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Koh shakes his head like he has nothing left to say, but the way he looks at me makes it clear his dislike for me has only grown.

“Forget it. I thought you were hot, but apparently you see something else in me.”

Without waiting for his reaction, I disappear into my room and close the door behind me.

7

—

Aran

“You think you’re a rockstar, skurwysyn? Let me make one thing clear: in here, you’re nothing.”

I’m staring into a gangster face that reminds me of Tony Soprano, except this guy is a mountain of muscle with tattoos all over his face. A small skull on his left cheekbone, “Veni, Vidi, Vici” right under his hairline, and the numbers 54321ZER0 in thick script across his chin.

I can’t hold eye contact. Two of his hyenas stand behind him, staring at me like I’m fresh meat. One is practically drooling; the other keeps blinking like a psychopath.

“I’m not a rockstar anymore,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and not sound intimidated. My heart is hammering. No one is coming to save me.

“You gonna lecture me now?”

“I agreed with you,” I snap back, mentally shaking my head at myself.

The punk in me just won’t die. I’ve never been good with authority—or with people who think they’re above me even though they’re the same scum I am.

The reaction is immediate. His fist crashes into my face with full force. My head snaps back, I lose my balance, and slam against the wall.

Before I can recover, he grabs my collar and doubles down. He beats me like he’s trying to knock my brain out of my skull. Once he lets go, I slide down the wall sideways. Then the kicks to my stomach start.

I don’t feel anything anymore. My body reacts like dead weight, but my nerves have shut down, right up until a sharp burning pain slices across my forearm.

The fucker has a knife?

The pain eats through my arm. As dazed as I am, my thoughts are racing.

Yeah, I tried to kill myself. I meant it. But right now, I’m not so sure I want to check out. Or maybe I just want to die as a free man? By my own hand?

At the same time, every fiber of my body is screaming for death. This is my chance to finally leave.

Quietly.

Who would care if I died in here?

Blood runs down my forearm and I drift further away.

The kicks stop. Voices echo in the distance.

All that’s left is the pain.

I wake up drenched in sweat, gasping for air. Even though I know I’m in my room in New York, sleeping on the floor between my bed and the window, I’m still trapped in that gray concrete bunker.

I rip the blanket off and scan the room around in panic.

Vadim is nowhere to be seen. Neither are his two hyenas.

A shadow in the corner turns toward me. Out of the darkness steps Ben. With a devilish grin, he comes closer, leaning over to stare at me with those self-righteous eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you never find peace. You don’t deserve it.”