The rage is steady. But what I feel even more than anger is a terrible, hollow calm. Because there's nothing to do with my bloodlust anymore. There's no action it leads to. I'm tied to a chair in a room full of his men, and outside, there are more.
I came here knowing I wasn't walking out.
The only thing I got was Mat's freedom.
As for Caroline… I can't even let my thoughts turn to her. She's busy right now getting ready for a wedding that's not going to happen. Soon, she'll realize I'm not coming to that altar. Maybe she'll forgive me, maybe she won't. But at least she'll be alive.
"Here's the thing, Afon." Reznik crouches down again. "I don't actually want to kill you."
I look at him.
"I mean it. I've thought about it. Twenty years ago, I'd have killed you on sight. But seeing you here, like this?" He shrugs. "We're the last two who remember. There's a kind of brotherhood in that, isn't there?"
"You are not my fucking brother," I snarl.
"I could be." He says it like he means it. Like it's an old, generous offer he's making again out of fondness. "You're old, Afon, but you're not finished. I've watched you. You took out six of my men at that camp with a hunting rifle and your bare hands. You're still the smartest, hardest man I've ever known, and I learned everything I know from you and your brother." He leans in and licks his lips. "Run it with me. I'll forgive the trouble you'vecaused. Then we can finish what your brother started, the two of us, together. The way it was always supposed to be."
It's the same offer he must have wanted twenty years ago. The hungry kid has spent two decades eating, but it isn't enough.
Let me sit at the table. Let me be one of you.
He killed my wife and sold my brother because we wouldn't give him a seat. Now, he owns the whole table and he still wants me at it, because I'm the one thing his prosperity can't buy.
Somebody who knew him when he was nothing. Only I can look at him and say,You made it.
I look at this man. At the gold watch and the dishonest smile and the harsh, deadened eyes.
"Viktor," I say.
"Yes?"
"Go fuck yourself."
His smile fades.
"You killed my wife, and you sold out my brother, and you think I'll come be your little lapdog? You think I'll give you my blessing?" The man at my shoulder tightens his grip, but I'm long past caring. "I'd rather die in this chair. Even then, you won't have won. Icamehere to die. You're not even taking anything from me that I didn't already give away. So no. The answer is no. It's always going to be no."
The warmth drains out of his face.
What's left is the kid from the gutter, the hungry thing, ugly and cold.
"That's a shame," he says. He stands, steps back, and nods at the man behind me. "Wake him up a little first, yeah? Then we'll do it slow."
The man behind me drives a fist into my kidney, right where my still-healing wound is, and the pain is like fresh snow thrown across my eyes.
Another comes around the front and hits me in the face. My head snaps back and I taste blood.
More blows. Fists, elbows. They work me over methodically. The whole time, Reznik watches from his throne by the fire, sipping from a glass.
There's no one coming for me. I know that now. A few hours south of here, a wedding is about to begin, but they won't be able to finish it.
By the time the bridal march starts, I'll already be dead.
37
CAROLINE
The convoy stops a mile out from the lodge.
