Page 100 of Filthy Little Fix

The corridor is clear. Four bodies on the ground. And our rat, terrified, is being dragged back to us by Abram, his face pale and covered in a cold sweat.

Finally. No more games. No more tactics.

I walk down the corridor. I stop in front of the reinforced metal door. I signal to Yury and Abram to hold their position at the end of the hall, while Luca and I deal with the door locks.

A murmur leaks from inside. Muffled voices talking, one of them coarse and angry. Impossible to know how many are in there if someone is silent. Going in blind is suicide. Nyx could be used as a shield.

I signal to Luca. He understands immediately. From his tactical leg bag, he pulls out a thin, flexible cable with a micro-lens at the tip, connected to a small handheld monitor. A fiber-optic camera.

Luca carefully slides the tip of the camera through the minimal gap under the door. He hands me the monitor.

The image appears, grainy in a night-vision green hue. And my stomach clenches.

Nyx is there. Tied to a metal chair in the center of the room. His face is swollen, with dried blood at the corner of his mouth. But he's sitting up straight, his chin lifted in a silent challenge I know all too well.

There are two guards in the room with him. One is sitting on a crate, cleaning a pistol, bored. The other is a restless brute. He looks furious. He's letting himself be provoked by Nyx—it's obvious from Nyx's victorious, crooked smile.

The brute stops in front of Nyx, leaning in until their faces are inches apart. Luca positions himself to, in the worst-case scenario, blow this fucking door off its hinges.

I press my ear against the metal.

"...that arrogant little whore face of yours... before Ivan breaks you in half, you're fucked with me. Every hole serves the same purpose."

Hole. The word reverberates in my head.

Then, I hear the other guard's voice. Laughing.

"...everyone's gonna get a chance with that one. We'll form a line."

I step back from the door. When Luca sees my face, his professional expression turns to alarm.

"Sir?" he whispers.

I give the signal.Me first.

He nods, his jaw tight.

Luca kneels and pulls a short-barreled shotgun from its holster, a breaching tool. He gets in position, rests the muzzle of the gun over the metal lock. I nod. He fires.

Two dry cracks—metal breaking. The lock and hinges fly into the room, shattered.

Before the dust settles, I kick what's left of the door. It swings open with a bang.

The two guards, stunned by the sudden, violent noise, barely have time to raise their weapons. The one sitting on the crate is hit by two bullets to the chest—he falls backward, dead before he can raise his gun.

But I don't care about him. My target is the other one.

The brute, stepping away from Nyx, faces me. Everything else is wiped from my vision. A blur.

I don't register much. His gun flies from his hand, and a breaking noise cracks against the wall. Some bone, from the impact. It was me who pushed him. I punch him. It's not a lucid choice. His voice echoes in the corners of my mind.Arrogant little whore. I don't know what they did to Nyx while I wasn't here. I haven't examined him. I haven't seen the state of his clothes, his injuries. He was smiling. But that means nothing with him. He's not afraid of a fucking thing. I punch. Once, twice, three times. The bone in his nose gives way under my knuckles. His sclera turn red with blood. Did he touch Nyx? With thatfilthy mouth? Reducing him to ahole. I grab his throat. I force his head against the wall. I hear a high-pitchedringing. Is it him? Screaming? Heshouldbe. I squeeze. I want him to suffer. I want him to regret every second of his miserable existence.

My knife. I don't know when I unsheathed it. I grab it. This blade is powder-forged with a convex edge. Always a clean entry. It sinks in. I pull my arm up. Squeeze. The blade rises.

His red-sclera eyes stare at me. Filthy eyes.Every hole serves the same purpose. He said that. The blade comes out. I use it again. I'm still squeezing his neck. Something pops. I stab him. Again, again, again. His eyes distort. I didn't follow. I didn't see everything they did to him. But they were going to hurt him.More.

I can't tell when the knife stops cutting. Everything is covered in red. The ringing that blocked out all the sounds around me slowly fades. I hear noises.

I let his body go. It slides down the wall to the floor. I can see his intestines. But I can't see a face.