at the one holding the stun gun. “Knock, knock, motherfucker. The Sokolovs are here.”