But every so often, Sasha Sever glanced toward the peephole in the steel door. He knew the major wasn’t asleep. The officer had seen his perfect scenario go up in smoke, and the response would be harsh.
The thunder of heavy boots in the hallway came without warning. Then the pounding of many feet and the unmistakable clatter of gear. Lom let out a long breath, and his face went gray.
He knew exactly what that sound meant. It was the prison extraction team in full masks. Men with no names, only numbers on their helmets and rubber batons they used with professional efficiency to turn a man’s insides to mush.
“Stay calm,” Sever said, his steady voice cutting through the rising panic. “Everybody to the wall. Hands behind your head. Don’t move.
“Don’t yell. Don’t ask for mercy. These men are animals, and fear only excites them. If we stay quiet, they’ll get bored faster.”
The heavy bolt clanged. The door flew open so hard it slammed against the wall. “Face down! Extraction team!”
The command alone could freeze a man. Five large officers in black masks and heavy body armor stormed into the cell. Their batons rose in perfect sync.
This wasn’t a routine inspection. It was a punishment operation. They hit hard, methodically, and without a word.
Lom went down first, one strike to the knee taking him out. Skinny Needle flew into the far corner like he weighed nothing. Poor Vasya was driven straight into the concrete.
Sever stayed on his feet longer than the rest. He didn’t drop on his own; a shield smashed him down. But even as he fell, he tucked properly, protecting his head, and never made a sound.
For about five minutes, the cell was filled with the dull smack of rubber on flesh and the heavy breathing of the men doing the hitting. The inmates groaned quietly. Somebody whimpered. But there were no cries for mercy.
Sever’s words had stuck. They remembered the main rule: don’t feed the animals your fear. When the beating finally ended, the extraction team stepped back toward the door, forming a corridor.
The major walked in with a lazy swagger, the same one with the cold fish eyes. He stepped over Needle, who was curled up on the floor, and stopped above Lom. Lom lay there spitting blood from his mouth.
His face was a mask of pain. “Well, hero?” the major said, kicking him hard in the ribs with a polished boot.
“Have a nice talk with your new authority figure? Share tea? Bond a little?” Lom clenched his teeth and said nothing.
“I gave you a direct order, you piece of trash!” the major snapped, bending down, grabbing Lom by the hair, and yanking his head up. “I told you to break him, and instead you’re hanging on his every word.
“You forgot real fast who feeds you around here.” Lom forced one swollen eye open. He looked straight at the furious officer.
Yesterday—just yesterday—he would have folded. He would have nodded, apologized, promised anything. But now he remembered how Sever had calmly moved a knife aside with one bare hand. He remembered being called what he was: a dirty rag.
And Lom made his final choice. “Go to hell,” he rasped. Bloody spit landed on the officer’s polished boot.
“I’m not your rag. I’m a man.” The major jerked back as if he’d been slapped. His face flushed dark red with rage.
His trained dog, his attack animal, had just turned on him. And the reason was the man still lying by the wall, curled up, bleeding, but not broken. The major swung his furious gaze toward Sever.
The old inmate was slowly pushing himself up onto one knee. Blood ran from a split brow, but he was smiling. His lips were torn and bloody, but he was smiling all the same.
“Not your best work, Chief,” Sever said quietly. “Your batons are rubber. The spirit in here is steel. And rubber doesn’t do much against steel.”
“Think you’re clever?”
