Ch.42: The Cartel Wife

The anesthesia is light. Just enough to paralyze, not enough to erase consciousness. Aris wants me awake. He wants me to know.

I can hear the click of high heels on the tiled floor.

The Buyer enters.

She is not the Proxy. She is the principal.

She is older than I expected. Maybe sixty, but it’s a sixty that has been fought with scalpels and lasers. Her skin is tight, too tight, giving her a permanent look of surprise. Her hair is dyed a raven black that absorbs the light. She wears sunglasses indoors, hiding eyes I assume are as cold as the Siberian winter.

Two bodyguards flank her. They are not like Aris's security. They are military. Silent. Lethal.

Aris steps forward, bowing slightly. A merchant greeting a queen.

"Madam Petrova. An honor."

Petrova ignores him. She walks straight to the table. She takes off her sunglasses.

Her eyes are clouded with cataracts. Milky white.

She is going blind.

She looks down at me. Her vision is blurry, but she sees enough. She sees the youth. She sees the symmetry.

She sniffs. A sound of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"This is it?" she asks, her voice heavy with a Russian accent. "It looks... used."

"She has been under stress," Aris explains quickly. "But the underlying tissue is pristine. The bone structure is a perfect match for your younger photos."

Petrova reaches out. Her hand is covered in liver spots, the knuckles swollen with arthritis. She touches my cheek. Her skin is dry, cold. Like touching a lizard.

She pinches my skin. Hard.

I want to scream, but the paralytic holds my jaw shut.

"The elasticity is good," she admits. "But the eyes..."

She leans closer, staring into my single eye.

"I paid for two."

"One was damaged during extraction," Aris lies smoothly. "But we have a matching donor in storage. A perfect match."

Petrova straightens up. She wipes her hand on her silk coat, as if I am dirty.

"I do not want a patchwork," she snaps. "I paid for a full replacement."

"And you shall have it," Aris assures her. "The face. The scalp. The neck."

"Not just the face," Petrova interrupts.

She looks at my hands. My slender, pianist's fingers.

"My hands hurt," she says, flexing her stiff fingers. "I cannot play the cello anymore. I want hers."

Aris blinks. "The hands? Madam, a hand transplant is incredibly complex. The rejection risk—"

"I don't care about the risk," she hisses. "I have the best immunologists in Europe. I want her hands."

She looks at my chest.

"And the heart. Mine is weak."

"Madam, the agreement was for the facial graft—"

"The agreement has changed," Petrova says. She signals to her guards. One of them steps forward and places a briefcase on the instrument tray. He opens it.

Diamonds.

Uncut, raw diamonds. A fortune.

"Double the price," Petrova says. "For everything. I want to be her. I want to step into her skin and walk out of here young again."

Aris looks at the diamonds. Greed wars with caution in his eyes.

A full body harvest is a marathon. Twelve hours of surgery. Massive blood loss. He would need a full team.

But fifty million dollars...

"I can do the hands," he says slowly. "And the face. Tonight."

"And the rest?"

"We can keep her on life support," Aris says. "Harvest the organs as needed. Fresh."

Petrova smiles. It is a terrifying expression.

"Good. I like fresh."

She looks at me again.

"She is awake?"

"Yes," Aris says.

"Good," Petrova says. "I want her to know who she is dying for."

She leans over me. Her breath smells of mints and decay.

"You have a beautiful life, *dochka*," she whispers. "I will take good care of it."

She turns to Aris.

"Begin."

Aris nods. He picks up the marker again.

He draws a line around my wrist.

Then he draws a line around my neck.

I stare at the ceiling. The mirrored tiles reflect my body. My helpless, bound body.

They aren't just taking my face. They are taking everything.

They are stripping me for parts.

I feel the diamond in my stomach. It hasn't moved. It’s heavy, sharp, useless.

Aris picks up the bone saw.

"We'll start with the hands," he says to the nurse. "While the face is prepped."

He turns the saw on. The high-pitched whine fills the room.

I close my eye.

I'm being parted out like a stolen car.