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Carlos screams as blood begins spurting all over his foot. Ilya hasn’t just cut off his pinky toes, but also half of the next one. He giggles as Carlos and I continue screaming and freaking out. I feel sick,and not from the pregnancy.
“Partly there, Carlos,” he says.
Carlos is heaving haggard breaths and sweating from straining. He’s still battling the men, but he’s losing. He flops back now, heading into a state of shock and turning white. Ilya picks up the half toe and anoints Carlos with his own blood, saying a prayer in Russian and giggling the whole time. The other men also smirk and shake their heads at the joke.
Once he’s calmed down, they get off him and leave Carlos to lie there. Blood pools around his foot and seeps into the cement floor and mattress. I’ve also gone into a state of shock. I sit there just staring at the toe.
Ilya bums a cigarette and lights it. He winks at me and holds the flame close to Carlos’ foot.
“Just stop it,” I blurt.
Ilya snorts a laugh. “Oh, I’m just beginning.” He presses the flame near Carlos, and he flinches. “You don’t have the slightest idea how much trouble your brother has caused us.”
“You’re sick.” I feel sick, actually, but this guy is a fucking psycho.
He drags on his cigarette and throws the sheers on the table. He then picks up the phone and sends another text to Sebastian. I reflexively strain at the bonds to stop him, but as always, it gets me nowhere.
Ilya smiles at me sadly. “You miss your boo?”
“My what?”
“Your man.” He sends another message and throws the phone on the table and then leans against it, folding his arms and regarding us both. “We have a bit of time before they get here; should we play a getting to know each other game?”
I just stare at Carlos, still lying there in shock. Only then does what Ilya just said breakthrough. “Coming here?”
He grins. “I’m texting your man to come and get you. It should be fun.”
“He’s not stupid.”
“I think he is. He left you alone after all.”
I shake my head. “He’ll know it's a trap.”
“Well,” he takes another drag on his cigarette, a long one to finish it off, then flicks the butt at Carlos. “Let’s assume that he is stupid. Let’s also assume that he’s coming here with Luca Colombino too.”
“You know what they say when you assume,” I say. It’s the completely and horribly wrong time to make a joke, but it’s the only way for my brain to somehow accept this situation.
But it goes over Ilya’s head.
“Then let’s say, Iknowthey’re headed here.”
So there's more of them. I try the bonds again and try to wiggle my hand free. One of the ties feels looser than the other.
“Speaking of which!” Ilya takes a vibrating phone from his pocket and answers immediately. He begins speaking in Russian and leaves the room without acknowledging the other guys. When he slams the door, it’s like another slap in the face of our situation. A moment later, he comes back, “Yuri!”
One of the men heads out too, leaving the final guy with us. He’s like a refrigerator with legs. His chest is as round as his stomach, and he probably weighs at least two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. He stares at us vacantly, betting his sheer size will keep us at bay. Being that I can’t actually move, his menace just accents his stupidity. Judging by the fact that he looks like his mother caught him on the bounce, stupid is probably accurate.
He leers down at Carlos. “Don’t try anything.” He heads to the door and cracks it open, leaning out to listen to their conversation.
“Carlos?” I whisper.
Carlos doesn’t respond or do anything.
“Carlos?” I try again.
His foot twitches.
“I know it’s a stupid fucking question, but are you okay?”
