Dark Soul Vol. 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoulders and grin. “How do you like that?”
    Stefano coughed, unsure of how much air he could get. His torso was on fire, hurt, raw, broken down, everything stretched and wide open to the brutal force. He didn’t want to say anything, wasn’t sure he could find words. He just shook his head and gave a pained yelp when the fist hit him again, shorter distance now because the Russian stepped right into him. It only made the agony everywhere in his torso worse.
    “Had enough? Ask me for mercy.”
    Stefano swallowed the blood from his broken nose and blinked his eyes clear, that alone a supreme effort. Everything hurt. Breathing, standing, being alive.
    His pride didn’t matter, there were no witnesses.
    But you’ll know you did it.
    “Stop. Please.” Please.
    The Russian grabbed his head again and forced him to look up into his face. For a terrible, hot-cold moment, Stefano expected the man to kiss him or bite him on the face. But they sure don’t kiss goats, do they? Hysteria and pain gave way to a strange detachment, as if he wasn’t really in his body, didn’t actually live here. Only the pain connected him to it, that sharp, sawing ache everywhere in his body anchoring him as much as it kept him conscious.
    “Please,” Stefano added, lips too close to the Russian’s face.
    The Russian let his hair go, took a step back, turned—and turned further, landing a terrible kick to Stefano’s ribcage that felt as though it shattered every bone in his chest. Stefano’s legs gave out, and the Russian muttered “We’re done here” to his comrades.
    They let him go. Stefano fell forward, legs too weak to hold him.
    He hit the ground and gasped at the broken pain in his chest, every organ in his body bruised and throbbing. He must have passed out for a while, because it was dark and he was alone when he came to again.
    Getting to his feet proved to be the hardest thing he’d ever done; tears were streaming down his face when he finally stood. Finding his way in the dark warehouse was yet another nightmare. He could barely walk and ended up stumbling into everything along the wall to find a door, only to realize after agonizing hours there wasn’t one and he had to walk the other way. No cell phone. Where on earth was he?
    At last he found a door and the yard, and the street beyond. It had to be late; just a few cars were on the streets and none stopped.
    He clearly looked like the victim of a mugging, and people just didn’t want to get involved. Who’d blame them? A good part of the family’s power was based on that very human behavior of avoiding trouble.
    Ahead, a flickering neon motel sign. Not a chain. Stefano dragged himself toward it. The place turned out to be perfect, run down and renting rooms by the hour. The fucking Russians had left him his wallet and cash.
    Even in his state, leaning one elbow heavy on the counter, breathing hard as if he’d been shot in the gut, the guy behind the counter didn’t ask any questions, not even whether he needed anything—the assumption remained unspoken that he didn’t.
    Stefano paid. “Can I use . . . your phone?”
    The guy palmed the money and shoved a phone from the end of the counter at him. Stefano dialed Silvio’s number, even though his hands hurt bad punching the buttons, and he was shaking so hard the receiver almost slipped a few times.
    “You’ve reached the voice—”
    Stefano’s knees buckled and his vision grayed out, and he fought against passing out because he doubted very much that anybody would call an ambulance. They’d likely throw his carcass into the yard and claim they’d never seen him.
    Probably rob me first, too.
    The tone, finally, the motherfucking tone. “Silvio. I’m . . .” he glanced around, spotted the address taped to the desk. “120 North Street. Come and get me.” Please. He put the phone down, which took far too much concentration and precision, and pushed away from the counter.
    He didn’t walk so much as