“You’re not one of them, you know.”
Halfway to the door as I say it, a little clearer now that my jaw has started to loosen, Art stops and turns his head towards me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Edo, Konstantin–” I do my best to imitate his tone of voice. “You use their first names like you’re one of them, their equal, like you belong here. You don’t, though, not any more than I do. Maybeless, considering who my father is. You’re nothing but a rebellious prodigal son who ran off and squandered everything his family gave him, and then slunk back with his tail between his legs, begging for the scraps of more powerful men.”
Art is back at my bedside in a flash, his hand on my chin, fingers digging into my cheeks as he glares down at me with a ferocity that makes me think I might have gone too far–but I’m not sure I care even if I did. It felt good to say it, to spit those words out in his direction, and it’s all the pleasure I have left now.
“Yourfatheris going to shoot you like a dog in its own piss, if you go back to Russia,” Art snarls. “You arenothingto anyone. You’re less than nothing to him, and you’re just a vessel to me, a hole for me to fuck and a body for me to abuse, so I can teach my brother a lesson that will last beyond the grave. Shut your fucking mouth, before I ignore what Edo told me, and gag you again while you stare at the food you won’t be able to eat.”
This time, when he stalks away, I don’t say anything. I watch him go, every part of me aching and stinging with a dozen different pains, and I’m still glad for what I’d said before.
I’ll fight him for as long as I can, until there’s no fighting anymore.
There’s no one left to fight for me except myself.
—
When Art is gone, I get out of bed slowly, wincing as I make my frozen muscles start to move again. This time I don’t hesitate to go for the shower, the promise of hot water sounding like heaven after a night twisted into that unnatural position. I take the clothes I’d worn before dinner yesterday with me and put them on the counter, locking the door behind me so that there hopefully will be no chance of Art coming in and seeing me naked.
The shower feels every bit as good as I thought it would. It’s hard to do much actual washing with my arms so sore, but I stand under the hot water for as long as I can, letting it drench me. I’m painfully aware that this might be one of the last times I do this, and it feels strange. Despite everything, I’d never stopped to imagine what it might feel like to know your life is ticking away in minutes, seconds, to count the times you have left to do things as ordinary as a hot shower.
But if I’m given to Art, I have no doubt he’ll deny that sort of thing just because he can. And if I’m returned to my father, well–
There are no more hot showers once you’re dead.
That strange sense of resignation to the latter slides over me again. It’s become the lesser of two evils, and as macabre and unhealthy as I’m sure it is, I don’t fight it. I’ll take any peace I can get.
There is food waiting for me when I come out of the bathroom, and I peer at it, feeling my stomach rumble with hunger. It’s almost funny how everything mundane about life keeps on going, even when facing down death. I can still sleep, savor a shower, and I’m still hungry, despite it all. The food even tastes better than it did last night, without Art and Edo’s eyes on me to turn it into cardboard in my mouth. I polish off all of it, well aware that my meals–at least ones of any quality–are probably numbered too.
All too soon, Art comes back for me.
Like before, he doesn’t bother knocking. He strides into the room, grabbing my elbow and yanking me up off of the edge of the bed where I’m sitting. “Enjoy clothes while you can,” he hisses, marching me out of the room towards the stairs. “I think I’ll keep you naked, once I take you away from here.”
“First, you’ve got to getpermission,” I hiss back. I know every word out of my mouth is likely only making him angrier, but at this point, I don’t care. I think if Art takes me, he’ll make my life a living hell in every way he can imagine, regardless of what I do or don’t say. At least I can get in a few jibes in the meantime.
He takes me back to the room where Edo made the call yesterday, swooping past the guards and shoving me down into the chair. Edo is already behind the desk, and he glances carelessly my way, as if my fate has already been decided and he’s moved on.
My stomach swoops, taking a nose dive, as I realize that could very well be the case.
“Cuff her again,” Edo says sharply. “You can leave the gag off for now–but hold your tongue,spazzatura, or I’ll change my mind.”
That I do comply with. My jaw is still aching, my teeth feel tender, and my lips are chafed. I have no desire to repeat the experience, even for the pleasure of sniping back at my captors. Pain shoots through my protesting muscles as the guard who steps in cuffs my wrists with another of the zip-ties, a bit less roughly than the one yesterday did, at least. I force myself to not make a sound, unsure of how little of an excuse Edo needs to add the gag.
“The call from Obelensky should come through any moment. Sit down, Arturo,” he adds almost as an afterthought, his attention still on the papers in front of him and not really on us, as if we’re nothing more than an annoying task on a to-do list that he wants to finish up with.
Art slumps into the chair next to me, looking equally irritated. Everything about his manner and attitude is disgustingly childish, and I hate all over again that I failed to see it for so long. I’d wanted for Max to be happy so badly, for Art’s reappearance to really be a family member come home, for Max to see that picking up his old life–or some semblance of it–wouldn’t have to be so bad. I’d wanted so much for Art to be genuine, if a little overbearing and heavy-handed with the flirtation, that I’d ignored every red flag waving in front of the rose-colored glasses I’d been wearing.
When the call comes through, I jump a little, my heart leaping into my throat. The fear that I’d managed to hold at bay comes rushing back, pumping through my veins, and it’s all I can do to hold still and quiet, knowing that in a matter of moments, I’ll know my fate.
The screen is dark again, only the voice coming through. “Casciani.” Obelensky clears his throat, pausing for a moment. “I’ve made my decision.”
“And?” Edo looks irritated with the dramatics, in a hurry to get it over with. “Do you want her delivered to you, with a payment for my time and trouble, or are you willing to let Agosti pay you off for the pleasure of tormenting the girl himself?”
“I want her delivered to me, so I can ensure she’s dead. No games, no possibilities otherwise. Seven hundred and fifty thousand, wired to you. She’s put on a plane tonight.”
The world spins around me, shudders, and comes to a halt. For a moment, I don’t hear anything else. Art is up out of his seat, smacking his hands on Edo’s desk, shouting something that I should be able to hear clearly, but it sounds like an echo down a far hallway. Everything seems wobbly, dancing in front of my eyes as the thing I thought I’d come to terms with comes crashing into me.
A plane, tonight. Me, dead. Seven hundred and fifty thousand for the trouble.