Then, the world tears sideways. A shrill whine splits the air. Heat detonates through my knee, and I retch, violent and uncontrollable. Bile floods my mouth. I choke on it, gagging, blind with pain.
Hands grab me, holding my head, forcing me forward so I don't drown in my own vomit.
Let me die. The thought barely forms before it's ripped away.
"Not yet." Anton's voice. Calm. Close.
Darkness rushes back in.
When I surface again, the girl is still there. My body shakes uncontrollably, pain blooming and receding in waves that don't follow any order I understand.
How long has it been?
A day? Three? Five minutes?
Time no longer behaves.
The drill screams again, and I'm torn back into my body, into the room, into the understanding that this will end when he decides.
Now Vadim leans against the wall, arms crossed, approving smile on his face. He's wearing the same clothes he died in.
"Good business, little brother," he says. "You've built something impressive."
Pride swells in my chest at his words. I was always the skinny one who needed protecting.
"The merchandise quality has improved," Vadim continues, inspecting the girl. "This one will fetch fifty thousand minimum."
"Seventy-five," I correct him. "She's untouched. I verified personally."
The girl flinches at my words.
Vadim laughs. "You've surpassed me, Kirill."
White-hot agony rips through me. The warehouse. The girl. Vadim. All dissolve into static.
I'm screaming. The sound seems distant, detached from my body. My eyes focus on the concrete floor beneath me. A pool of blood spreads outward, impossibly vast. At its edge sits my left foot, still wearing its Italian leather shoe.
"Back with us again." Anton's voice. Calm. Detached. Professional.
My vision clears enough to see him wiping a bone saw with a white cloth. The metal glints under harsh fluorescent lights.
"You won't die yet," he promises. "That would be mercy."
Pain flares. Darkness.
Then light again.
A girl kneels in front of me. Shaking. Real or not, I can't tell anymore.
She's younger. Not the Spanish one. Russian.
I can't remember her name. She'd tried to escape.
"You said I was special, too," she whispers.
"Business," I try to explain, but blood floods my mouth.
Vadim stands behind her, his expression changed now. Disgusted. Disappointed.
