The loud ass sound of a heavy door opening served the only purpose of erupting my eardrums. Also, the sound of shoes scuffling on rough cement served to skyrocket whatever anxiety I'd managed to suppress. I was sure this was it. The torture was about to begin and my body suddenly didn't know how to process oxygen. My brain was running a mile a minute and it wasn't until after my arms were lowered from behind me that I started to wonder how I even managed to fall asleep like that. I always knew I was a heavy sleeper, but I didn't know just how heavy, considering I was still suffering from a massive headache. Now I could rightfully say that if hell broke loose I'd just sleep right through it.
The chains were cut loose, but my hands were still shackled behind me and some new shackles were added to my ankles before I was grabbed by a very sore elbow and propelled forward, causing me to hiss like Taylor Swift at the burn that ran up my arm. I didn't know what time it was. Hell, I didn't even know what day it was.
I had woken up in that cell countless times and would just stand there for hours before going back to sleep. Each time I woke up, I noticed my arms were a little higher, which would cause me to bend lower and put more strain on my feet and back. My feet were bruised by now for sure. I could stand in heels for hours, but I was sure I'd been in that room for longer than a few hours. Knowing how these things ran, I'd been in there for at least twenty four hours.
My back though... I felt like an eighty year old with triple F boobs.
Beside the fact that it was very dark so my sense of smell was the only thing helping me not break my legs, the way whoever was taking me raised me up led me to believe that I was being led up some stairs. We walked through a long corridor before going up another set of stairs, this time spiral, like I was ascending Rapunzel's tower or something.
"So... where we goin'?"
No response. That was pretty rude. Here I was, trying to make conversation so we could dispel this awkward air between us, and this person was ignoring me.
After a good fifteen minutes of walking, the smell and feel of fresh air was wafting into the stuffy, narrow corridor from somewhere. I was just thankful dust wasn't flooding my lungs anymore. The fact that there was no light coming in from anywhere told me that it was either nighttime, or this place was tremendously sealed up. Or, you know, I could've just been blindfolded, which I probably was but didn't notice because all the blood that had rushed to my head succeeded in numbing my face.
But on the other hand, the contraption building we were in couldn't be sealed up because I wouldn't have felt the air on my legs otherwise. Due to this evidence, I opted that whoever was leading me had waited until nighttime to come fetch me from whatever cell I was in. The lightbulb had been turned off so I couldn't see who it was, and even if it had been on, the light was so dim it wouldn't have helped much anyways.
Finally, after an additional five minutes, we came to a landing where there was the faint outline of some double doors. Okay so I wasn't blindfolded.
I came to a stop and waited patiently until a loud buzz resounded with an echo and the doors started to open, inwardly, mind you, so I had to step back a bit. By now everything hurt and my ankles were burning from where the shackles were beginning to give me a friction burn. Walking up the stairs with those shackles was also very hard because they limited my movement more than what was apparent and I had to ascend sideways basically. Although the fact that my heels elevated me off the ground made it easier, it was still a hard task, and I would've fallen flat on my face if it hadn't been for whoever was holding me upright.
Once the doors were fully open, I was shoved outside and onto a stone pathway by the sounds of it. My heels kept clicking on the floor as we walked, and for ten long minutes, I grimaced in the dark, partially because no matter how much I squinted, I couldn't see, and because I was positive my ankles were bleeding now, at least a little bit.
I was angry at being treated like this, but also a little relieved I wasn't getting holes drilled into me or anything. I'd seen one of my father's men do that once. It was completely gruesome and I started heaving when I saw where that hole went and what they screwed into it afterwards.
"Alright princess, in you go," A gruff voice spoke in my ear, and I nearly gagged at the awful garlic breath that came out of that mouth. But I couldn't complain though. I hadn't brushed my teeth in a while so I probably had terrible breath too. It'd be best if I kept my mouth shut, for my sake as well as his.
I hadn't noticed we were stood in front of a car until I was roughly shoved in, which happened so quickly that I tripped, and landed awkwardly on my left shoulder. I groaned and bit my tongue immediately after as I was pulled up and sat down carefully. I'm assuming whoever shoved me in the car was checking on me, because I felt hands touching around my injured shoulder a few seconds later to check if my arm had been dislodged or not.
Thankfully it wasn't, just badly bruised as far as we could tell. I didn't know where I was being taken, but as long as my arms weren't suspended again I was fine with it. Not that I could protest or anything. I was completely powerless and acting like a prima donna wouldn't help me now.
The car dipped as someone got in next to me, then the engine started and the doors slammed shut. I didn't want to speak, I really didn't, but my curiosity got the better of me and I opened my mouth to ask where we were going. But I think whoever was next to me anticipated that I would speak and there was a stab in my neck before I blacked out almost immediately.
~~~~~~~~
I blinked and immediately hissed when there was a stabbing in my eyeballs. There was some serious light coming from somewhere and it was trying to kill me. That hangover I first woke up with seemed to be postponed for the moment I woke up again and again each time I got knocked out. It was seriously concerning and starting to grind my gears with no grease.
I kept my eyes lightly closed for a few seconds, revelling in the warm feeling of my eyeballs getting used to the streaming light from the window when something began to feel strange. Like I was surrounded by soft feathers plucked from baby angels wings. It was lovely.
Which is why I bolted upright and immediately regretted it, clutching my head and my sore shoulder in the process. Something was seriously wrong here. Was I trapped in an underground bunker like in Pretty Little Liars? Was my kidnapper going to have me tortured? Oh my god I was going to d—
"Oh good, you're awake."
I looked up from the black bed sheets with the speed of a road runner, which immediately filled me with regret. So my eyes were used to the light, but not sudden movement. Go it. Anyway, moving on. There he was again, that devil.
"Where the hell am I?"
"My bedroom," Marco shrugged carelessly and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Oh god, he was wearing Jordache. Yikes. He was usually so put together from what I could tell, but his sense of fashion was seriously lacking when he was at home. He must have a stylist for when he goes out.
A horrible sinking feeling came to exist in the pit of my stomach and I could only stare in horror at him. "How many times did y—"
"I haven't even seen you until now," He rolled his eyes dramatically and sauntered into the room so he could sit on the other side of the bed I was on. "I don't like you Spaniards, don't worry."
Sucks for him.
"Ah right, you prefer catfish models, I forgot," I nodded to myself and closed my eyes to block out the light. "Too bad you're not doll enough for them, you wannabe Ken doll," this last part exited my mouth in the form of a murmur to myself. Marco snorted.
"Your insults can wipe my ass," he shifted to look right at me. And I mean straight into my pupils. "And I'm the original Ken doll," He smiled. This time I was the one who snorted.
"Why am I here?"
"Because I kidnapped you."
"No kidding, Watson. I mean why am I here, in your room, in your house, on your bed?" I reached up to run my fingers through my expectantly matted hair, only to find smooth tresses instead. Alarmed, I turned my head to look at my hair and was met with a face full of shiny locks. Ripping the covers off my body, I found that I was clean and wearing a large T-shirt, no doubt Marco's. The bewilderment must've been obvious when I looked at him.
"What? You didn't think I'd let you sleep in my bed when you smelled and looked like garbage, did you?" He sneered at me and I rolled my eyes. Seriously there was nothing to fear from this guy and I probably would never be scared of him.
"I thought you said you hadn't even seen me. Who did this?"
"My maid," I gave him a flat look. "What?" He asked me innocently, shrugging like he wasn't a psychopathic sadist with a taste for carving his initials into people's tongues.
"Why would you bring me up into your room to rest instead of a secret hostage bedroom? It doesn't add up, but I'm not going to pursue it," the top I was wearing received a suspicious look from me. "Why did you kidnap me?"
"I think what you meant to say is thank you," He smiled. I grimaced. What a narcissist.
"Thank you for having your maid clean me up and letting me sleep in your room. Why did you kidnap me?" I was still rubbing on my elbow as this question was asked. "You're not going to kill me, and you've been disrupting parties in my honor for years, so why the hell have you abducted me now?Are you, like, obsessed or something?"
"Don't give yourself so much credit, Kat—"
"Don't call me that," I snapped. He rolled his eyes like he didn't even care about my opinion.
"Anyways, Kat, I kidnapped you because I felt like it was high time you and I met. And your father wasn't ever going to allow us to meet properly, like civilised people."
"We aren't civilised people," I rebutted with my arms crossed obstinately. "We're literally heirs to the mafia, and if you wanted to meet me, you could've just contacted my assistant, who will most certainly be looking for me by the way."
"Well maybe you aren't, but I like to consider myself a man of morals and high manners. I would've asked you to lunch through your assistant but I know your father monitors everything you do, and I wouldn't have resorted to this if Salvador wasn't so disagreeable," Marco clicked his tongue in distaste. I obviously felt offended. Some nerve he had, talking about my father when his father built his reputation off of whacking anyone who so much as grimaced at his ideas.
"My father is not disagreeable!" Marco gave me a blank stare. "Okay maybe a little," Another blank stare. "He's never disagreeable with me, and he does not monitor everything I do!"
"That's because you're a complete daddy's girl. All the more reason he wouldn't allow me to meet with you," He scrunched up his nose when I smirked. "It is disturbing how much you enjoy living in a bubble."
"I do not live in a bubble," My middle finger met his eyesight whilst my own eyesight finally looked around to room to take in the details. He had a nice taste of decor, to be honest. The room was mostly blacks and greys, but there would be an occasional splash of bright colours in well placed area. Tasteful, but not boring and repetitive. I had to give him credit where he was due. If only he had the same taste in homewear. "Just because I don't go around committing crimes doesn't mean that I don't know what's happening."
"Don't you want to know why I wanted to meet with you?"
"No, not really," I ran my hands through my hair, mentally marvelling at how utterly smooth it was. What conditioner did this man use? The fact that the dry ends of my hair were so smooth and silky was enough to make me forgive everything he had just put me through.
"Oh," Marco seemed genuinely lost at that, understandably so. From what I'd heard, he was always vague and mysterious, so he was used to people begging him to explain all the lunacy that came out of his mouth. I was not one of those people. I had no interest and no time to waste. As far as I was concerned, he would be getting whatever he wanted from me so I could go home as soon as possible.
"When do I get to go home?" A heavy sigh left my mouth, but the root of that sigh came from my soul. I'd had enough. I was tired, and even though Marco had a fantastic mattress, I missed my bed. Besides, the excitement of being kidnapped dulled down now that I knew Marco DiBiancci had taken me. I wanted out.
"You don't," He simply said, all calm and collected.
There was no way that was said right. "I beg your pardon?" Marco came around the bed to stand in front of me, and I had to look away from staring at the fit of his jeans with disdain. Dear Lord almighty, why did he wear those? They looked awful on him!
"You don't get to go home," He said slowly, as though he were speaking to a simpleton. My eyebrows almost disappeared into my fucking hairline.
"Why the hell not?" I bellowed, shooting up on the bed. "You took me, you held me, your fun's over. Let. Me. Go. Home!" A step was taken close and closer to him with every word. Usually, any normal person would be intimidated by seeing me stalk at them like that, but Marco is neither normal, nor a person. He only looked at me and scoffed.
"No. Sit down," I sat down. "Until I say it's allowed, you are not to leave my captivity. You're going to stay in this house and behave if you don't want me to send you to an underground bunker in Nepal."
"You're not sending me anywhere, Marky."
"Don't call me that," He shifted and I did a once over of his outfit with a face of anguish. "What are you looking at?"
"Those jeans look so bad on you, it's actually really funny," I said simply and looked away. "You look better in a suit."
Marco looked weirded out by what I'd said. "Right. Do you want to know why I won't let you out of the house?"
"No. Just let me know when I can go home," Might as well settle in if I'd be stuck here, so I leaned back in the bed. "Am I going to be staying in your room with you?" I raised my eyebrows at him a little bit. Marco's jaw ticked and he glared down at me. News had previously reached me of how much he hated me, and I intended to be as annoying as possible until he either killed me or kicked me out. I smiled sweetly and he was out of the room like I'd lit fire to his ass. I shrugged to myself and laid back down, closing my eyes to sleep off my hangover.
Under different circumstances, I wouldn't mind being trapped in this beautiful mansion, but for now I simply wanted to go home.
The sweet relief of sleep was beginning to wrap around my mind when an insistent clicking sound woke me up and made me look around the room, trying to find the source of the noise. I sat up and listened intently, squinting my eyes for an isolated hearing range. It took me a few moments to finally realise what I was hearing.
Practically jumping from the bed, I tip toed over to the closet, where there was a painting hung at the end of the hall. At a normal glance, this was a regular painting, but I knew better. The clicking was still coming from behind the piece. I tapped the frame of the painting consistently until I heard a hollow tap under my ring finger. Pushing my index finger underneath the hollow sounding area to try and pull the frame off the wall only lead to frustration because it wouldn't budge. At least I knew there was something under there.
"Bingo," I pulled my hand back to the edges of the frame and turned it all to the left. With a click, the picture came loose and I pulled it off the wall. "Oh."
I had expected to find a safe, but what graced my sight was even better. There was a screen in the wall that looked like a digital keypad, and what made the clicking sound was the program rebooting and kicking back into place. I blinked in disbelief at the spectacular find. What in the world was Marco doing with a device like this? And what even was a device like this for?
Looking down at the picture frame in my hands, I smiled evilly. While I was trapped here, might as well try to find some incriminating secrets, starting with this safe.
"Dad is going to love me for this."