ADDICTION • 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐎𝐍𝐄

"I will find the money," Y/n gasped out from the blinding, searing pain—"please, sirs, I promise you. I will find the money that my father has—"

"The Tsar does not require your money," Ivan spat, "he merely asks for your presence."

"Didn't the Tsar say that Y/n L/n was to be brought untouched?"

"Tch. He must want to torture this one himself. I am merely helping him, Sinclair."

Torture. They wanted to torture him. The devastating truth enveloped over Y/n: today would be his death day. Today would be the day he would witness and bear sheer hell, and would return to the heavens. He would die.

"Please—! I have done nothing—!"

"Silence!" Ivan's voice rocketed in Y/n's head: sending a heated migraine bouncing off the walls in his mind, before settling in a deep-seated pain that made his head throb. "The Tsar has entrusted me to this mission. I will follow it through."

"But he has requested Y/n L/n to be brought unharmed. Surely this means.."

Y/n heard it before he saw it. The loud bang! sound: the metallic smell in the air, the strangled sound of the men. There were three consecutive shots being fired: and none of them missed. Y/n was forced to bear witness to the death of a person, now a corpse. Crimson matted the floor and Y/n let out an inaudible scream that immediately got swallowed down his throat when the barrel of a gun stared right back at him.

"Silence, you fool." Ivan hissed, "I do not tolerate such noise."

Please. Please let me out of this alive—! Please—!

Y/n didn't know what God he was begging to. If God was real, he wouldn't have put him down to this earth to suffer.

"I'm sorry," Y/n croaked out, forcing his body to move. His motions felt thick and sludgy, suspended in time. Y/n felt like he was moving in slow motion. In his peripheral vision he could see the men surrounding him, guns visible in their gloved hands.

It was like he was being led to the guillotine. Tears pricked in his eyes, a bruise could be seen blossoming in brilliant purple on his wrist. Blood had splattered on his cheek and he didn't fear to utter a single word.

"Bring him to the car."

Whoever Ivan was, he was likely to be at a position of authority. The men obeyed him, emotionless and expressionless even after the death of their colleague. They had not batted an eye. It was obvious they were used to these horrors.

Y/n felt himself being thrown into the backseat of a plush seat; surrounded with bulletproof glass and locked doors. There was a driver in front of him. It was an obviously expensive car: and the truth was even more terrifying now.

Whoever the Tsar was, he was powerful and rich. Wealth could do a lot in society. It could corrupt, kill, and silence. If Y/n had any doubts of if these men were truly part of the Ivanov Mafia, now they were all squashed under a building sense of dread. He felt a gun press to his leg and he stood straight and tense, looking ahead.

Anything but the barrel of the gun. Anything other than for the bullet to pierce my leg. Perhaps they valued silence, and Y/n did not trust himself to keep his cool if he was shot.

His wrists and his head throbbed.

The car journey was torturing. Y/n kept his ramrod position, his lips pressed together so hard that teeth glided across them, allowing crimson to trickle down. Fear and uncertainty bubbled in the pits of his stomach: he felt hollow, dreadful. He had to prepare himself for Death. Mother Death to embrace him.