“???????????.” There is no anger in his voice, and somehow that’s even more fucking unnerving.Obey.
I raise the gun once more.
The man sobs. “Please—”
I pull the trigger.
The sound cracks through the basement as his body jerks once, then slumps forward to collapse onto the floor. The silence rushes back in, and I fear it may suffocate me. I stare down at the man and at the blood spreading beneath his chest. In that moment, I notice his fingers twitching once before going still. My stomach twists violently.
Alexei steps closer. “Well done,” he says softly.
I don’t look at him. I can’t. My fingers feel numb around the gun.
“Do you know why you hesitated?” he asks.
I shake my head once.
He reaches into his jacket, and my body knows before my mind does. A spike of sudden, sharp pain lances through my chest. My vision blurs, and my knees threaten to buckle, muscles locking as nausea rises inside me. I’ve been subjected to Pavlovian responses for years with drugs. Now, it’s this.
Alexei holds up a photograph.Her. Again.
A gasp escapes me before I can even fucking think to swallow it. My heart slams against my ribs, and I am suddenly very aware of the sweat along my spine. I can’t stop it.
Alexei smiles. “She seems to be the key to whatever humanity you’re holding onto,” he murmurs. “That will simply not do.”
My hands shake.
He steps closer, holding the photo where I can’t escape it. Where my body keeps responding, every nerve burning withremembered pain, conditioned reflex screaming louder than reason.
Keep her away from me. Keep the pain away.
“I know what will break you, boy,” Alexei says. “I can send Erik to retrieve her for me. She’s a pretty little thing. Men would claw at each other’s eyes to have a chance to pay top dollar for her.”
My teeth clench so hard my jaw could very well snap.
He tilts his head, studying me. “You either let the cunt go once and for all, or I’ll find out what the obsession is about myself.”
I tear my gaze from the photo, glancing down at my black boots.
“Soft menhesitate. Soft mendie.”His voice sharpens. “And you arenouse to me dead.” He slips the photo back into his jacket. The pain fades slowly, leaving me nearly trembling.
Alexei straightens and signals for them to continue. And then they come at me from everywhere. I barely have time to react before the first blow lands, driving air from my lungs. I stumble, barely catching myself as another strike clips my shoulder. Someone swings low; I jump back on instinct, boots scraping against the floor.
No warning. No rhythm. Just pure fucking chaos.
I raise my arms, blocking one hit, then another. Pain explodes through my forearm, but I don’t stop. I can’t. If I pause, if I think, I get hit again. And again.
Move. Or bleed.
A fist whistles past my head. I duck, pivot, strike back without aiming, without thinking. My knuckles connect with something solid. A grunt. Someone staggers, but they don’t slow down. They force me to react. Every mistake is punished immediately, and every hesitation earns pain. My body starts learning on its own, muscles firing before fear can catch up.
Block. Strike. Duck. Turn.
I go down once, hard, breath knocked from me. A boot slams into my side before I can curl inward. I roll, scramble back to my feet, vision tunneling. There is no room for mercy here. Or doubt.
I catch another man’s wrist, twist, and hear the wet snap of something breaking. He screams. I let go instantly, already turning as someone else charges. I don’t enjoy this. I don’t feel joy when I inflict pain. I only feel a tinge of relief because it means one less person can hurt me. I’m sick of people hurting me.
When it finally stops, I’m standing in the center of the room, chest heaving, blood dripping from my knuckles. One man is down, groaning. Another lies still, staring at the ceiling with an annoyed expression.
