"What the hell? I can't see!"
Everything was dark, and my body was so numb that I couldn't tell if I was blindfolded, even though that made the most sense, or just blind. There was no pain in my general eyeball area, but that didn't mean that my actual eyeballs were still there.
I didn't question what was happening. This situation was familiar to me. I'd either be tied up in a basement underneath a mansion or in a warehouse somewhere. Still, I'd cooperate and remain docile until the moment I could see my chance to escape. The biggest problem with that was that I didn't know where the hell I'd been taken to and since I didn't know where I was, I wouldn't know how to get out and away.
This thought brought me out of my overactive mind, and into the present. First things first, my current location. My knowledge told me that this couldn't a basement because the ground beneath me felt more like dirt like than anything, and it was also hot and stuffy so I couldn't have been underground. Kidnap basements either smelled like nothing, or like dust and mildew. They also tended to be cold.
Second things second, there was sound in this place. Basements and cellars tended to be very quiet since there wasn't supposed to be anything in those things except the occasional rat,spider, or pipe leakage.
Third things third, I could hear what sounded like feet walking on grass outside, and a squeaky door opening. The faint smell of petrichor wafting in from outside told me that I was in a forest. Sense told me I was more than likely in an abandoned shack. I didn't hear any other people around me except the ones walking towards or around whatever place I was in, so that took human trafficking off the list. Everything adding up meant that I was specifically targeted to be kidnapped, so that simultaneously made the situation better and worse.
Death wasn't coming my way any time soon, that much was obvious. But the possibility that I'd get tortured like I had seen my dad do to other people was very much staring me in the face. Witnessing someone subject to such treatment always made me uncomfortable, but at the same time I didn't want to ignore it. It was my reality and I should have to face it, so I faced it and I watched, standing by quietly as my dad pointed out where to punch or what bones to crack to disable someone from ever functioning normally again. It was simply easier for me to nod along and try not to projectile all over my Valentinos. Those shoes were too expensive.
A cool breeze brought me back to reality, along with the sound of a heavy wooden door creaking open. I quickly settled down and slowed my breathing as much as I could, limping so I would appear to still be asleep. The more I got on them undiscovered, the better.
"Is she awake?" One voice asked.
"No, she's still sleeping," A second voice replied. "Come on, let's get her to the plane."
I felt hands under my arms and knees, effectively hauling me into a bridal position before whoever was carrying me decided to be rough and just throw me over their shoulder unceremoniously. It took everything in me to not wriggle around and gasp in pain as a stiff shoulder dug into my stomach and ribs, but I still failed. Courtesy of being a pampered brat and never going through anything more than a knee scrape.
"She just gasped. I think she's waking up," Voice number one said with a little hint of panick. Voice number two sighed and I heard rummaging before a 'hold her still' then was met with a sharp pain in my left thigh. Great so first I get choked, and now I'm getting drugged. These must be the Russians.
"Sedative should hold her under for a good couple of hours. We'll have plenty of time now," Voice number one said and I would have scoffed if I wasn't already lolling off to sleep. I wasn't going to struggle anyways. Only someone stupid does that.
~~~~~~~~~~
When I woke up again, there was a foul smell. Like, it was really terrible, and the first thing I did was gag. Second thing I noticed was that my arms weren't tied together anymore but my wrists were tied behind me, and I could actually see a thick chain hanging above my head from the ceiling connected to the shackles on my wrists. "Not ideal, but at least the duct tape won't be ruining my mani."
Considering the gift of sight had been restored to me, I looked around curiously, wondering where I could have been. It was cold here, and the walls of whatever cell-like room I was in were a bleak dark grey and stained with dark brown patches that could either be blood, or something else, depending on which was worse.
The blood would be obvious, this was a torture chamber. The something else would be obvious as well, since humiliation was a very big part of breaking someone's spirit. Also people tend to something else themselves when there's too much pain. It's a thing, look it up or don't. I recommend the don't.
My heartbeat sped up when I saw a trolley with a big leather roll on top of it. I already knew what that was. I'd seen it many times before and it always scared me out of my mind whenever I laid eyes on it. Now, whatever was in there would be used on me and no amount of self reassuring mantras would help me prepare myself for what I'd be about to go through. Terrified was an understatement for what I was feeling.
The shivering had begun to kick in as I stood there, still in my party dress and heels which were very dirty but at least still intact. Thankfully, the damage done to my clothes was at least salvageable. This was my favourite outfit and I didn't want to have to buy another one when I could just as easily fix this one.
Time became a blur as I stood there waiting and trying to calm myself down, willing this all to be a nightmare so I could just wake up in my bed and start my normal day. There's no place like home and such. There's no breakfast like seltzer water.
It was nice to reaffirm that the chanting didn't work, and when the heavy door to the cell I was in heaved open, a heart attack almost finished me off. It was all the more stunning reminder of where I was and what my position was as well. All I saw were a pair of sleek dress shoes come into my line of vision since I'd been looking at the floor the entire time. I didn't want to have to look up to whoever had done this to me. I knew I'd get hurt, but I refused to give my kidnappers the benefit of seeing the light snuffed out of my eyeballs.
"Look at me," This came from a deep baritone, and the vibrations I could hear suggested that they came form the man standing in front of me. I scoffed and kept my eyes trained to the ground, my head tilted low. A rough hand grabbed me by my delicate chin and forced me to look up at the face of my captor. Suddenly everything began to make sense!
A sharp jaw adorned by a five o'clock shadow made way for cheekbones of steel and a prominent roman nose, upon which were set two cold, hazel eyes glaring at me which lay under the greatest eyebrows I've ever seen. Yeah, this guy was gorgeous alright. I could recognise that face from a continent away.
"Marco DiBiancci," I sneered, flashing him a mocking smile that just earned me a a hateful stare. "I should've known you Italian bastards were behind this."
"You wound me, fiorella," Marco replied, his voice an sarcastic monotone that sent chills down my spine. I'd heard some haunting things about that monotone of his. "I never thought you would adapt your father's crude vocal lifestyle."
"It's better than my mother's, so maybe you should be thankful," I shot right back, smiling sweetly at him. At least I tried to smile but the hand on my jaw squeezed and prevented me from it. I wasn't scared of Marco, I was just scared of what he could do. He was known for being cruel. He did things without remorse and didn't care who suffered for it, but I'd give him credit on one thing, he took care of his own. I, unfortunately, was not part of his own so I'm sure he'd make my life a living hell. He wouldn't kill me though, that much I already knew. If he went through the trouble of risking the wrath of Spain, he must have wanted something big.
Nobody made a move without my father knowing. Nobody took a sip of water without it showing up in some sort of record on his desk.
If Marco wanted to kill me, he would've done it, but he hasn't done it so he wants me alive. Being alive under Marco's captivity is nothing short of a curse, I knew this. I simply prayed to whatever virgin that my Dad would notice I was not around and would come looking soon. The regret from drinking was starting to kick in, since every time I woke up, my head would sufffer a splitting headache. That and the combination of the drugs that had been injected into my leg earlier, my head felt like world war three.
Marco let go of my chin and stepped back to look at me, then he made a signal to one of the really beefy dudes dressed in what had to be custom made suits. The chain connecting from the roof to my shackles started moving upwards, slowly but surely raising my arms behind me until my shoulders were straining and I was biting my tongue with my molars to keep a straight face. Once I was sure my shoulders were going to pop and opened up my mouth to cry, the chains stopped pulling and I was left panting slightly, taking deep breaths to steady my heart rate. My chest felt tight. Breathing was next to impossible.
The sound of a camera shutter going off somewhere alarmed me, and I looked up to find Marco typing away on his phone, glancing up once to smirk at me. I shivered again, but not because it was cold. Marco was evil, I knew that, but I could never get over how he managed to petrify people with just one look.
"What's the point of this? You never exactly told me," I bit out through slightly gritted teeth, but I doubt that my efforts to appear nonchalant actually served to hide anything. I was in some serious pain and that was clearly very obvious. My low pain tolerance was very much proving to be a bigger inconvenience than I had thought.
"There isn't one, I'm just having fun," Marco replied with a chilling smile. I seriously need to stop shivering around this guy. It's not good for the shoulders.
"I hope a snake bites your neck," I said with as much of a sympathetic face as I could get, which wasn't much because I was never really sympathetic to people. I didn't like watching them get tortured, but that was only because their screams disrupted my peace. I was sure they deserved it, because my father wouldn't waste the energy of his men or himself on something meaningless. These Italians though... they were something else.
"Sure," he turned to walk out of the room before facing one of his men and muttering in Italian. If my parents hadn't raised me to be such a good Spanish speaker, I wouldn't have caught the 30% of their conversation that could be heard. Something about making sure I didn't escape and securing the perimeters because I'm slicker than petroleum jelly. This much was true, I was very good at slipping between peoples fingers right underneath their noses. How he knew that though, I had no idea. This was our first time meeting face to face.
I sighed and shifted because my feet were starting to hurt, which I regretted immediately because my shoulder made a creaking sound and I had to bite my lip and accidentally made it bleed to keep from screaming. There was a burning pain at my shoulder blades and my muscles were desperate for relief.
So here I was, tied up with my wrists behind me like five inches above my head, forcing me to bend forward purposefully to keep my arms from breaking. Somehow I knew that the worse was yet to come. This was nothing compared to what could happen, and for now, I was happy to keep it this way, even if it meant slowly dislocating my shoulders. The burning pressure at my lower back for keeping this position for a long time was killing me though.
I shouldn't have skipped out on those yoga classes.