The Savages

Chapter 19: Broken in Mind, But Not in Spirit

He was trapped, pulling relentlessly against the chains constricted around his body, binding him to the wooden chair with extraordinary force. Sweat and dirt clogged his pores, streaking his face in grimy lines. His throat was bone dry, aching in protest every time he swallowed against his Adam's apple, giving every last effort he could to add moisture to his body. He was well beyond the point of dehydration and starvation, but he refused to give into the ones responsible for putting him in this position.

Time and space seemed not to be a logical thing to him anymore; he could barely string together a sentence of words inside his mind, and each time he attempted to speak, all that came out was a jumbled heap of foreign syllables, leaving an abhorrent aftertaste in his mouth.

A dull light bulb flickered intermediately above his head, highlighting a portion of the concrete floor with a singular yellow beam. The air was stale with the stench of death, though he wasn't entirely certain where its source was in the tiny room. He considered scoping it out, only to discard that idea as quickly as it had come. He needed to preserve every last chance he had of making it out alive, which, unfortunately, included limiting his ability to find an answer for everything humanly possible. Including where his brothers were currently located.

A creaking noise broke through the prolonged silence, grasping his immediate attention. He noticed with moderate apprehension that two pairs of feet shadowed the line of illumination spilling in from under the door, one of which most likely belonged to the man who brought him here to this secluded place.

His worst fears were confirmed when the man stepped in, accompanied closely by one of his henchmen. A feeling of unease spread through his stomach as the man slowly made his way over, coming to a halt directly in front of him. Reluctant to lift his head up, he locked his focus on the pair of muddy, ripped canvas shoes the man wore, imagining how comfortable they would feel if slipped on to his own feet.

"Number Six, are you willing to give us the answers we seek now?" He asked in a cool, clipped tone, betraying the darkness that lay deep within the confines of his soul. "If you don't start speaking soon, I'm afraid I'll need to take drastic measures to ensure you do."

"Go ahead," Kasperskies spat. "There's nothing you could do to me that would give you the answers you seek. I'd never deceive my brothers. How many times do I need to say it?"

The muscle in David's jaw visibly clenched. A jet black fringe hung low over his forehead, almost completely concealing his blue eyes, and in them Kapserskies caught glimpses of uninhibited malice. The remainder of his hair stood in a short array of spikes, gelled through with strong-smelling hair product. Not much was different about him to the last time Kasperskies had seen him, save the change of clothes. Now he wore a plain black t-shirt underneath an open leather jacket, curiously matched with a pair of tracksuit pants billowing around his legs in the draft swirling through the room.

They'd been at it for days - David demanding answers Kasperskies refused to provide him with, threatening to harm him in more ways than he'd already suffered through. Dark, ugly bruises discoloured his arms and legs in places, and the scratches on his chest were encrusted with dry blood from where it had welled up the moment David's claws made contact. There wasn't much else he could do to Kasperskies, unless he wished to compromise the value of how much he would be worth. David may not have wanted the Savage family for the same reasons as Zavion did, but Kasperskies doubted he would be that naive. If he was intending to make an army to lead against his long-time enemy, he needed each member to be in perfect condition.

"I'll ask you again, for the thousandth time," he said. "Where is he? When your brothers fell into Zavion's elaborate trap, he wasn't with them."