Page 4 of Twilight Tears

Before I can think, I punch him again. My fist aches. I probably have a broken finger. Maybe several. Usually, the pain helps. It centers me. But right now, all I can think is that I’m still here to feel pain. I’m here to hurt and bleed.

And Nikandr isn’t.

I slam my fist into the man’s skull again, letting the impact of the blow radiate up my arm into my shoulder. “Tell me where she is and this ends. Tell me where Akim took her and I’ll kill you quickly.”

“I’d rather die slow than die a traitor,” he spits past a row of broken teeth. “I’m no rat.”

I pull out my blade and walk a circle around his chair. “But you are. You’re no better than a fucking rat, scurrying away while your brothers died.”

“You killed them,” he snaps.

I press the blade to the back of his ear. “And you were laughing before their bodies were even cold. Don’t talk to me about my brother. You have no fucking idea what the word means.”

Before he can say anything else, I slice through his ear. The cartilage lands on the floor with a satisfying thwack. Even more satisfying is the moan the man tries to stifle.

“I don’t even know your name,” I realize with a start. A laugh bubbles out of me. The echo of it off the high warehouse ceilings sounds as untethered as I feel. I drag the tip of the knife across the scar on his cheek. “Anyone ever call you Tony Montana?” He winces away from the knife, blood pouring down his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt. “Get it? Scarface?”

“Real original,” he mumbles.

I plunge the knife through the thick pad of his cheek.

He tries to scream, but he can’t. Not with the blade in his mouth and blood pooling in the back of his throat. He chokes and sputters until I pull the knife free.

“That felt pretty original.” I wipe the knife clean on my pants. “I’ve never stabbed a man in the face before.”

“I’m not going to tell you anything. Just fucking kill me,” he burbles, blood foaming between his cracked lips.

The door behind me opens. I glance back and see Isay walking towards me. He hesitates for only a second when he sees the bloody heap of a man in front of me.

“I gave him matching scars,” I announce. “He looks better this way. More balanced.”

Isay clears his throat. “Very nice, sir.”

Sir. Nik never called me “sir.” He should have. Our father would have insisted. Blood or not, a leader is a leader. Demand respect.

I turn to face my new second-in-command. “What is it?”

“The hospital called.” He holds up my phone. I gave it to him before I came into the warehouse. I didn’t want any distractions. “Your sister is finished with surgery. She’s awake.”

“I’m busy.”

Isay looks at the man behind me. It must be bad, because his face puckers like he’s going to be sick. There’s real fear in his eyes when he looks at me. Like I’m a wild animal who might pounce at any second.

I might.

“She’s asking for you.” Isay lowers his head. “And Nikandr.”

She doesn’t know. Mariya still has no idea Nik is dead. I want to let her live in that version of reality for as long as possible. But it isn’t fair. She’s right about what she told me; she isn’t a kid anymore.

Someone should tell her. I should tell her.

“I guess it falls on me to deliver the bad news. Did you hear that, Scarface? My sister doesn’t know you killed her big brother.”

He is lolling in his chair, close to unconscious again.

“Fucking pussy,” I say over my shoulder to Isay. “He can’t handle even a little torture.”

Isay smiles, but it’s thin. He steps further away from me. He thinks I’ve lost my mind. And he’s right.

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