Page 108 of Cold Bastard
Oscar’s face was a mess of blood and bruises. His left eye was swollen shut, the skin around it purple and grotesque. Blood dripped from his nose, from his mouth, pooling on the concrete beneath his chair. His head lolled forward, chin against his chest, and for a horrible moment I thought he was unconscious. Then Garrote grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, and Oscar’s one good eye opened, unfocused and glassy with pain.
“Please,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Please, Alex. Tell them what they want to know.”
My brother’s words hit me like a physical blow.
No. No, Oscar, don’t ask me that.
Garrote’s fist connected with Oscar’s jaw, and the sound was sickening. A wet crunch that echoed through the basement, followed by Oscar’s choked cry of pain.
I tried to look away. Tried to close my eyes, to turn my head, to doanythingto escape the sight of my brother’s blood dripping onto the floor. But Carver’s hand was in my hair, his grip iron-tight, holding my head in place. Forcing me to watch. “Eyes open, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his voice clinical and detached. “You need to see this. You need to understand what your defiance costs.”
Tears streamed down my face, hot and useless. My throat was raw from screaming, from begging, from pleading with them to stop. But they didn’t stop. They never stopped.
Morpheus stood off to the side, leaning against the concrete wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked almost bored. Like this was just another Tuesday. Like watching my brother get beaten to a pulp was no more interesting than watching paint dry. That calm, detached expression was more terrifying than any rage could have been. Because it meant he didn’t care. Didn’t care about Oscar’s pain, or Nano’s, or mine. This was just business. Just another problem to solve. Just another lesson to teach.
And I was the student.
Scythe circled Oscar’s chair, his boots heavy against the concrete. He flexed his fingers, knuckles already split and bleeding from the punches he had thrown. Then he turned his attention to Nano.
Nano, who sat bound and gagged in the chair beside Oscar. Nano, whose eyes were locked on me with an intensity that made my chest ache. Nano, who looked like he wanted to tear the entire basement apart with his bare hands. But he couldn’t. Because he was tied down. Because Morpheus had made sure of it.
Because I had refused to speak.
This is my fault. This is all my fault.The thought circled through my mind like a vulture, picking at the rotting corpse ofmy defiance. I had thought I was being strong. Thought I was protecting myself by keeping Michael’s location secret. Thought I had leverage. But I didn’t have leverage. I had nothing. Nothing except the two men I loved most in the world, bleeding and broken because of my stubbornness.
“Please, Alex,” Oscar said again, his voice cracking. “Please. Just tell them. He’s not worth it.You’renot worth it.”
My brother’s words shattered something inside me.
You’re not worth it.He was right. I wasn’t worth this. Wasn’t worth Oscar’s blood on the floor. Wasn’t worth Nano’s rage and helplessness. Wasn’t worth any of this. But I still couldn’t speak. Couldn’t force the words past the knot in my throat. Couldn’t betray the leverage I had left. The leverage that Michael was out there somewhere, and I was the only person who knew where.
If I gave that up, I had nothing. Iwasnothing.
Garrote threw another punch, and Oscar’s head snapped to the side. Blood sprayed across the concrete, dark and viscous. He coughed, choking on it, and I watched in horror as he spat a mouthful of blood and what looked like a tooth onto the floor.
“Stop,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Please stop.”
But no one listened. No one cared.
Morpheus pushed off the wall and walked toward me, his boots echoing in the silence between punches. He crouched down in front of me, his eyes level with mine, and for a moment we just stared at each other. “You think you’re protecting yourself,” he said quietly. “You think keeping this fucker’s location secret gives you power. Gives you control.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
“But you’re wrong,” he continued, his voice calm and measured. “You don’t have power, Alexandra. You never did. The only thing you have is the illusion of it. And that illusion is costing your brother his face.”
He stood, turning away from me, and nodded to Scythe. “Let’s see if we can motivate her a little more.”
Scythe’s smile was slow and predatory. He crossed to Nano’s chair, leaning down until his face was inches from Nano’s. Nano’s eyes widened, and I saw something flicker across his expression. Something that looked like fear as Scythe whispered something in Nano’s ear. Something I couldn’t hear. Something that made Nano’s entire body go rigid.
And then Scythe pulled a knife from his belt.
No. No, no, no!
The blade flashed in the dim light, and then Scythe drove it into Nano’s thigh. Nano’s roar was muffled by the gag, but the sound was still deafening. A primal, animalistic scream of pain and rage that echoed through the basement like a gunshot. His body convulsed, muscles straining against the ropes binding him.
And then the ropes snapped.
I didn’t even see it happen. One second Nano was tied to the chair, and the next he was on his feet, the broken ropes dangling from his wrists. Blood poured from the wound in his thigh, soaking through his jeans, but he didn’t seem to notice as he ripped the gag from his mouth and lunged.
