"I never touched them," he hisses. "I ran numbers, moved money. But you, little brother, you became something worse."
Pain blooms again, shocking me to awareness. The dreams and reality blend as someone hits me with rhythmic determination, whomp, whomp, whomp. I'm swinging like a punching bag, absorbing blow after precise blow.
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 crackinside 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."
