Page 96 of Unspoken

Fuck.

I force myself to focus on the present, looking around my surroundings. Four walls. Cement floors. No windows. The air here is dank and cold. There are no sounds coming through but the sound of my heart thrumming in my ears. A faint whiff of mildew tickles my nostrils. Must be some underground bunker. Shit. This can't be good.

If I scream for help, no one will hear me. People bold enough to mess with a Solovey probably aren’t dumb and know how to handle a valuable hostage.

I stagger to my feet, nearly losing my balance. The room continues to spin as I lean against the wall for support and shuffle toward what looks like a heavy metal door. My clumsy fingers grope for a handle and yank. It doesn't budge.

"Oi! Let me out of here, you wankers!" I shout, pounding my fist against the rusted metal. Deep down I already know no one will be there to answer.

I’m right.

Silence.

"Oi! You stupid fucks!" I shout again, my tongue refusing to cooperate. I think what comes out is a bunch of garble.

After a long moment of nothing, I stumble away from the door and collapse against the cold concrete, cradling my throbbing head in my hands. As the fog slowly clears from my mind, snippets of my last conversation with Vlad flood back, each word hitting me like a blow to the solar plexus.

Yes, I had him eliminated. Are you happy now?

He murdered Mama.

Vlad's voice echoes in my skull like pieces of glass in a jar when you shake it.

Our own father killed our mother.

Christ, I can't believe it. I almost refuse, but knowing how Papa was, knowing how many people he had murdered…

For a long time, I wondered if Yuri Solovey was human. Now it’s clear that he wasn’t.

And Vlad... My brother, the one who had always been there for me when we were little. He's a killer too. It's too much to process. My whole world's been flipped upside down and inside out.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. Can't afford to fall apart, not here, not now. Gotta keep my wits about me if I want to make it out of this mess in one piece.

Bloody hell. This is one mad rollercoaster of life.

I’m not certain how much time passes when I hear the noise behind the door, locks snapping. It creaks open, hinges groaning like they haven't been used in ages.

A hulking figure fills the frame, backlit by the harsh fluorescent light from the hallway. I squint against the brightness and try to will my eyes to see but I can't make out his features.

Still, there's something familiar about the way the man carries himself. Confident. Menacing.

He steps into the room, letting the door slam shut behind him with a clang that sets my nerves on edge. As he moves in my direction, I catch a glint of gold in his mouth. Recognition hits me like a freight train.

"Tak, tak, tak," he mutters under his breath as he approaches. "Alexander Solovey." The man crouches down in front of me, so close I can smell the tobacco on his breath. "Heard you have been looking for me, pretty boy." His voice is a sarcastic gravel laced with a thick Russian accent.

I stare at him, heart thrashing. The brute who cornered me on campus. "Shtyk," I breathe out.

"You know who I am," he goes on, golden tooth glinting as he grins. "Good." He pauses. "You should. I worked for your papa. Yuri and me, we go way back."

Thoughts whirl through my mind at dizzying speeds, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. So he’s one of Dad's old henchmen. But why's he after me now? What's his game?

I lick my dry lips, trying to find my voice. "What do you want with me?"

Shtyk lets out a harsh bark of laughter. "What do I want?" His expression drops, fake grin no more. "I want to finish what your papa started, little faggot," he hisses, eyes filled with cruel amusement.

My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat. I've heard it all before, the disgust, the hatred. But coming from this man, it cuts deeper somehow. It’s everything I’ve been running away from.

"Guys like you," Shtyk sneers, "should be castrated. Put down like the sick dogs you are." He leans in closer, smelly breath masked by mint-flavored gum hot against my face. "Your papa, he knew how to handle your kind. Shoulda finished the job when he had the chance. Instead of sending you to London."

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