Page 10 of Undertow

I avert my gaze as a response.

“So now I’m left asking myself, why would an intelligent, good-looking young man such as yourself make up a fake name and try to steal from me. Why would you do that, Roman?”

I swallow thick air, flinching at the pressure of hard metal against the back of my skull.

“Tell me why.” His casual tone is the mark of a man comfortable with violence.

“I…”

“Answer him!” The Muscle shakes me hard before resting the gun against my head again.

“I needed the money.”

“For what?” the man in charge says.

I shake my head.

“For what?” he repeats as the other one yanks my hair.

I close my eyes briefly. “Drugs,” I lie.

The man’s expression changes as he studies me in the silence. He liked that answer, which scares the shit out of me. The whir of an air duct becomes deafening, the scratch of concrete agonizing on my knees.

“Why the fake name?” he asks finally.

“It’s not fake. It’s who I am now.”

“And who is that?”

“A liar.”

His mask cracks for a second, revealing a flash of the eager demon inside.

“Brave words to admit to the man holding a gun to your head.”

“You already know I’m a liar.”

“True. But what’s valuable to me is that you do.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to be praised for a piece of me I hate.

“How did you know about our ‘side businesses’?” he continues.

“I didn’t.”

“Come now, Roman. Now is not the time to be a liar, trust me.”

“I’m not lying. I didn’t know about any of it.”

The next blow leaves me gasping on the floor again. Inefficient lungs press against my cracked ribs in sharp stabs of pain.

“This isn’t how you want to die,” the man says in a scolding tone.

Except, he doesn’t know that.

I’ve been dying for twenty-three years. In a lot worse ways than this.

But before I can respond, I’m back on my knees. Fingers dig into my arms as if even his grip needs to cause damage.

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