Page 77 of Tank
“She’ll live,” he says, his voice infuriatingly level. “But only if you do what I want.”
My chest rises and falls with a desperate rhythm, the air cut by ragged breaths. My whole body feels locked in a futile scream of panic as I glare at him with all the hatred I can muster. My eyes dart to Vanessa; her face gray, her body shivering through a mess of violent spasms. Each second that passes carries her further away, closer to a point of no return. Her respirations are weak, nothing more than ragged gasps. The sound of it shreds my soul. She's my responsibility. She's my friend. I have to save her.
Slowly, savoring every moment of my torment, Victor stands. He brushes imaginary dust off his pants, his movements as measured as they are infuriating.
“So here’s the deal, Bianca,” he says. “You agree to help me. You sign over access to Safe House’s donations, and you let me decide which of those poor, pathetic, drug-addled women gets to come work for me. You put the word in their ear, you make it sound like a golden opportunity. And in exchange? You get to walk. Alex gets to walk. Even Vanessa — if you decide quick enough.”
I shudder, the revulsion physical and spiritual. “You’re sick.”
His grin stretches wider, a crocodile’s grin full of teeth and malice. “I’m a businessman.”
I sob, raw and broken. I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms as if pain could anchor me to something other than helplessness. Hate burns through me like acid in my veins, yet there’s nothing I can do but watch Vanessa slip further into the dark. Her skin is slick with sweat, as pale and brittle as chalk. Her head lolls, and I see vomit thick with bile and blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth.
Victor leans in, his breath chilling my skin. “Tick tock, sister.”
And I say it. I don’t know how it comes out of my mouth, but it does. I wrench out that last little piece of me that he and Tank haven’t already killed and I offer it up on a silver platter to the monster who shares my last name.
“Fine,” I choke out, each letter searing me. “I’ll do it.”
I watch the sadistic delight unfold across his face as Victor laughs. The sound is almost musical, full of a bright, delighted glee. “Knew you were smart.”
With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he pulls out a small cannister. He gives a little whistle, and I see one of his men take the cannister and kneel beside Vanessa to administer the nasal spray. The man hesitates, his eyes locked on my brother’s. I can’t watch. I want to, but I can’t. I stare at the floor, fighting back tears, swallowing each sob that threatens to break free. I’m nothing now, but I’m alive. A survivor.
And for now, that has to be enough.
Victor leans against the bar, whistling a low, cheery tune. He’s waiting, drawing this out, all to make me suffer a little more; he’s taken everything he wanted from me, and still can’t resist driving the knife a little deeper.
And that’s when I hear it.
The pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire. A staccato assault that rips through the dreadful, murderous cheer of the room and leaves a trail of confused fear in its wake.
Victor’s body stills.
The goons tense up.
“What the fuck was that?” he barks, whipping toward the back hallway.
One guy with a radio mutters something about perimeter breach. Victor curses and yells, “Go check it out — now!”
The two goons run off, weapons raised, eyes wide. They don’t know it yet, but they’re running to their deaths. I lift my head slowly.
Victor looks back at me.
And I smile.
Because I know who it is. There’s only one person it can be, and I never expected he’d come back into my life — doubt I ever could’ve imagined a scenario where I’d want him in my life again — but, for right now, I’m happy in my own sick, twisted way.
Victor tilts his head. My smile grows wider to see the fear and indecision in his eyes. Oh, my sick brother, how I revel in your terror. How I love to see you brought low, to feel human, to feel that same helplessness you force into so many innocent people’s lives.
“Why are you smiling?” He says.
I stare death into his eyes. Smiling, cheerful, vicious death.
“I know exactly what that noise is.”
His brow furrows. “What is it? Answer me.”
I tilt my chin and snarl. “Oh, my brother… you're about to get so much more than you bargained for, you piece of shit. Tick tock, you piece of shit. Tick tock. Your time is up.”
