Summary:

Rozanov shouts angrily and grabs him by the shoulders, slamming him into the ground. Stay down. Shane is winded by the impact but immediately bucks his body in an attempt to throw Rozanov off of him. Stay where I put you. Rozanov’s fist flies into his stomach, then his chin, making Shane drop flat underneath him. Be good. Shane sinks into the dirt like a dead man, like a bird, like a bone, the pretty thing between Rozanov’s teeth that makes his snarling spit turn soft pink in the light. It’s horrible. It’s nirvana. Shane runs for his life. Ilya follows close behind.