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He looked up, surprised, when Lyon stepped into the room.
“Hey, boss,” Markus said.
Lyon crossed to the chair. “Give me something to untie him.”
“You want to…”
“Give. It. To. Me.” Lyon’s impatience made it hard to bite out the words.
Markus put a pair of clippers in Lyon’s hand, and Lyon bent to unclip the zip ties restraining Chaban’s hands and feet. He recoiled at the smell — urine and shit and blood and sweat — but kept going anyway.
“Had to give it a break,” Markus said nervously. “His, uh, heart rate was dropping…”
“Leave,” Lyon said.
“He’s untied,” Markus said. “Maybe I should — ”
“Leave,” Lyon roared.
He barely registered the close of the door as he hauled Chaban to his feet. The other man opened his eyes, as far as he could through the swelling, and looked blankly at Lyon.
“Where is he?” Lyon said through his teeth. “Where is Musa?”
He was almost happy when Chaban didn’t respond. It gave Lyon license to do what he’d come to do, not that he wouldn’t have done that anyway.
He held the other man up with one hand and slammed his fist into Chaban’s cheek. He let go as the blow landed, and Chaban went flying.
He hit the concrete with a dull thud.
Lyon advanced on his prone figure. The red curtain of rage had fallen back over his vision, blocking out everything but his need to make Chaban hurt. To make Chaban hurt the way Musa had made Kira hurt.
Lyon lost himself in a flurry of kicking and punching, in the satisfying connection of his feet with flesh, the crunch of bone under his fists. His mind retreated behind the rhythm of it, the mechanical nature of his movements.
It’s not like Chaban was putting up a fight.
He didn’t know how long he’d been pummeling the man when he realized Chaban hadn’t moved, hadn’t made a sound in what felt like a long time.
Lyon paused, caught his breath as he walked away from Chaban’s body. He stood there, reminding himself that the goal wasn’t to kill Chaban — although that would be satisfying given his betrayal — but to find Musa.
To find Musa so he could kill him. So Musa could never hurt Kira again.
Lyon walked slowly back to Chaban. He crouched beside his body, lifted his head by the lank strands of his remaining hair.
“Where is he?”
He was almost surprised when Chaban’s eyes cracked open. Lyon had half-expected him to be dead.
“Tell me now and I’ll stop.” Lyon said it even though any fool could see that it didn’t matter, that Chaban would be dead within the hour.
“C-c-cabin,” Chaban choked out. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and Lyon saw that he was missing most of his teeth.
“What cabin?” Lyon demanded. It was the most they’d gotten.
“Black…” He muttered something, maybe a few words, maybe the same attempt at one, before his head lolled forward.
Lyon shook him. “Finish telling me, you piece of shit!”
Lyon placed a finger against Chaban’s neck and felt for a pulse.
