Niko Kollias watched his blood swirl down the bathtub drain. There was so much. And it was coming from so many places. His head. Both of his legs. And the gaping cuts where they had sliced the webbing between his toes.
Even more blood was coating the clothing iron sitting on the sink. He didn't know where they'd put the hedge clippers; he was just glad they were gone. He could still see the roll of duct tape nearby, covered with the bloody fingerprints they'd left behind when they taped his hands and feet together before slamming the rebar and heavy metal pipes down onto him, over and over again.