Nikolai's skull throbbed with a deep, pulsing pain that seemed to crawl behind his eyes.
His head felt heavy and hot, his mouth dry, and there was the sour taste of blood on his tongue.
A faint ringing hummed in his ears, each breath slow and uneven as he fought the urge to throw up.
When he finally opened his eyes, the world spun. His vision cleared just enough to show the ground above him and the ceiling below.
He was upside down, legs pulled together and locked with cold steel cuffs, his body hanging like meat. His back and shoulders ached from the pull of his own weight.
He glanced down, or up, and saw another body hanging beside him. Older, heavier.
Stewart.
The old man's face was pale and slick with sweat, a cut running along his cheek.
Nikolai didn't need anyone to explain. The van, the guns, the bag over his head, and now this.
The timing was too clean, the target too obvious. Only one man had reason to come for both of them after today.
Moreno.
The man who had been watching Nikolai walked closer, boots echoing against the concrete. He studied him like a butcher checking meat.
"I'll say this," he muttered, voice dry and amused. "You're less calm than the old man."
Nikolai followed his gaze to Stewart. The mechanic's face was drained of color, eyes shut tight, chest moving shallowly. He was alive but clearly had been worked over before Nikolai woke up.
"But let's see if you're as stubborn," the man added.
The steel door at the far side of the room screeched open before Nikolai could answer.
More men filed in, four, maybe five, all carrying the weight of people used to violence. Behind them came the one Nikolai expected.
Moreno.
He stepped in without hurry, expensive coat moving as if the room belonged to him. He didn't speak. Didn't even look angry.
Just glanced at the two men hanging upside down, then crossed to a chair and sat down like someone settling into a business meeting.
One of the new arrivals carried a metal bucket. Without warning, he threw the contents straight into Stewart's face.
The old man snapped awake with a gasp, coughing and choking as cold water dripped down his bare chest.
Stewart's eyes darted to Nikolai, panic flickering before he managed a hoarse growl. "Boy, don't you dare say a word."
The man with the bucket grinned and stepped forward. His fist drove into Stewart's gut, hard and deep. Stewart wheezed and coughed, body jerking from the hit.
"I'll decide who talks," the man said quietly, smiling as if he enjoyed every second.
"Plus we don't need you to talk," the man with the bucket said flatly, wiping his wet hand on his jeans. "The boss found his car sabotaged."
Stewart's head jerked up fast, panic showing before he could hide it. "I don't know what you're talking about," he blurted. His voice cracked. "Why would I sabotage him? I don't even know him!"
"It looks like you wanted him dead," the man replied, smile curling sharp.
The man finally spoke, his voice calm but sharp. "See, someone's been stealing the boss's shipments. We just want to know if you're part of them."
Stewart shook his head fast, fear obvious in his eyes. "We don't know anything. I swear we're not part of some gang — no, no, no."
The man smiled faintly, like he was enjoying the panic. "So which is it? Did you mess with the boss's car, or are you one of his enemies? Has to be one of those, right? Or is it both? If it's both… wow."
He sounded too casual, and that made it worse.
Nikolai clenched his jaw. He couldn't let the old man keep stumbling through answers, every word was digging them deeper. He cut in, voice steady and clear.
"We don't know anything about shipments or gangs," Nikolai said. "We're just mechanics."
The man turned toward Nikolai, grin widening. "Just mechanics, huh? So what, cars just happen to break themselves?"
"Yeah," Nikolai said flatly. "That's why people pay us. We fix what's already broken."
A couple of the men snorted at that. The first one tilted his head, studying him. "You think you're clever?"
"No," Nikolai replied without missing a beat. "If I was clever, I wouldn't be hanging upside down half-naked right now."
That earned a small chuckle from one of the guards near the door before he caught himself and went quiet. The man in charge frowned but didn't press it; instead, he stepped a little closer.
"So maybe you're just the unlucky idiot the old man dragged into this."
Nikolai shrugged as much as the cuffs let him. "Sounds about right."
The man opened his mouth to say something else, the man on the chair stood up.
Everyone shifted instantly.
Moreno stepped in.
The room changed again without him saying a word. Conversations stopped, the men at the edges straightened. The casual smirk vanished from the interrogator's face as he stepped back, clearing the way.
Moreno's eyes went first to Stewart, then to Nikolai. Calm, sharp, unreadable. He didn't speak yet, just walked slowly toward them, the sound of his shoes loud in the quiet room.
Moreno reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph. He held it up so they could both see. The picture showed a man with round glasses and a thin mustache.
Nikolai's mind went blank for a moment, then clicked. A small, dim office. His ex-friend whispering about "a guy who lends fast, and asks no questions." The desperate handshake. The debt that started everything. It was him.
Moreno watched their faces closely. Neither spoke.
Slowly, Moreno drew a pistol and pressed the barrel against Stewart's forehead.
The old man jerked in the chains, breathing ragged and shallow. A dark patch spread across his underwear as he shook uncontrollably.
Moreno's voice stayed level, quiet, almost casual. "If you don't know anything… let's make sure it stays that way."
The hammer clicked back, loud in the silence.
"Wait!" Nikolai's voice cut in fast. He forced it steady, locking eyes with Moreno. "You don't need to kill us. I can help you get what you want."