Page 244 of Fractured Allegiance
The prisoner spits blood, some of it landing near my boot. “He’ll gut you, Fed. He’ll gut your girl first, make you watch.”
The rage spikes fast, running up my spine. My hand doesn’t shake when I drag the knife higher, cutting fabric, not skin. Yet. “Then tell me where to find him.”
The prisoner laughs again, weaker now. “Ask Jori.”
Elias finally speaks, voice clipped. “Jori’s not an option.”
I glance over my shoulder. He stands halfway in the dark, arms folded, face unreadable. His eyes don’t leave the manchained to the beam. He wants answers, not corpses. But he’s letting me be the one to dig for them.
I turn back, pressing the knife harder until the man flinches. His breath catches in his chest. The fear’s there now, trying to stay hidden, but it’s bleeding through the cracks.
“You’ve got one chance,” I say. “Talk, or I start taking pieces.”
The bulb overhead hums, the chain rattles, and for the first time, he doesn’t laugh.
The knife traces a line higher up his thigh, the tip resting just shy of the femoral artery. One slip, one ounce more pressure, and he’d bleed out in seconds. He knows it. I know it. Elias knows it.
His chest heaves, breath sawing in ragged bursts through swollen lips. Still, he tries to grin. “You won’t. You need me talking.”
I lean in, close enough that the stink of blood and stale sweat burns the back of my throat. My voice doesn’t rise; it doesn’t have to. “Talking is optional. Screaming works just as well.”
Then I drive the knife in. Not into any major arteries, but I’ve found it does the trick to tear through muscle. People’s tolerance for pain is never what they imagine it to be.
His howl rips up the walls, chains rattling, until the bulb swings.
That’s predictable, too.
I don’t pull back. I let the sound fill me. Let it echo against the rage simmering in my veins. This man isn’t Jori, but he’s Drazen’s. And Drazen deserves every scream.
I twist the blade, just a fraction. His body jerks like a puppet yanked by its strings.
“You’ve got two legs,” I murmur, my lips almost against his ear. “This is the first one. You want to keep the other intact, you start telling me about Petrov Station. About the vault. About who Drazen’s got holding his leash.”
He gasps, blood slicking his teeth. “Fuck you.”
“Wrong answer.”
I pull the blade free, wipe it against his shirt, then slam my fist into his ribs. Bone cracks under my knuckles. Pain blooms through my hand, but I don’t stop. Another hit, harder. His head snaps back against the beam. His eyes roll before dragging back to me, glassy but awake.
Words spill out like instinct. “Two teeth down. One left. Want to place a bet on which one survives the night?”
The sound of the door makes me glance up. Lydia’s there.
She shouldn’t be. Elias stands there, observing, eyes on her, but he doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t even try. He lets her step down into the circle of shadows, into the stink of blood and fear.
Her eyes catch mine first. They don’t flinch. Then they drop to the knife in my hand, to the blood dripping slow off the point.
The prisoner tries for bravado, spits red on the floor. “See? Even she knows what you are.”
I slam the blade into the beam beside his head, the vibration rattling chains above him. His smirk dies fast.
Lydia’s voice cuts through, low but lethal. “You’re a monster.”
For a second, the word lands heavier than the blood on my hands. My grip tightens on the knife, my knuckles white, but my eyes don’t leave hers.
“Yeah,” I rasp. My chest heaves once, twice. “And that means you’re safe with me.”
The prisoner whimpers. It’s faint, but it’s there. The fear that even Drazen’s name can’t shield him now.
