Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(111)

47

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The End is Nigh





Drip. Drip. Drip.

The constant plop of water on his head had once been a nuisance, then a slow agony, and finally, it had to be the only thing keeping him sane—if that was what he wanted to call it.

Luka didn’t know how long he had been left in the hole, not even able to see his own hands in the unwavering darkness that surrounded him. He’d tried to think of everything to keep the insanity at bay, thinking of his former life back in New York, his friends, his family—though he had never called them that—and Alex. Those first few nights, she had been the only thing that got him through it. Remembering the way she smiled, how happy she was as long as they were together, but the more he thought of her, the more the reality of his current situation sunk in.

He wouldn’t say he was optimistic by nature, but he had hoped that he would get out of this and get back home to the one person he needed in his life. But with each day that passed, that hope began to dwindle until now there was nothing left.

He had long since accepted that this was his fate, and after everything he had done in his life, this was what he deserved.

Luka had tried to get as comfortable as possible in his new cell, stretching out on the floor, adjusting as much as the chain would let him, but anytime he’d even got a modicum of comfort, his tormentors came back to resume what they’d started.

How long he had been left alone escaped him, but he wasn’t granted a reprieve for long. The door was shoved open again, and Fatos was back with his minions.

Luka lost track of how long Fatos toyed with him, alternating between torturing him and professing how much he had been missed. The first night had been easy. He wasn’t a stranger to the techniques that Fatos utilized, especially since he’d been the one to show him how.

No, that hadn’t bothered him. Nor the next night, or the following one. Three straight days of physical pain, then nothing. Fatos left him to bleed on the straw, pain, his old friend, the only thing to keep him company.

The silence was the real torture. It was deafening, like a physical force suffocating him. He’d always hated it.

Then, the torture resumed.

In the middle of his next session, Fatos had stopped in the middle, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead to clear the sweat that had beaded there, only managing to smear Luka’s blood over his face.

“Don’t you remember the fun we used to have?” Fatos asked, looking at Luka with wide eyes. “We were a team, you and I. There’s no reason we can’t have that now.”

Despite the agony in his chest from the repeated hits he’d sustained and the blood in his mouth, Luka still laughed, coughing some up as he tried to clear his airway. “We were never a team, you delusional f*ck.”

Fatos looked hurt. “I love you like a brother, Valon. What—”

In Albanian, he asked, “What did you want from me, Fatos? Did you want a partner, or did you think me a whore like my mother and thought I would be yours?”

Fatos’ face colored in rage at what Luka was insinuating, but seeing his reaction only made him laugh. This wasn’t the first time his interests had been questioned, especially when it came to Luka, and just like now, he always grew enraged at the suggestion.

But as quickly as that rage had manifested, it vanished as he forced a laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve always been fond of your whores, Valon. Tell me, what do they do for you exactly? Smile coyly when you’re near? Hang onto your every word?”

“You don’t care about the whores,” Luka said calmly, spitting out another mouthful of blood. “If you did, Natasha would be dead. Yet you left her alone because you knew she meant shit to me.”

Fatos frowned, looking at Luka like he was the one who was insane. “They’re all whores, Valon. Have you learned nothing?”

“Only that we’ll both die here.”

That seemed to, at least momentarily, shut him up but not for long. “I wanted—no, I expected more from you. Yet, you continue to disappoint me.”

“This is getting tedious. If you’re going to use that”—he gestured to the whip Fatos held loosely in one hand—“get on with it.”

Fire flashed in Fatos’ eyes as he struck out, landing a solid blow to Luka’s face that made him laugh despite himself. No one liked to be laughed at, especially when they were trying to be taken seriously.

“You’re not going to goad me into killing you,” Fatos said evenly, making sure he had Luka’s attention as he said this. But he realized too late that he had gotten too close.

With a sharp jerk of his head, Luka head butted him, feeling the cartilage of Fatos’ nose give under the pressure. Fatos stumbled back, nearly slipping on the glass that littered the floor, but as he righted himself, blood dripping from his nose, Luka saw what he’d been waiting for.

Rage.

At least now he had actual torture to look forward to and not the sound of Fatos’ voice. Only one of them had helped him get through his time here, but he didn’t know for how much longer.

____

Klaus pulled the last strap of his bullet-proof vest into place, reaching for the guns next. Celt, who stood stoically on the opposite side of the weapons’ room, had his arms folded across his chest