The guard never sees it coming. Oleg’s behind him in a blink, hand clamped over his mouth. A quick, savage twist and thesvolochcrumples like a puppet with cut strings.
“Khorosho,” I mutter, sliding past the cooling corpse.
We slip inside, andblyat, the stench hits me like a freight train. Decay, grease, and something else. Something that makes my stomach churn. Blood. Old and new.
Dim lights flicker, casting twisted shadows on walls stained with God-knows-what. Rusted hooks dangle from the ceiling like demented wind chimes. Cages line one wall, reminding me this ain’t no fucking petting zoo.
“Chert voz’mi,” Saveliy growls, his eyes glinting with barely contained rage.
I nod, seeing the same bloodlust mirrored in his face. These boys aren’t scared; they’re hungry for violence.
But something inside me twists.Blyat, this feels different. Used to be, I’d be riding high on the promise of blood and pain. Now? All I can think about is Wren’s face, her laugh. And that kid… my son?
Stay focused, you moron. You’re here for one thing only: to fuck up anyone who gets in your way.
I motion to the team, fingers sketching out positions. They scatter, melting into the shadows like the trained killers they are. The air’s thick with anticipation, the calm before the bloodbath.
My phone vibrates.Kakogo khrena?I’d turned the fucker off. A text lights up the screen:
Here’s a little sentimental gift for you, mudak.”- Elena
Another buzz. A picture loads, andblyat, it’s like a punch to the gut. A toddler, barely two years old, stares back at me with the same ice-blue eyes I see every morning. That face… It’s mine in miniature, no mistaking it. My heart stops, then kicks into overdrive.
One more message pops up:
Guess slitting your little boy’s throat will make my night, D. Keep me waiting, and I’ll start with his fingers. Maybe send you a few as souvenirs.
My vision blurs red.
71
Wren
Thirty minutes. Feels like an eternity of ice-cold sandpaper grinding against my fucking spine. Where’s Alex? What’s Elena doing to him? My mind’s racing like a horse on crack, every goddamn second stretched thin as tissue paper.
Damn cunt. They better not lay a finger on my kid…
I can hear water dripping somewhere,
Plop, plop, plop.
That fucking water’s gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.
My mind keeps racing back to Alex, his little face streaked with tears. Lenny, trying to act tough even when I could see the fear in his eyes. Em, my baby sister, probably scared shitless. And Dad… Fuck, even that old drunk doesn’t deserve whatever these assholes are doing to him.
I strain my ears, trying to listen for anything. A cry from Alex… Oh God. Please, God, no. Shit.
Am I really praying now?
Fuck it.
Hey, big guy upstairs, I know I haven’t been the poster child for sainthood. Hell, I’ve probably broken every commandment twice over. But if you’re listening, just… just keep my kid safe, alright? I’ll go to fucking Sunday school or whatever. Just don’t let these bastards hurt Alex. Or Em. Or Lenny. Even John, the miserable old fuck.
A loud clang snaps me out of my thoughts. The cell door at the end of the hall creaks open.
Boots. Heavy ones. Grunting. Sounds like a herd of pissed-off bulls is coming my way.
I push myself up, legs cramping from sitting so long. Gotta be ready for whatever bullshit they’re bringing.
