III

I said let him go.” Vanya’s eyes were too swollen to see, but he recognized the voice.

“Yuri!” Vanya tried to yell, but the pain from his broken ribs was so intense he lost focus. Still the terror kept him conscious. He was hanging by his wrists, on a rope strung over a rafter in the barn. His blood was everywhere. He could smell it. Taste it. And he was cold, colder than he’d ever been. Was it morning? Night? The pain of losing his fingernails was nothing compared to the screaming he now felt in his shoulders and wrists. “Help,” Vanya managed.

“Listen to him,” another voice said. Dima. “The doctor’s killed for less.”

“Your doctor has never hurt a fly,” Vadim or Stepan said, laughing.

The laughter was cut short. There was a scuffle. Wood cracked. The thump of a body hitting the floor. A bloodcurdling scream. “That’s my warning,” Yuri said. He was out of breath. “You come after us and I’ll take the other eye, too.”

Vanya felt them cut the ropes. Dima slung him over his shoulder. Pain, everywhere, was so intense the world went black.