Kill Order

Part 1, Chapter 12: The Sharp Edge of the Blade

Darkness tasted like copper and dust. Tristan drifted in it, weightless yet crushed by pain that pulsed in waves. Little by little sound crawled back: a humming vent, distant dripping, his own ragged breathing. When he tried to swallow the ache in his throat stabbed. He opened one eye.

Blurred greys sharpened into the outline of a concrete room. He sat in a steel chair bolted to the floor, wrists lashed behind the backrest with plastic cuffs biting into swollen flesh. A fluorescent strip buzzed overhead, white and merciless. His shirt clung wet with blood where bullets had been dug out, stitches rough and crooked.

Directly in front of him stood a wide glass pane. On the far side Levchenko occupied a matching chair, hooded and bound. The trafficker's head lolled, unaware he was watched. The glass held a faint blue shimmer; Tristan realised it was one way. Levchenko could not see him.

Memory punched through haze. Gunfire on the catwalk. Evelyn's scream. Cold metal under Borodin's boot. He jerked against the cuffs, agony ripping through abdomen and leg. Breath hissed between clenched teeth. Stay calm. Assess.

One camera dome in the ceiling corner. Single reinforced door to his right, deadbolt outside. Floor smeared with dried blood. No obvious tools. He flexed wrists, testing slack. Plastic dug deeper. Not yet.

Footsteps echoed. The door swung open with a creak that seemed to rip silence in half. Borodin stepped in, coat gone, sleeves rolled, knuckles taped. A smile cut across his face like a scar.

"Well. You joined us again." His accent stretched each vowel in mock welcome. "How many holes in you this time, Reeves? Four? Five? I'm very surprised you survived the fall, in all honesty."

Tristan's voice rasped. "Go to hell."

Borodin laughed softly, strolling to the one way window. "Levchenko is having a quiet morning. We will wake him soon. And your partner, your precious Evelyn, she is awake already." He drew the sentence out. "Screaming. Quite musical."

Ice ran Tristan's spine then bloomed into fury. "YOU TOUCH HER AGAIN AND I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT."

Borodin tilted his head as if considering. "Such passion. Tell me where your people stored the toxin and I will ease her suffering."

Tristan spat blood on the floor. "Blow me."

The backhand came fast, cracking across his cheek, snapping his head sideways. Stars burst behind his eyes. Borodin grabbed Tristan's hair, forcing him to look at Levchenko through the glass.

"You think you hold the cards. You do not." His breath smelled of antiseptic and coffee. "I will film your partner's screams and play them for you until you beg me to stop."

Tristan forced a grin though teeth throbbed. "You always needed an audience. Childish if you ask me."

Borodin's smile vanished. He drove a fist into Tristan's stitched abdomen. White agony flared. Air vanished from lungs. He coughed red flecks.

"Where is the toxin?" Borodin repeated, voice ice.

Tristan lifted his head, vision swimming. "Up your arse. Dig for it."

Another blow, this time to the bullet wound in his leg. Bone lit with fire. Tristan groaned but held the glare. He would not give this bastard the tremor he wanted.

Borodin leaned close, voice a hiss. "Evelyn is tougher than you. She has not screamed yet. But bones break. And vocal cords tear. Perhaps I start with her eyes."

Red rage thundered. Tristan lunged forward despite cuffs, chair jerking on bolts. "I WILL FUCKING TEAR YOU APART." The words tore from his throat raw.

Borodin stepped back, wiping Tristan's spit from his sleeve. Calm returned to his features like a mask sliding into place. "Such theatre. Last chance. Coordinates or she suffers until her heart stops."