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Description
The room was filled with semi-darkness, to say the least. The only source of light was the flickering screen of a computer in the corner that through its pale blue shine on the wall and desk. It barely reached their eyes. Their hands laid on the cold steel of their guns, eyes hard, glistening like gems in this shaky absence of light. Behind them shallow shadows wobbled on the walls, twisting and swirling around one another. They crept closer, grasped at their shoulders and the chairs the two men were sitting on. Nervous excitement and deadly calculation played in their features, making their mouths twitch and eyes flit around in their sockets. Finally the door in front of them opened. The frame of a young woman approached them, slowly emerging from the blackness of the corridor. The anxiety radiating from the smaller male intensified and warped into sheer hatred. Antonio's hand tensed around the handle of his weapon, safely hidden under the table. Despite the fury he felt seeing his beloved Italian in such anguish and despite all the blame he put on the Hungarian assassin in front of him he wouldn't want to see anyone get into a fight. He tried to take Romano's hand or at least make contact with him in some way but he flinched away. A worried sigh, barely audible on his lips the Spaniard turned his attention back to their hostess.
"Don't think I haven't seen your guns. Put them aside." She demanded in a clear voice, her words rang with authority. Neither of them made a move for a while. Then, slowly, deliberately Antonio placed his Magnum on the table he sat at. He figured that at least one of them should act like a mature adult. He could feel his companion's incredulous stare on his face. Without turning his head he muttered: "Put the gun on the table."
Elizaveta's eyes flitted to the seat next to him. A few seconds passed in silence but then Romano's gun rested next to Antonio's. The Hungarian relaxed visibly, apparently she had come unarmed.
"So, you said we needed to talk. If you came to try and blackmail me I can already assure you that it won't work that way." She started off, marching up and down angrily in front of them.
"Since we don't have anything to blackmail you with…" Antonio trailed off mid-sentence. "Wait, why should we even try that?"
Interrupted in her thoughts, it appeared, Elizaveta stopped her infuriated march and looked up. "Isn't that why you are here? Or did you already kill him? I'm telling you, if Sadiq's dead I will–"
"Cut the crap, bitch." Romano hissed. "Just tell us where Karpusi is and we'll kill you later." Paying no heed to the Italian's thread she turned to the Spaniard. "Karpusi?" Her expression was just as puzzled as his. "What's with him?"
"Don't play dumb! You fuckers killed him, didn't you?" Romano barked before Antonio could even react.  Immediately all eyes were on the younger man.
"Karpusi is dead?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She didn't seem to have a clue about what was going on. Did that mean Sadiq wasn't the one behind Heracles disappearance?
"No. That means… We don't know where he is right now, but he sure isn't dead." Antonio replied, making a thoughtful sound with his tongue. "Why would Adnan be?" He asked swiftly, hoping to bring some clarity to the situation. All this was very confusing.
The Hungarian's eyes narrowed with a frown. "He disappeared as well, along with his assistant."
"So did Senor Karpusi!" The Spaniard interjected, baffled by the coincidence.
Distrust was plain to see on the other two's faces.
"So it's possible Karpusi abducted Sadiq." Elizaveta snarled, jumping to conclusions at once. The Spaniard shook his head. "I doubt that. He would have called or been seen by now if that was the case. It's like the earth itself swallowed him. Maybe Adnan abducted him." He retorted.
"Impossible, he wasn't in the condition to even take two steps without staggering."
"Then where does that leave us?"
The brunette woman flicked her hair back and put her hands on her hips. Her eyes wandered back and forth between the two southerners in front of her, both returning her stare with determined coldness. After a while of silent pondering she said: "I still believe Karpusi is the one behind Sadiq's disappearance but right now we have two missing leaders and no clue where they could be. We should focus on that."
Romano choked a little. "What the fuck? 'We'!? 'We' should nothing, you bitch!" He jumped to his feet and for a second his partner feared he might reach for his gun. Luckily he was satisfied by pounding his fist on the table. "We have nothing to do with you! The last time I'll see you is when I cut your decrepit head off your fucking shoulders!"
Elizaveta took the insults without a blink of the eye, gave a short nod and turned to the Spanish man again. She clearly thought of him as the leader. Himself, he wasn't so sure. Then she said, almost drowned out by Romano's angry huffing: "We should work together. The fact that both of them disappeared most likely means that the cases are related to each other. Together we might find them sooner, and hopefully not dead."
The two men exchanged a long gaze, pleas circled in the Spaniard's green orbs. The Italian shook his head vehemently but Antonio had already made up his mind. "Fine, let's work together." He declared before his partner could interrupt him. The Hungarian held her hand out in return. "Truce?" She asked sternly.
"Truce."
Romano watched as they shook hands. He watched as Antonio took his gun and rose from his chair, motioning him to do the same. He watched as Antonio walked next to the Hungarian killer, talking about possible allies and bribery. He was silent the whole time.
Truce, he had said. Antonio had shaken hands with the woman that had killed his little brother. That thought brought a bitter taste on his tongue. Romano flinched mentally, realizing: Antonio had his priorities; and he stood clearly below the goddamn Greek in that ranking. A wave of jealousy washed over him, merged with fury and disbelief. Of course, the Spaniard would do anything to save his beloved boss. Romano didn't want to believe that the Greek was more important to him than he. How could Antonio disrespect his feelings so much?
Hurt flickered across his face while his heart tightened violently, as if someone grabbed it with an iron grip and squeezed it hard.
He wasn't sure how, but now he was standing next to their car, no trace of Elizaveta to be found. He looked over at his so called partner who just gave him a confident smile and entered the vehicle and then waited for him. Romano slammed the door shut when he sat down, not bothering to put the seatbelt on. The taller man didn't say a word about what just had happened; all he did was hum a cheerful tune and steer the car on the highway. As the feeling of victory radiated from Antonio and another song broke from his lips the young Italian next to him suddenly found himself wishing feverishly for Heracles Karpusi's death.

"Wake up." A groggy, hoarse voice told him. When he didn't move he received a kick in the side, a rather crude one. Still half-asleep, he groaned, cringing away from the surprising pain, reminding his body of all the grazes, sprained bones and bruised skin. Sadiq forced his eyes open just to be met by glaring sunlight falling through a wide window plane, partly covered by blinds. His first impulse was to sit up, supporting his weight on his hands, but then he had to learn that he was still tied up. He rolled over and looked up. A sleepy Greek was staring back at him. Then his memories caught up with him. In response to that he shut his eyes and grunted reluctantly. Then he sat up with no help from his new roommate. "Why'd you wake me, asshole?" He complained immediately. Heracles turned his back on him and walked over to the small kitchen section, reaching for the knife on the counter.  When he returned he held it as though he wanted to stab him. "I have no intention to clean this place up and before you piss on the good carpet I thought I was better off with you using the bathroom." He explained matter-of-factly as if Sadiq was nothing more than a dog. When the Turkish man pointed that out he replied: "A creature that makes such noises in its sleep can just… be related to a scabby street dog. Now move it, Fido."
Taken aback by not the insult but the rather unfitting amount of humor in Heracles' voice, or by the fact that the Greek could joke at all, Sadiq turned around and presented his tied hands to him. The other man knelt down behind him, grabbed the ropes and started to cut them.  The closeness with which the blade of the kitchen knife passed his wrists unsettled the Turk. He hated having a disadvantage. But then his hands were free and the blood rushed into them. He rubbed his palms together, trying to chase the coldness of his skin away. Heracles straightened up slowly; his body clearly wasn't unharmed either.
When the Turk returned from the bathroom, admittedly, he had been in need of it, Heracles was standing in the small kitchen area and rummaged through a few drawers.
"What're you doing now?" Sadiq demanded. The answer was curt and hostile: "Searching."
"No shit, wiseass. What are you searching for?" He muttered grudgingly as he dragged his feet to the low couch in the middle of the room. There were no walls that separated the different areas, besides the bathroom and a small bedroom in the back of the apartment. Instead of an answer the rattling of cutlery continued. Sadiq sat down with a huff. Despite his best hopes a night of sleep hadn't improved the situation at all. He massaged his temples, now that he finally could move his arms again. Then he glanced at Heracles suspiciously. He didn't know what to think of the other man. Why hadn't he tried to kill him yet? Was it really that Russian's threat that kept him alive? Not that he would lose to him, but anyway…
A moment later the Greek came into sight again, a clearly unsatisfied look on his face. That didn't surprise Sadiq. That brat never had worn a different expression for as long as he could remember.  A sudden memory of Heracles, his face twisted with pain and tears streaming down his cheeks, flashed up in his mind, belying his earlier thought. The familiar sting of guilt penetrated his mind, twisting its way deep down into his chest. He pushed it away, buried it beneath other thoughts. He wouldn't yield to such emotions, especially not before those loathing, judgmental, green-gleaming eyes. Sadiq put on an emotionless mask and met the cold glare head on. He watched the younger male take a seat in a leather armchair opposite of the couch the Turk was occupying. His hair was still tangled from sleeping; he hadn't spent a moment fixing his appearance, it seemed. The black jacket was crinkled and covered in dirt. Sadiq briefly wondered if the Greek had even undressed before he had gone to bed. He guessed not and tried to picture Heracles, curled up on one side, his clothes out of place, the crumpled shirt revealing a slim line of golden skin above the waistband of his pants and the blanket tangled around his limbs. He imagined the innocent expression on his face half hidden by his chocolate brown bangs, his lips slightly parted to suck in the cool air in a steady rhythm, his eyelids fluttering and a sleepy, almost inaudible moan escaping his mouth. Then Sadiq mentally slapped himself.
"Are you even listening?" Heracles growled. Apparently he had been talking the whole time. Anger rushed through the Turk. That damned Greek had nerve! Walking around like he was in charge or something!
"Fuck off" He retorted wittily. Guessing the implied 'No, I am not' in his answer Heracles started again.
"I was thinking about the things that guy, Ivan, has said. To me it sounded as if we got reduced to guinea pigs. He's going to experiment with us." That caused both men to imagine very unpleasant things. The Greek continued: "But if that Russian bastard wants a game he can have it. I don't care what you are planning to do but I'd like to inform you… that I will gladly hand your ass to him if it helps me. I won't lose to him."
Before he could even think it over Sadiq retorted: "Same here!"
That elicited a scornful chuckle from the other. "As if you had any useful information about me."
The Turk's expression darkened. That was true and a small, dumb part of his mind felt like this would never change; as if he had ever known anything about the young Greek, as if he ever would. No, Heracles would never let him in, no matter what he did. Thankfully the other, rational part quickly silenced those thoughts with the harsh reality. The Greek had that stupid virus installed on his computers and he could only guess what data had found its way to him. Annoyed by himself Sadiq brushed the man's comment aside with his hand. "What do you know? I have more information than you think." He lied nonchalantly. Heracles didn't seem impressed. That only infuriated him further. Why the hell did that little bastard feel so high and mighty? Both of them knew how quickly he could be put into his place. In the wake of that thought darker ones aroused in the back of his mind. He threw himself back against the backrest of the couch and slapped his arm over his eyes. That wasn't how he had imagined his life. It wasn't like he had had a clear plan but he was sure that this was wrong. He hadn't expected to live happily ever after; or to grow old for that matter. But he hadn't thought that one little encounter, just one moment, could change his life so completely.
--
"Don't get me started, I'm going to the hotel, pack my things and then I'm outta here." Sadiq said and then laughed a little about Gupta's dry remark. The young Turk fought his way across the market. The air was still cool from last night. He smiled to himself, pondering his today's victory. He sure leeched some good money off of those corrupt Greeks. When they would notice the trap they fell into he'd been long gone. It was a great day. The masses pushed him forward, into a small alleyway. While the locals tried to lure tourists into their shops or convince them to buy souvenirs from the street Sadiq strolled over to a bench. He could as well spend some time here at the lively core of the city. He was rather unknown in Greece; no one, not even the police, would recognize him. The boarding for his flight started in four hours, still plenty of time. He leaned back and closed his eyes, concentrating on the noise around him. From time to time someone would come and try to sell him some useless space-waster of a souvenir but all he had to do was answer in Turkish to chase them away. In a way it was pretty sad that people avoided him just because of his nationality but more importantly to him was: He had some peace and quiet.
That was, until he felt a foreign hand in the pocket of his light jacket. His eyes flew open and out of reflex he grabbed the stranger's wrist, twisting their arm a little. A surprised yelp answered him. Sadiq turned around to see his thief. Behind the bench cowered a young boy and grimaced painfully. He released him from his grip but only to reach further and grab his collar. Then he dragged him around the bench so that they were face to face. Now he could examine his catch. The boy was at most thirteen, probably younger. His cheekbones stood bright against the pale skin of his face, in fact, all of his bones were easy to see. He wasn't even skinny anymore; he was underweight, at least fifteen pounds.  His hair was dirty and cut unevenly, as if someone had used a razor to shorten it. Despite his weak appearance and his crouched stance there was a certain fire in his eyes that showed he was still willing to fight. He didn't seem like a runaway but he was homeless for sure. Sadiq wondered what had happened to the child. While he looked at the Greek a mild feeling of pity raised its head inside him. He let go of his filthy shirt but had to grasp his shoulders when the kid tried to take the chance and run for it. He reminded him of himself in a way. Maybe it was due to his good mood or because of this feeling that he could relate to the stranger's fate that made him ask quietly: "Do you speak English?"
The boy's expression froze for a moment. Then he turned his head away and pressed his lips together. Sadiq took that as a yes. Surprising. He probably had learned the language by listening to tourists or something. If so he was quite a bright one.
"I am Sadiq. What is your name?" He asked slowly, pronouncing every word very clearly. There was a heavy silence but after a while the boy glanced at him with the most reluctant expression the Turk had ever seen and grumbled something that could have passed for "Heracles". A strange name but he left it alone for his own name wasn't very conventional either. Heracles didn't seem too pleased with the situation, though. The Turk smiled at him to show he meant no harm. The child acknowledged his efforts by giving a low snort, his arms shaking a little. He was so delicate it almost hurt looking at him. The poor creature was nothing but skin and bones.
"Where are your parents?" Sadiq continued his interrogation. That question elicited an odd look of surprise from Heracles. Then he shrugged. The Turk sighed in response. They weren't here and their son was starving so the information was irrelevant anyway. Sadiq wouldn't call them if he knew where they were. By now he was truly feeling sorry for the kid. He had something of a lost kitten; he just had to take care of him. Heracles was obviously confused. Again he tried to fight Sadiq's hands off. It was endearing how he kept struggling even though he knew he didn't stand a chance; it showed he had a strong will and made Sadiq coo calming words in both, English and Turkish. Finally the young Greek looked at him, unleashing the full force of his azure, ocean green gaze. Never before had he seen such eyes. Their color seemed to constantly range from green to blue, with intriguing flecks wildly dancing in it. There was something special about this boy, a mystery that needed to be solved, and it didn't let Sadiq pull away. He knew he should let go now and move on, maybe give Heracles some money. He couldn't. Those big eyes, framed by thick, long eyelashes, drew him in and he didn't even put up a fight. Before he knew it he had risen to his feet and drawn his wallet from his pocket. He held it up and looked at Heracles. "Let's go and eat something. My treat."
The boy looked completely baffled, he could tell from the way his jaw dropped. The Greek clearly couldn't believe his ears. Sadiq rather enjoyed that feeling of doing something decent. It wasn't anything he'd like to do on a daily basis but the way Heracles eyed him hopefully, somehow got straight to his heart. What was with that boy that made him melt on the spot? Whatever it was he wanted it and he would have it.
So he took Heracles to a small snack bar nearby and bought him his first proper meal in three years, as he later learned. The Greek wasn't very eager to share his memories or thoughts, though, and whenever Sadiq brought his parents up the boy would shrink away. There was something else he noticed. Heracles didn't smile. He had quite good manners for a street urchin but he wouldn't smile once. At first it didn't bother the Turk, later it bugged him a little, by the end of the day he was trying everything he could think of to see at least the tiniest grin. The longer Heracles withheld it from him the more he wanted it and that unsettled him. His plane had left the airport hours ago but Sadiq had made up his mind. He would take Heracles with him and give him the home and affection he deserved. He had no idea what caused those feelings within him but he didn't question them either. He had to admit, he was entirely smitten with that young Greek. He was mature for his age, but that was what the street did to you. He apparently liked cats a lot, considering how often he mentioned them in the very few sentences he spoke. He was proud, too, and Sadiq couldn't help but admire his strength. Many would have given up long ago, but not this one, not Heracles. That needed to be rewarded. So the Turk took him home, fed him, raised him, made him a part, a very important part, of his life. It didn't take him long to realize that he had fallen in love with Heracles. At first he felt sick to the core. It was hard to accept that he was most likely gay or bi, at least; in fact, he struggled quite some time with it. After that hurdle was taken something else came to his mind: Heracles' age. He was so young, surely at least seven years younger than him. Did that make him a pedophile? He refused to answer that question. He felt unsure, embarrassed and dirty. But those feelings ceased with every day the Greek grew older, everyday he would something else that made Sadiq's heart ache for him more than ever before. He just loved him so much, everything about him. Sometimes he was convinced that he had fallen for him the second he had first seen him. It was an all-consuming feeling, he adored everything Heracles did. He loved him and it drove him mad. Often he would throw tantrums and hit random things when his desire became too much to handle. Sadiq did his best, though. He controlled his emotions around Heracles as much as possible. He didn't want to scare him away. Yet the sheer impossibility of the situation was pushing him over the edge. The years went by and not once did Heracles as much as smile at him. Sadiq was a selfish and jealous man. He kept the Greek for himself, didn't let him see other people, fearing he might take more interest in them than in him. All his efforts were in vain, though. Heracles didn't love him and nothing would change that. The night he accepted this was the night he snapped. That night his life fell apart.
--

Heracles raised his head when he heard the door handle move. There was none on their side of the door so that meant someone was about to enter. He had searched for a weapon or tool of some sort before but it had been no use. Not that he was in the shape to win a fight. The pain had resurfaced during the night as the drugs had worn off. He watched the door swing open, determined to stay calm and indifferent. If he lost his temper there would be no way he could gather enough information to get out of here. Therefore his expression didn't change when a tall Russian man entered the room with a cheerful smile. "Good morning, my guests. I hope you had a pleasant night." He chirped. Sadiq greeted him with a cascade of insults and jumped to his feet. Heracles just held his hands up to stop him and turned around. "Good morning, Mr. Braginsky." That earned him a disbelieving look from the Turk but he didn't react to it. He had planned to at least keep his dignity if not his freedom. Pleased by the civilized behavior of the Greek Ivan straightened up and clapped his hand together. His weird eyes examined the two of them thoroughly, probably checking for any new injuries while Sadiq sat back down; his leg was hurt. Seemingly satisfied with the result he said: "I'm glad you two get along. Since you are behaving so well, I will start the experiments today. I hope you will enjoy them." A hint of innocent insecurity stole into his voice and he smiled shyly, as if he wasn't convinced by his own preparations. Heracles' gaze darkened but he didn't respond, neither did Sadiq. The Russian looked back and forth between them for a short moment, then he lifted his large hand and pointed his finger at the Grecian man. "You will go first. Come with me." He said in a polite, yet threatening manner and turned for the door again. Heracles submitted to his fate and got to his feet slowly. He fixed a superior expression on his face and straightened up. Ivan led him down the corridor to the elevator. During their journey downwards not a word was spoken. Heracles kept glancing at his companion. He wore a placid smile but apparently stared at nothing particular with his wild violet eyes. The dark glowing in those irises made his spine tingle uncomfortably. He rather concentrated on his surroundings. They were walking down a hall that ended in two double swing doors. Behind them a naked concrete stairway led down into uncertain blackness. Before he took another step the Greek asked: "What are you going to do with him?"
Ivan looked up. "We'll just talk a little." He assured him with a smile. The way he said it didn't calm him down at all. There was no reason to be calm, after all. But Heracles kept a stiff upper lip and deliberately slowed his breathing down. "Alright."
Ivan almost skipped down the stairs then and showed him a narrow corridor with rather dim lighting. They turned a corner and ended up before a dark metal door. The Russian opened it and gestured inside, "After you." What normally would have been a condescending or gloating remark held no hostility when the northern man said it. It seemed Ivan really just tried to be polite. It was a strange thought.
The room was very narrow, two small couches and a low casual table made up the core of it. The light wasn't any better here. At the Greek's suspicious look Ivan hurried to explain: "I've learned that people are more comfortable speaking when they don't feel watched. This is the perfect refuge."
Heracles had to admit that he felt a little safer here, even with the Russian in close proximity. He motioned him to sit down and then took a seat opposite of him. From beneath the table Ivan took a glass and a faceless bottle. When he uncapped it the sharp smell of alcohol invaded the Grecian's nostrils. At once he sat up. Suddenly his throat felt parched. "What is that?" He eyed the clear fluid eagerly. The Russian smiled happily in response. "I already heard you appreciated a good drink. This is vodka. Don't worry. It's all yours." He replied as he poured some of the Russian beverage into the cup. Heracles took it without hesitation. He had been so stuffed with drugs and overwhelmed by the events that he had totally forgotten how thirsty he actually was; and it was that kind of thirst water couldn't quench. With an almost lustful gaze he downed the drink and gave a low hiss when the alcohol burnt his tongue and throat. "Oh yes…" He whispered hoarsely. He had missed that. It wasn't quite his taste but that wasn't the important thing. At least it was some kind of alcoholic drink. Now he felt better. His fingers wound around the slim neck of the bottle and he pulled it closer. He didn't care that the Russian madman was watching him with the weirdest grin. "You wanted to talk, now talk." Heracles muttered while he served himself more vodka.
"Yes." Ivan nodded and leaned back. "But don't you want to ask questions first?" He wondered. The other shook his head and answered nonchalantly: "The only thing I care about is getting out of here. Your reasons or plans don't matter to me."
"That's a healthy attitude. Keep your eyes on the goal… even though you will never reach it." He added with a sneer. "Fine. Let's talk. Do you hate Sadiq?"
The question came out of the blue. At the Turk's name Heracles choked a little. Coughing he put the glass down. "What kind of a first question is that?"
"Just answer."
He sighed grudgingly. "Yes, I hate him. Isn't that obvious?" His hand reached for the glass again.
The next question came at once, "Why do you hate him?"
"Why?" Heracles blinked. He often forgot that not everyone instantly knew what that Turkish bastard was like. "He is a sick and perverted man –no, animal is more fitting. He is manipulative and brutal. He is a monster. He deserves nothing but hatred for the things he did to me." He answered reluctantly. He already didn't like the path this conversation was taking.
"He saved your life, though." Ivan interjected thoughtfully. He really had done his homework, hadn't he?
"Yes." The Greek hissed hostilely. "So that I could become his little pet!"
"So you don't think he just wanted to help you?"
"No." Heracles swallowed the insults he still had in store together with a big gulp of vodka. Ivan nodded. "I see. But I heard you were quite close when you lived with him." He lowered his voice. The sheer thought of it brought up the feeling Heracles hated the most when it came to Adnan. He had felt so goddamn, so endlessly betrayed. If he allowed it he would still feel that way today. But luckily he had buried those self-damaging, dangerous feelings beneath a load of burning hatred, so it didn't matter at all.
"Lies." Heracles spat. "I hated that bastard since the moment I saw him."
"Why? When you first met him you didn't have a reason to hate him." The Russian held up his finger with a half-confused, half-curious expression. Sadly, that made sense. Heracles took another sip from his cup to buy some time. "Maybe I didn't hate him right away. I was just a child back then. But I never liked him."
"You sound like you are trying to defend yourself. Do you know that?"
"I am not." More vodka found its way into the Greek's mouth. His companion smiled vilely, sensing the lie and clearly taking pleasure in his struggle. At that sight Heracles remembered who he was talking to. This man was holding him captive, he was going to make experiment with him, whatever that meant. How could he let his guard down like that? He glanced at the vodka bottle in front of him. Was there a drug in it? It wouldn't surprise him. Ivan was knowingly caging him with the person that had ruined his entire life and then didn't allow him to kill him. It was a torture within a torture. Of course he wouldn't hesitate to kill him by mixing drugs and alcohol. Heracles flinched away from him and turned his gaze to the cup in his hands. His thoughts were spinning in circles, he had difficulties grabbing just one of them and holding on to it. Sweat gathered on his forehead.
"Do you want more?" Heracles looked up when Ivan offered him a new bottle. Now he noticed that the other one was as good as empty. When had he drunk all this? He slowly shook his head, despite the aching in his throat. "Fine", Ivan said but put the bottle down right in front of him. "Gupta told me Sadiq raped you-"
"Shut up!"
Suddenly Heracles was on his feet, glaring daggers at the Russian.  His whole body was tensed, eyes widened. "Shut up." He repeated, a little calmer now. It was too late, though. No amount of alcohol could have prevented what was coming now. The memory hit him like wrecking ball. He was frozen in place, hands trembling helplessly. He couldn't run from his own thoughts, neither could he hide.
"Sit down." Ivan instructed.
"No." Heracles hissed. "I don't give a fuck what you'll do to me. I will not talk about that. You hear me?" He added a few curses in Greek and then stormed towards the door. When he tried to yank it open it didn't budge, though.
"Really" Ivan chirped from behind him. "How did you make it to the top of Greece's criminal world if your first reaction is to run away?"
In response Heracles whirled around, staggering a little. The alcohol was getting to him. "Fuck yourself! You have no idea what I went through!"
The Russian rose to his feet slowly and his voice was as cold as ice when he spoke. "You trusted him and he betrayed you. He raped you and he loved it. He shattered your idolized image of him. The physical pain was almost unbearable and the humiliation was even worse. You felt sick and dirty. Used. You still do. Damage was done that cannot be repaired. You probably will never trust another person ever again. You can't sleep well at night because the memory doesn't fade away, you have to drown yourself in alcohol to have some peaceful hours. Now you are forced to be so close to Adnan that it practically tears you apart. You want to kill him for what he did to you but you know that wouldn't change anything. But your longing for this senseless revenge doesn't leave enough space for other things and that's why you haven't had one relationship so far, you can't bear to be close to other people. I am sure every therapist would love you. You are a psychic wreck. …To sum it up: He broke you."
Heracles stared at him for a long moment. Then he returned to his seat slowly and sat back down.
"Good boy." The Russian praised him and patted his head, the way he had done it the first time they had met. "But now, the talking part is over."
"What…?" Before the Greek could gather his thoughts a fist collided with his face.

Description
The room was filled with semi-darkness, to say the least. The only source of light was the flickering screen of a computer in the corner that through its pale blue shine on the wall and desk. It barely reached their eyes. Their hands laid on the cold steel of their guns, eyes hard, glistening like gems in this shaky absence of light. Behind them shallow shadows wobbled on the walls, twisting and swirling around one another. They crept closer, grasped at their shoulders and the chairs the two men were sitting on. Nervous excitement and deadly calculation played in their features, making their mouths twitch and eyes flit around in their sockets. Finally the door in front of them opened. The frame of a young woman approached them, slowly emerging from the blackness of the corridor. The anxiety radiating from the smaller male intensified and warped into sheer hatred. Antonio's hand tensed around the handle of his weapon, safely hidden under the table. Despite the fury he felt seeing his beloved Italian in such anguish and despite all the blame he put on the Hungarian assassin in front of him he wouldn't want to see anyone get into a fight. He tried to take Romano's hand or at least make contact with him in some way but he flinched away. A worried sigh, barely audible on his lips the Spaniard turned his attention back to their hostess.
"Don't think I haven't seen your guns. Put them aside." She demanded in a clear voice, her words rang with authority. Neither of them made a move for a while. Then, slowly, deliberately Antonio placed his Magnum on the table he sat at. He figured that at least one of them should act like a mature adult. He could feel his companion's incredulous stare on his face. Without turning his head he muttered: "Put the gun on the table."
Elizaveta's eyes flitted to the seat next to him. A few seconds passed in silence but then Romano's gun rested next to Antonio's. The Hungarian relaxed visibly, apparently she had come unarmed.
"So, you said we needed to talk. If you came to try and blackmail me I can already assure you that it won't work that way." She started off, marching up and down angrily in front of them.
"Since we don't have anything to blackmail you with…" Antonio trailed off mid-sentence. "Wait, why should we even try that?"
Interrupted in her thoughts, it appeared, Elizaveta stopped her infuriated march and looked up. "Isn't that why you are here? Or did you already kill him? I'm telling you, if Sadiq's dead I will–"
"Cut the crap, bitch." Romano hissed. "Just tell us where Karpusi is and we'll kill you later." Paying no heed to the Italian's thread she turned to the Spaniard. "Karpusi?" Her expression was just as puzzled as his. "What's with him?"
"Don't play dumb! You fuckers killed him, didn't you?" Romano barked before Antonio could even react.  Immediately all eyes were on the younger man.
"Karpusi is dead?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She didn't seem to have a clue about what was going on. Did that mean Sadiq wasn't the one behind Heracles disappearance?
"No. That means… We don't know where he is right now, but he sure isn't dead." Antonio replied, making a thoughtful sound with his tongue. "Why would Adnan be?" He asked swiftly, hoping to bring some clarity to the situation. All this was very confusing.
The Hungarian's eyes narrowed with a frown. "He disappeared as well, along with his assistant."
"So did Senor Karpusi!" The Spaniard interjected, baffled by the coincidence.
Distrust was plain to see on the other two's faces.
"So it's possible Karpusi abducted Sadiq." Elizaveta snarled, jumping to conclusions at once. The Spaniard shook his head. "I doubt that. He would have called or been seen by now if that was the case. It's like the earth itself swallowed him. Maybe Adnan abducted him." He retorted.
"Impossible, he wasn't in the condition to even take two steps without staggering."
"Then where does that leave us?"
The brunette woman flicked her hair back and put her hands on her hips. Her eyes wandered back and forth between the two southerners in front of her, both returning her stare with determined coldness. After a while of silent pondering she said: "I still believe Karpusi is the one behind Sadiq's disappearance but right now we have two missing leaders and no clue where they could be. We should focus on that."
Romano choked a little. "What the fuck? 'We'!? 'We' should nothing, you bitch!" He jumped to his feet and for a second his partner feared he might reach for his gun. Luckily he was satisfied by pounding his fist on the table. "We have nothing to do with you! The last time I'll see you is when I cut your decrepit head off your fucking shoulders!"
Elizaveta took the insults without a blink of the eye, gave a short nod and turned to the Spanish man again. She clearly thought of him as the leader. Himself, he wasn't so sure. Then she said, almost drowned out by Romano's angry huffing: "We should work together. The fact that both of them disappeared most likely means that the cases are related to each other. Together we might find them sooner, and hopefully not dead."
The two men exchanged a long gaze, pleas circled in the Spaniard's green orbs. The Italian shook his head vehemently but Antonio had already made up his mind. "Fine, let's work together." He declared before his partner could interrupt him. The Hungarian held her hand out in return. "Truce?" She asked sternly.
"Truce."
Romano watched as they shook hands. He watched as Antonio took his gun and rose from his chair, motioning him to do the same. He watched as Antonio walked next to the Hungarian killer, talking about possible allies and bribery. He was silent the whole time.
Truce, he had said. Antonio had shaken hands with the woman that had killed his little brother. That thought brought a bitter taste on his tongue. Romano flinched mentally, realizing: Antonio had his priorities; and he stood clearly below the goddamn Greek in that ranking. A wave of jealousy washed over him, merged with fury and disbelief. Of course, the Spaniard would do anything to save his beloved boss. Romano didn't want to believe that the Greek was more important to him than he. How could Antonio disrespect his feelings so much?
Hurt flickered across his face while his heart tightened violently, as if someone grabbed it with an iron grip and squeezed it hard.
He wasn't sure how, but now he was standing next to their car, no trace of Elizaveta to be found. He looked over at his so called partner who just gave him a confident smile and entered the vehicle and then waited for him. Romano slammed the door shut when he sat down, not bothering to put the seatbelt on. The taller man didn't say a word about what just had happened; all he did was hum a cheerful tune and steer the car on the highway. As the feeling of victory radiated from Antonio and another song broke from his lips the young Italian next to him suddenly found himself wishing feverishly for Heracles Karpusi's death.

"Wake up." A groggy, hoarse voice told him. When he didn't move he received a kick in the side, a rather crude one. Still half-asleep, he groaned, cringing away from the surprising pain, reminding his body of all the grazes, sprained bones and bruised skin. Sadiq forced his eyes open just to be met by glaring sunlight falling through a wide window plane, partly covered by blinds. His first impulse was to sit up, supporting his weight on his hands, but then he had to learn that he was still tied up. He rolled over and looked up. A sleepy Greek was staring back at him. Then his memories caught up with him. In response to that he shut his eyes and grunted reluctantly. Then he sat up with no help from his new roommate. "Why'd you wake me, asshole?" He complained immediately. Heracles turned his back on him and walked over to the small kitchen section, reaching for the knife on the counter.  When he returned he held it as though he wanted to stab him. "I have no intention to clean this place up and before you piss on the good carpet I thought I was better off with you using the bathroom." He explained matter-of-factly as if Sadiq was nothing more than a dog. When the Turkish man pointed that out he replied: "A creature that makes such noises in its sleep can just… be related to a scabby street dog. Now move it, Fido."
Taken aback by not the insult but the rather unfitting amount of humor in Heracles' voice, or by the fact that the Greek could joke at all, Sadiq turned around and presented his tied hands to him. The other man knelt down behind him, grabbed the ropes and started to cut them.  The closeness with which the blade of the kitchen knife passed his wrists unsettled the Turk. He hated having a disadvantage. But then his hands were free and the blood rushed into them. He rubbed his palms together, trying to chase the coldness of his skin away. Heracles straightened up slowly; his body clearly wasn't unharmed either.
When the Turk returned from the bathroom, admittedly, he had been in need of it, Heracles was standing in the small kitchen area and rummaged through a few drawers.
"What're you doing now?" Sadiq demanded. The answer was curt and hostile: "Searching."
"No shit, wiseass. What are you searching for?" He muttered grudgingly as he dragged his feet to the low couch in the middle of the room. There were no walls that separated the different areas, besides the bathroom and a small bedroom in the back of the apartment. Instead of an answer the rattling of cutlery continued. Sadiq sat down with a huff. Despite his best hopes a night of sleep hadn't improved the situation at all. He massaged his temples, now that he finally could move his arms again. Then he glanced at Heracles suspiciously. He didn't know what to think of the other man. Why hadn't he tried to kill him yet? Was it really that Russian's threat that kept him alive? Not that he would lose to him, but anyway…
A moment later the Greek came into sight again, a clearly unsatisfied look on his face. That didn't surprise Sadiq. That brat never had worn a different expression for as long as he could remember.  A sudden memory of Heracles, his face twisted with pain and tears streaming down his cheeks, flashed up in his mind, belying his earlier thought. The familiar sting of guilt penetrated his mind, twisting its way deep down into his chest. He pushed it away, buried it beneath other thoughts. He wouldn't yield to such emotions, especially not before those loathing, judgmental, green-gleaming eyes. Sadiq put on an emotionless mask and met the cold glare head on. He watched the younger male take a seat in a leather armchair opposite of the couch the Turk was occupying. His hair was still tangled from sleeping; he hadn't spent a moment fixing his appearance, it seemed. The black jacket was crinkled and covered in dirt. Sadiq briefly wondered if the Greek had even undressed before he had gone to bed. He guessed not and tried to picture Heracles, curled up on one side, his clothes out of place, the crumpled shirt revealing a slim line of golden skin above the waistband of his pants and the blanket tangled around his limbs. He imagined the innocent expression on his face half hidden by his chocolate brown bangs, his lips slightly parted to suck in the cool air in a steady rhythm, his eyelids fluttering and a sleepy, almost inaudible moan escaping his mouth. Then Sadiq mentally slapped himself.
"Are you even listening?" Heracles growled. Apparently he had been talking the whole time. Anger rushed through the Turk. That damned Greek had nerve! Walking around like he was in charge or something!
"Fuck off" He retorted wittily. Guessing the implied 'No, I am not' in his answer Heracles started again.
"I was thinking about the things that guy, Ivan, has said. To me it sounded as if we got reduced to guinea pigs. He's going to experiment with us." That caused both men to imagine very unpleasant things. The Greek continued: "But if that Russian bastard wants a game he can have it. I don't care what you are planning to do but I'd like to inform you… that I will gladly hand your ass to him if it helps me. I won't lose to him."
Before he could even think it over Sadiq retorted: "Same here!"
That elicited a scornful chuckle from the other. "As if you had any useful information about me."
The Turk's expression darkened. That was true and a small, dumb part of his mind felt like this would never change; as if he had ever known anything about the young Greek, as if he ever would. No, Heracles would never let him in, no matter what he did. Thankfully the other, rational part quickly silenced those thoughts with the harsh reality. The Greek had that stupid virus installed on his computers and he could only guess what data had found its way to him. Annoyed by himself Sadiq brushed the man's comment aside with his hand. "What do you know? I have more information than you think." He lied nonchalantly. Heracles didn't seem impressed. That only infuriated him further. Why the hell did that little bastard feel so high and mighty? Both of them knew how quickly he could be put into his place. In the wake of that thought darker ones aroused in the back of his mind. He threw himself back against the backrest of the couch and slapped his arm over his eyes. That wasn't how he had imagined his life. It wasn't like he had had a clear plan but he was sure that this was wrong. He hadn't expected to live happily ever after; or to grow old for that matter. But he hadn't thought that one little encounter, just one moment, could change his life so completely.
--
"Don't get me started, I'm going to the hotel, pack my things and then I'm outta here." Sadiq said and then laughed a little about Gupta's dry remark. The young Turk fought his way across the market. The air was still cool from last night. He smiled to himself, pondering his today's victory. He sure leeched some good money off of those corrupt Greeks. When they would notice the trap they fell into he'd been long gone. It was a great day. The masses pushed him forward, into a small alleyway. While the locals tried to lure tourists into their shops or convince them to buy souvenirs from the street Sadiq strolled over to a bench. He could as well spend some time here at the lively core of the city. He was rather unknown in Greece; no one, not even the police, would recognize him. The boarding for his flight started in four hours, still plenty of time. He leaned back and closed his eyes, concentrating on the noise around him. From time to time someone would come and try to sell him some useless space-waster of a souvenir but all he had to do was answer in Turkish to chase them away. In a way it was pretty sad that people avoided him just because of his nationality but more importantly to him was: He had some peace and quiet.
That was, until he felt a foreign hand in the pocket of his light jacket. His eyes flew open and out of reflex he grabbed the stranger's wrist, twisting their arm a little. A surprised yelp answered him. Sadiq turned around to see his thief. Behind the bench cowered a young boy and grimaced painfully. He released him from his grip but only to reach further and grab his collar. Then he dragged him around the bench so that they were face to face. Now he could examine his catch. The boy was at most thirteen, probably younger. His cheekbones stood bright against the pale skin of his face, in fact, all of his bones were easy to see. He wasn't even skinny anymore; he was underweight, at least fifteen pounds.  His hair was dirty and cut unevenly, as if someone had used a razor to shorten it. Despite his weak appearance and his crouched stance there was a certain fire in his eyes that showed he was still willing to fight. He didn't seem like a runaway but he was homeless for sure. Sadiq wondered what had happened to the child. While he looked at the Greek a mild feeling of pity raised its head inside him. He let go of his filthy shirt but had to grasp his shoulders when the kid tried to take the chance and run for it. He reminded him of himself in a way. Maybe it was due to his good mood or because of this feeling that he could relate to the stranger's fate that made him ask quietly: "Do you speak English?"
The boy's expression froze for a moment. Then he turned his head away and pressed his lips together. Sadiq took that as a yes. Surprising. He probably had learned the language by listening to tourists or something. If so he was quite a bright one.
"I am Sadiq. What is your name?" He asked slowly, pronouncing every word very clearly. There was a heavy silence but after a while the boy glanced at him with the most reluctant expression the Turk had ever seen and grumbled something that could have passed for "Heracles". A strange name but he left it alone for his own name wasn't very conventional either. Heracles didn't seem too pleased with the situation, though. The Turk smiled at him to show he meant no harm. The child acknowledged his efforts by giving a low snort, his arms shaking a little. He was so delicate it almost hurt looking at him. The poor creature was nothing but skin and bones.
"Where are your parents?" Sadiq continued his interrogation. That question elicited an odd look of surprise from Heracles. Then he shrugged. The Turk sighed in response. They weren't here and their son was starving so the information was irrelevant anyway. Sadiq wouldn't call them if he knew where they were. By now he was truly feeling sorry for the kid. He had something of a lost kitten; he just had to take care of him. Heracles was obviously confused. Again he tried to fight Sadiq's hands off. It was endearing how he kept struggling even though he knew he didn't stand a chance; it showed he had a strong will and made Sadiq coo calming words in both, English and Turkish. Finally the young Greek looked at him, unleashing the full force of his azure, ocean green gaze. Never before had he seen such eyes. Their color seemed to constantly range from green to blue, with intriguing flecks wildly dancing in it. There was something special about this boy, a mystery that needed to be solved, and it didn't let Sadiq pull away. He knew he should let go now and move on, maybe give Heracles some money. He couldn't. Those big eyes, framed by thick, long eyelashes, drew him in and he didn't even put up a fight. Before he knew it he had risen to his feet and drawn his wallet from his pocket. He held it up and looked at Heracles. "Let's go and eat something. My treat."
The boy looked completely baffled, he could tell from the way his jaw dropped. The Greek clearly couldn't believe his ears. Sadiq rather enjoyed that feeling of doing something decent. It wasn't anything he'd like to do on a daily basis but the way Heracles eyed him hopefully, somehow got straight to his heart. What was with that boy that made him melt on the spot? Whatever it was he wanted it and he would have it.
So he took Heracles to a small snack bar nearby and bought him his first proper meal in three years, as he later learned. The Greek wasn't very eager to share his memories or thoughts, though, and whenever Sadiq brought his parents up the boy would shrink away. There was something else he noticed. Heracles didn't smile. He had quite good manners for a street urchin but he wouldn't smile once. At first it didn't bother the Turk, later it bugged him a little, by the end of the day he was trying everything he could think of to see at least the tiniest grin. The longer Heracles withheld it from him the more he wanted it and that unsettled him. His plane had left the airport hours ago but Sadiq had made up his mind. He would take Heracles with him and give him the home and affection he deserved. He had no idea what caused those feelings within him but he didn't question them either. He had to admit, he was entirely smitten with that young Greek. He was mature for his age, but that was what the street did to you. He apparently liked cats a lot, considering how often he mentioned them in the very few sentences he spoke. He was proud, too, and Sadiq couldn't help but admire his strength. Many would have given up long ago, but not this one, not Heracles. That needed to be rewarded. So the Turk took him home, fed him, raised him, made him a part, a very important part, of his life. It didn't take him long to realize that he had fallen in love with Heracles. At first he felt sick to the core. It was hard to accept that he was most likely gay or bi, at least; in fact, he struggled quite some time with it. After that hurdle was taken something else came to his mind: Heracles' age. He was so young, surely at least seven years younger than him. Did that make him a pedophile? He refused to answer that question. He felt unsure, embarrassed and dirty. But those feelings ceased with every day the Greek grew older, everyday he would something else that made Sadiq's heart ache for him more than ever before. He just loved him so much, everything about him. Sometimes he was convinced that he had fallen for him the second he had first seen him. It was an all-consuming feeling, he adored everything Heracles did. He loved him and it drove him mad. Often he would throw tantrums and hit random things when his desire became too much to handle. Sadiq did his best, though. He controlled his emotions around Heracles as much as possible. He didn't want to scare him away. Yet the sheer impossibility of the situation was pushing him over the edge. The years went by and not once did Heracles as much as smile at him. Sadiq was a selfish and jealous man. He kept the Greek for himself, didn't let him see other people, fearing he might take more interest in them than in him. All his efforts were in vain, though. Heracles didn't love him and nothing would change that. The night he accepted this was the night he snapped. That night his life fell apart.
--

Heracles raised his head when he heard the door handle move. There was none on their side of the door so that meant someone was about to enter. He had searched for a weapon or tool of some sort before but it had been no use. Not that he was in the shape to win a fight. The pain had resurfaced during the night as the drugs had worn off. He watched the door swing open, determined to stay calm and indifferent. If he lost his temper there would be no way he could gather enough information to get out of here. Therefore his expression didn't change when a tall Russian man entered the room with a cheerful smile. "Good morning, my guests. I hope you had a pleasant night." He chirped. Sadiq greeted him with a cascade of insults and jumped to his feet. Heracles just held his hands up to stop him and turned around. "Good morning, Mr. Braginsky." That earned him a disbelieving look from the Turk but he didn't react to it. He had planned to at least keep his dignity if not his freedom. Pleased by the civilized behavior of the Greek Ivan straightened up and clapped his hand together. His weird eyes examined the two of them thoroughly, probably checking for any new injuries while Sadiq sat back down; his leg was hurt. Seemingly satisfied with the result he said: "I'm glad you two get along. Since you are behaving so well, I will start the experiments today. I hope you will enjoy them." A hint of innocent insecurity stole into his voice and he smiled shyly, as if he wasn't convinced by his own preparations. Heracles' gaze darkened but he didn't respond, neither did Sadiq. The Russian looked back and forth between them for a short moment, then he lifted his large hand and pointed his finger at the Grecian man. "You will go first. Come with me." He said in a polite, yet threatening manner and turned for the door again. Heracles submitted to his fate and got to his feet slowly. He fixed a superior expression on his face and straightened up. Ivan led him down the corridor to the elevator. During their journey downwards not a word was spoken. Heracles kept glancing at his companion. He wore a placid smile but apparently stared at nothing particular with his wild violet eyes. The dark glowing in those irises made his spine tingle uncomfortably. He rather concentrated on his surroundings. They were walking down a hall that ended in two double swing doors. Behind them a naked concrete stairway led down into uncertain blackness. Before he took another step the Greek asked: "What are you going to do with him?"
Ivan looked up. "We'll just talk a little." He assured him with a smile. The way he said it didn't calm him down at all. There was no reason to be calm, after all. But Heracles kept a stiff upper lip and deliberately slowed his breathing down. "Alright."
Ivan almost skipped down the stairs then and showed him a narrow corridor with rather dim lighting. They turned a corner and ended up before a dark metal door. The Russian opened it and gestured inside, "After you." What normally would have been a condescending or gloating remark held no hostility when the northern man said it. It seemed Ivan really just tried to be polite. It was a strange thought.
The room was very narrow, two small couches and a low casual table made up the core of it. The light wasn't any better here. At the Greek's suspicious look Ivan hurried to explain: "I've learned that people are more comfortable speaking when they don't feel watched. This is the perfect refuge."
Heracles had to admit that he felt a little safer here, even with the Russian in close proximity. He motioned him to sit down and then took a seat opposite of him. From beneath the table Ivan took a glass and a faceless bottle. When he uncapped it the sharp smell of alcohol invaded the Grecian's nostrils. At once he sat up. Suddenly his throat felt parched. "What is that?" He eyed the clear fluid eagerly. The Russian smiled happily in response. "I already heard you appreciated a good drink. This is vodka. Don't worry. It's all yours." He replied as he poured some of the Russian beverage into the cup. Heracles took it without hesitation. He had been so stuffed with drugs and overwhelmed by the events that he had totally forgotten how thirsty he actually was; and it was that kind of thirst water couldn't quench. With an almost lustful gaze he downed the drink and gave a low hiss when the alcohol burnt his tongue and throat. "Oh yes…" He whispered hoarsely. He had missed that. It wasn't quite his taste but that wasn't the important thing. At least it was some kind of alcoholic drink. Now he felt better. His fingers wound around the slim neck of the bottle and he pulled it closer. He didn't care that the Russian madman was watching him with the weirdest grin. "You wanted to talk, now talk." Heracles muttered while he served himself more vodka.
"Yes." Ivan nodded and leaned back. "But don't you want to ask questions first?" He wondered. The other shook his head and answered nonchalantly: "The only thing I care about is getting out of here. Your reasons or plans don't matter to me."
"That's a healthy attitude. Keep your eyes on the goal… even though you will never reach it." He added with a sneer. "Fine. Let's talk. Do you hate Sadiq?"
The question came out of the blue. At the Turk's name Heracles choked a little. Coughing he put the glass down. "What kind of a first question is that?"
"Just answer."
He sighed grudgingly. "Yes, I hate him. Isn't that obvious?" His hand reached for the glass again.
The next question came at once, "Why do you hate him?"
"Why?" Heracles blinked. He often forgot that not everyone instantly knew what that Turkish bastard was like. "He is a sick and perverted man –no, animal is more fitting. He is manipulative and brutal. He is a monster. He deserves nothing but hatred for the things he did to me." He answered reluctantly. He already didn't like the path this conversation was taking.
"He saved your life, though." Ivan interjected thoughtfully. He really had done his homework, hadn't he?
"Yes." The Greek hissed hostilely. "So that I could become his little pet!"
"So you don't think he just wanted to help you?"
"No." Heracles swallowed the insults he still had in store together with a big gulp of vodka. Ivan nodded. "I see. But I heard you were quite close when you lived with him." He lowered his voice. The sheer thought of it brought up the feeling Heracles hated the most when it came to Adnan. He had felt so goddamn, so endlessly betrayed. If he allowed it he would still feel that way today. But luckily he had buried those self-damaging, dangerous feelings beneath a load of burning hatred, so it didn't matter at all.
"Lies." Heracles spat. "I hated that bastard since the moment I saw him."
"Why? When you first met him you didn't have a reason to hate him." The Russian held up his finger with a half-confused, half-curious expression. Sadly, that made sense. Heracles took another sip from his cup to buy some time. "Maybe I didn't hate him right away. I was just a child back then. But I never liked him."
"You sound like you are trying to defend yourself. Do you know that?"
"I am not." More vodka found its way into the Greek's mouth. His companion smiled vilely, sensing the lie and clearly taking pleasure in his struggle. At that sight Heracles remembered who he was talking to. This man was holding him captive, he was going to make experiment with him, whatever that meant. How could he let his guard down like that? He glanced at the vodka bottle in front of him. Was there a drug in it? It wouldn't surprise him. Ivan was knowingly caging him with the person that had ruined his entire life and then didn't allow him to kill him. It was a torture within a torture. Of course he wouldn't hesitate to kill him by mixing drugs and alcohol. Heracles flinched away from him and turned his gaze to the cup in his hands. His thoughts were spinning in circles, he had difficulties grabbing just one of them and holding on to it. Sweat gathered on his forehead.
"Do you want more?" Heracles looked up when Ivan offered him a new bottle. Now he noticed that the other one was as good as empty. When had he drunk all this? He slowly shook his head, despite the aching in his throat. "Fine", Ivan said but put the bottle down right in front of him. "Gupta told me Sadiq raped you-"
"Shut up!"
Suddenly Heracles was on his feet, glaring daggers at the Russian.  His whole body was tensed, eyes widened. "Shut up." He repeated, a little calmer now. It was too late, though. No amount of alcohol could have prevented what was coming now. The memory hit him like wrecking ball. He was frozen in place, hands trembling helplessly. He couldn't run from his own thoughts, neither could he hide.
"Sit down." Ivan instructed.
"No." Heracles hissed. "I don't give a fuck what you'll do to me. I will not talk about that. You hear me?" He added a few curses in Greek and then stormed towards the door. When he tried to yank it open it didn't budge, though.
"Really" Ivan chirped from behind him. "How did you make it to the top of Greece's criminal world if your first reaction is to run away?"
In response Heracles whirled around, staggering a little. The alcohol was getting to him. "Fuck yourself! You have no idea what I went through!"
The Russian rose to his feet slowly and his voice was as cold as ice when he spoke. "You trusted him and he betrayed you. He raped you and he loved it. He shattered your idolized image of him. The physical pain was almost unbearable and the humiliation was even worse. You felt sick and dirty. Used. You still do. Damage was done that cannot be repaired. You probably will never trust another person ever again. You can't sleep well at night because the memory doesn't fade away, you have to drown yourself in alcohol to have some peaceful hours. Now you are forced to be so close to Adnan that it practically tears you apart. You want to kill him for what he did to you but you know that wouldn't change anything. But your longing for this senseless revenge doesn't leave enough space for other things and that's why you haven't had one relationship so far, you can't bear to be close to other people. I am sure every therapist would love you. You are a psychic wreck. …To sum it up: He broke you."
Heracles stared at him for a long moment. Then he returned to his seat slowly and sat back down.
"Good boy." The Russian praised him and patted his head, the way he had done it the first time they had met. "But now, the talking part is over."
"What…?" Before the Greek could gather his thoughts a fist collided with his face.