[Dawn]
Andre screams, the raw agony slicing through the thick air as blood begins spurting violently from his foot. I can almost feel the warm spray on my skin, but I don’t dare move.
Ilya hasn’t just cut off his pinky toes, but also half of the next one. The sickening sound of flesh being severed fills the room, mingling with Andre’s frantic, breathless gasps.
Ilya giggles-a sound so hollow and chilling it twists my insides. His laughter echoes in the small, suffocating space, making the walls feel like they’re closing in on us. Andre and I continue screaming, a mix of desperation and disbelief. I feel sick.
Not from the pregnancy, no. That’s the least of my concerns right now. My stomach churns from the violence, the brutality of it all. I can’t look away, but every inch of me wants to.
“Partly there, Andre,” Ilya croons mockingly.
Andre is heaving haggard breaths, sweat pouring from his face, slick and gleaming under the flickering light overhead. His entire body trembles with pain as he battles the two men still holding him down. But it’s no use.
He’s losing, and I can see it in the way his limbs go limp, in the way his face grows pale, the fight draining from him. He flops back, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked bursts. Shock is setting in. His skin is turning a sickly shade of white.
Ilya picks up the severed toe with his bloodied hands and holds it up as if admiring it. He presses it to Andre’s skin, anointing him with his own blood, whispering a prayer in Russian, all the while giggling like a maniac.
The other men watching from the corner, who’d been standing with their arms crossed, smirk and shake their heads, their eyes glinting with malicious amusement at the joke.
Once Andre’s breathing slows and his body goes limp in shock, they get off him, leaving him crumpled on the ground like discarded trash. Blood pools around his foot, seeping into the cold, concrete floor, staining the mattress beneath him.
The stench of it mixes with the stale air in the room, making my stomach flip once more. I can hardly keep my eyes open, but I can’t look away. I’m trapped in this nightmare.
I sit there, staring at the severed toe in Ilya’s hand, my mind struggling to process what’s happening. I feel like I’ve left my body-like I’m watching someone else’s life unfold. The terror, the helplessness, the horror… it’s too much.
Ilya takes a long drag from his cigarette, the orange embers flaring as he inhales deeply. He looks over at me, his eyes narrowing with amusement. With a slow, deliberate motion, he flicks the cigarette butt at Andre’s exposed, bloody foot.
“Just stop it,” I blurt, my voice barely a whisper, but it carries the weight of everything I’m feeling-fear, anger, helplessness.
Ilya snorts a laugh, leaning back in his chair, the cigarette smoke curling around his face like a sinister fog.
“Oh, I’m just beginning.” His grin is twisted, the cigarette still hanging from his lips as he presses the burning flame near Andre’s foot. Andre flinches, his body jerking violently.
“You don’t have the slightest idea how much trouble your brother has caused us,” Ilya sneers, eyes glinting with malevolence. The words hang in the air like a death sentence.
“You’re sick!” I scream, my voice raw. I feel sick, physically ill from the brutality unfolding before me. But Ilya just laughs again, his sadistic pleasure thick in the air.
He drags on his cigarette, then flicks it aside, its dying embers fading into the shadows. He picks up the phone from the table, scrolling with a sense of lazy entitlement.
He sends a text from my phone, and I reflexively strain at the bonds that bind me, but as always, it’s pointless. My wrists burn with the effort, but it gets me nowhere.
Ilya smiles at me, almost pitying. “You miss your boo?”
“My what?” I snap, confused and angry.
“Your man,” he repeats, amusement dancing in his eyes. He sends another message, then tosses the phone onto the table, the device clattering against the wood, its screen dimming. He leans against the table now, arms folded, regarding us both with a chilling calm.
“We have a bit of time before they get here; should we play a getting-to-know-each-other game?”
My mind races, the words not sinking in right away. But then, it clicks. “Coming here?” I ask, my voice tight with fear.
Ilya grins wider, showing teeth like a predator. “I’m texting your man to come and get you. It should be fun.”
“He’s not stupid,” I bite out, the defiance creeping into my voice despite the fear gnawing at me.
“I think he is,” Ilya drawls, dragging out the words. “He left you alone after all.”
I shake my head, my chest tightening. “He’ll know it’s a trap.”
“Well,” Ilya takes another drag from his cigarette, his eyes flicking to the phone in his hand as he finishes it off. “Let’s assume that he is stupid. Let’s also assume that he’s coming here with Luca Colombino too.”
I feel a sickening weight drop in my stomach. Luca? They know Luca? My mind races, the implications sinking in, deep and heavy.
“You know what they say when you assume,” I mutter, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s the wrong time for a joke. But it’s the only thing that can anchor me in this moment, even if it’s just for a second.
Ilya just laughs, a low, sinister sound. “Then let’s say, I know they’re headed here.”
So there’s more of them. My chest tightens as I try the bonds again, wriggling my hands desperately. One of the ties feels looser than the other. Maybe, just maybe, I can free myself.
But just then, Ilya’s phone vibrates again. He answers immediately, speaking quickly in Russian. He leaves the room without a word, slamming the door behind him, the sound a physical slap against my nerves.
Moments later, he re-enters, grinning. “Yuri!”
One of the men gets up and heads out, leaving the last one behind. He’s massive-like a refrigerator with legs.
His chest is round, his belly pushing out like he hasn’t seen a gym in years, but his arms and legs are thick with muscle, easily two hundred and fifty pounds of solid, immovable weight. He’s like a wall of muscle and menace, and he’s staring at us like we’re insects he’s waiting to crush.
His mere presence fills the room, his size alone meant to intimidate us into submission.
He leers down at Andre, a smile too wide for his face. “Don’t try anything,” he warns, his voice a deep growl that reverberates in the pit of my stomach.
He cracks the door open, leaning out to listen to the conversation happening outside. I don’t move, I can’t, but my eyes are locked on Andre, hoping for something, anything.
“Andre?” I whisper, my voice fragile, breaking as it leaves my lips. I’m begging him to respond, but he just lays there, lifeless, his body still and unresponsive.
“Andre?” I try again, a bit louder, my desperation rising. My heart is racing, pounding in my ears.
His foot twitches.
I almost don’t believe it at first, but then it happens again. His foot moves, a small shift that tells me he’s still with me, still fighting.
I bite my lip, trembling. “I know it’s a stupid fucking question, but are you okay?”
Andre’s foot twitches once more, and then he adjusts his position on the ground.
His eyes flick to the man standing at the door, and then back to me. A flicker of something passes through his expression, and then he smiles.
It’s a smile I haven’t seen in years, one that takes me back to childhood.
The kind of smile he used to give me when I was scared of the seagulls squawking outside our window at night, and he’d let me sleep in his bed to keep me safe.
“Hey, sis.”