My consciousness was slowly returning.
On my lips — the familiar, long-forgotten taste of blood.
My hands…
The blood had drained from them.
I could not feel them at all.
They were bound tightly with cords and suspended upward.
I was leaning on my knees, already well scraped against the concrete floor. My tights were torn, the scratches bleeding.
The muscles in my shoulders were stretched. Everything above my chest felt faint, distant.
Probably, after Dave's last blow, I lost consciousness. My stepfather often knocked me out. I know my body's limits well. Even if I hold up mentally, I cannot control shock and weakness.
My body is weak.
"Awake?" the mocking voice of one of Dave's men came from behind.
He pressed his boot down on my shin, closer to the foot.
Or maybe right on the joint. I could barely feel my body anymore.
The flow of physical pain dulled and became a noise inside me.
Everything hurt, and at the same time nothing did.
"Don't be a fool. Admit that you were the one who handed the documents to the FBI, and you'll stay alive. Maybe limping. But alive."
He pressed his sole harder into my shin.
I made no sound. No cry.
My stepfather had hammered that into me. If you don't want the neighbors to hear, shut up right away.
I learned.
My arms were pulled tighter. The binding stretched the muscles under my arms to the point of crackling.
First they beat me with a whip. Then with hands. Now with feet.
How long have I been here.
Three times I'd blacked out for sure.
Some parts of my body were swelling from within, as if someone were slowly pouring lead under my skin.
Bruises. So it's been at least a day.
I knew how the process went.
Nine hours had once been enough for the whole body to turn blue.
And now it had gone far beyond that.
The goal — to make me confess that I leaked Phoenix's documents to the FBI.
Confess, you say.
I laughed inside. With what little of myself was left.
If I confess — they'll get rid of me.
If I don't — they'll beat me longer.
And still get rid of me.
Not much difference.
"Bitch," someone hissed.
A blow to the back of the head.
Heavy. Clean.
Consciousness began to give way again.
I drifted into darkness.
Again.
Again.
Slaps across my face.
The skin began to burn, but the pain merged with the rest, answering only with a faint echo.
"Wake up." Dave's voice was very close.
I half-opened my eye and saw a bright lamp aimed straight at me, somewhere behind him.
"That's better." He sounded almost cheerful. "You're tougher than I thought. Usually girls give in right away, as soon as you threaten them. But you, bleeding out, you're still holding on."
He prodded the wounds on my arms with an iron rod.
I no longer felt anything.
My body had fully passed under the rule of pain. Even the places they hadn't touched were aching.
"Looking at your endurance, I'd think you were an FBI agent yourself," he sneered.
"But you're not. You're just a stubborn bitch who refused to listen to me from the start."
He swung and struck me in the stomach with the iron.
"Talk. Was it you who leaked the information about the Phoenix warehouses to the FBI?"
Another blow.
Inside, everything turned to pulp. He was hitting the swellings, the body that no longer resisted.
"I didn't..." the words came out with effort. "Give anything to anyone. I..."
Nausea rose to my throat. "I never worked with the FBI."
I was holding back the retching with the last of my strength.
If he hit me again, that would be it — stomach, blood, air — all would come out.
"Stubborn bitch. We found Phoenix documents in your bag."
Dave struck me in the stomach even harder.
Something burst out of my mouth.
Clothes, floor, everything around.
Onе.
Two.
Three.
I tried to hold onto the last shreds of consciousness.
But it slipped away.
Voices dragged me back from the darkness.
How much longer would this go on?
Let them either kill me already or let me go.
I caught a sharp, irritating scent. Theron?
I opened my eyes slightly and looked around the room as best I could. Not far away stood Dave. He was talking about something with Theron.
Well, the master of the underworld was here now too.
And the odds were on Dave's side: the documents in my bag, and blood ties with the main monster.
"She's awake," one of Theron's guards turned toward them.
I noticed the strict black suit, the belt with two holsters.
He came toward me with Dave.
Black gloves on his hands. A different expression on his face. Not the one I remembered.
Or maybe my vision could no longer see clearly.
Theron came closer. Almost up to me. Leaned down.
"It's you." He looked straight into my eyes.
"I already..." I barely forced the words out. "No."
He stared for a few seconds, then suddenly grabbed me by the neck and jerked my head back.
"Did you hand the documents to the FBI?"
Theron's voice was low and calm. In his eyes — the rage of a beast.
An instinctive laugh escaped my seemingly exhausted body. His question somehow gave me strength.
"Ask a thousand times if you like. Break every bone. The truth won't change," I forced out through laughter and pain.
I coughed. Blood splattered on his black shirt, on his skin.
He didn't flinch.
There was something in his gaze — a question, surprise, maybe confusion.
I could no longer tell. Nor did I care.
It felt like my arms were about to tear off.
"Untie her," he ordered.
He stepped back, pulled off his gloves, and threw them on the floor beside me.
Dave started to say something, but one look from Theron was enough. He stepped away.
My arms were released. I fell onto the concrete.
In front of my eyes — only his gloves.
One.
Two…
Consciousness was slipping away.
No, I pleaded inside.
But nothing helped.
The void wrapped around me.
And perhaps, this time, I would not return from it.