Liora POV:
My pulse quickened. I had never been to a hotel before. It was my first time, and probably it would be my last time, too. How can a hotel basement look so creepy?
A green metal door at the far end had a sign above it: Cleaning Services.
Every fibre of my body screamed at me not to knock on that eerie green door. It stood there, looking deceptively harmless, but to me, it was a wolf disguised in sheep's clothing. There was something about this moment, this place, and it started to claw at my memories, dragging them from the dark recesses of my mind where I had tried to bury them. But it finds a way out like a stubborn weed breaking through concrete.
Why does Rihana and this situation remind me of Silvia and those...four beasts? A sick feeling curled in my stomach. My body trembled from the unknown fear.
I wasn't naive. I would never let myself fall into that kind of helplessness again. Clutching the bag tighter, I made my decision.
I looked around once more. The basement looked quiet. I turned around, my heart racing, and I was desperate to walk away before anything happened. But the moment I took a step back, my body went rigid.
Four pairs of cold, calculating eyes locked onto me.
Men dressed in sharp black suits stood blocking my way. At first, I might have mistaken them for hotel staff, but something about them felt off. There was no elegance or trained politeness in them, the one I saw at the reception. Instead, they exuded arrogance and danger. Their builds were intimidating, large enough to make anyone hesitate to look at or attack them.
I swallowed hard, forcing my nerves to settle. Stay calm. Stay in control. I encouraged myself.
I took a slow, measured step—not too fast, not too hesitant, just enough to make it seem like I wasn't a threat or that I wasn't thinking of bolting at the first chance.
"Hey," I greeted, keeping my voice light, forcing a small, pleasant smile onto my lips.
One of them, the tallest, stepped more closer, blocking my way completely. "Where do you think you're going?" His voice was low but laced with something that made my skin crawl.
My fingers curled instinctively around the paper bag.
"I think you forgot to drop off the dress," another one added, his gaze flicking down to the bag I held, his lips curled resembling amusement.
Keeping my expression neutral, I replied immediately, "I think I'll clean it myself—with great care." There was no way they would believe me. I already knew that.
Why did I let myself come here? Rihana, did you really set this for me? Why? Why would you want to hurt me? You have a lot of money. 15000 dollars is nothing for you. So why would you do this to me, Rihana? You could have yelled at me. You could have slapped me. You could have asked me for the money. But why did you use such a coward method? I wanted to ask her many questions, just like I had many for Silvia.
My anger flared at the thought of her fake, sugary attitude, her carefully constructed act of grace. Was this her way of handling people who displeased her? Was she really that petty?
"I don't think you have that option, beauty," the first man said, his tone dipping lower, more dangerous. His eyes dragged over me, slow, almost like predatory, sending a disgusting chill through me. "Let us escort you inside the door."
I threw the bag at them, using the split second of distraction to bolt to the side. My eyes darted to the corner, spotting a discarded iron rod lying on the cemented floor. Without a second thought, I grabbed it, gripping it so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
None of them were going to touch me. I made a resolute. I had trained in Kali for years. I had learned self-defence for a reason, and now was the moment to prove that I wouldn't be their easy prey.
"Let me go!" I snapped, my voice no longer light, no longer controlled. This was a warning to them.
I saw their smirks vanish. They had expected fear and submission from me. Instead, they got a fight.
"Some people don't appreciate non-violence," the first man muttered before lunging at me with a punch.
I twisted my body, spinning the iron rod in my hands before swinging it with full force. The metal connected with his knuckles, and a sickening crack echoed through the basement.
He howled, clutching his hand and his face twisted in agony. But I didn't lower my guard.
Another one lunged. I swung one more time. The second man dodged and tried to grab my hair, but I was quicker. Before his fingers could wrap around a single strand, I slipped to the side and slammed the rod against his back with full force. The impact sent him stumbling forward, his body twisting in an attempt to regain balance. But I didn't stop. I lifted the rod and struck again, this time against his head. A sickening thud filled the dimly lit space as he dropped to the ground, blood rushing from the gash at his temple.
I was scared—terrified. My hands trembled, but I tightened my grip on the rod. I hated hurting them. Every strike made my chest tighten with dread, but it was better than them hurting me. I refused to go through that again. I couldn't relive the nightmare of that camping night, the helplessness, the fear that had nearly broken me. No—I wouldn't let them treat me like trash.
Tears spilled from my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn't stop. I blinked them away and forced myself to breathe. Fear clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down. I had to fight. I had to survive.
The man I had struck in the head lay motionless on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His breathing was ragged, his body twisted in a way that made my stomach churn. But the other man—the one still standing—was different. He wasn't shaken. He wasn't scared.
He reached down, pulling a knife from the holster strapped to his ankle. The sharp glint of the blade sent a chill down my spine.
"You're going to regret this, bitch," he sneered, his grip tightening on the handle.
My stomach clenched. My blood ran cold. This wasn't over. Not yet. "Stop this, please! I just want to go. I don't want to hurt anyone!" My voice cracked slightly, but my grip on the rod remained strong. I warned, I pleaded, I wanted to leave.
He lunged, the blade slashing through the air toward me. I barely dodged, my instincts screaming as I backed away. His momentum carried him forward, but he recovered fast, spinning around to strike again.
I swung the rod with all my left strength, aiming for his back. He sidestepped at the last second, narrowly avoiding the full brunt of my attack.
I kept swinging recklessly, desperately. There was no strategy, no precise movements—only raw survival. He swung the knife wildly, but with every dodge, I forced him back, pushing him off balance.
Then he stumbled.
His knee buckled for half a second. That was all I needed.
As he reached out to grab my leg, I jumped back, and before he could retract his hand, I brought the iron rod crashing down onto his palm.
A sickening crunch filled the air as he let out an agonized scream. The metal pressed deep, not enough to pierce through but enough to crush the bones beneath.
"I— I told you to let me go! Why wouldn't you listen?!" My voice tore from my throat, raw with anger, fear, and something else.
My chest heaved, my grip tightening on the rod as I stepped back, ready to run— But then I froze.
The elevator dinged behind me.
The doors slid open. Five men stepped out in their dark suits, their expressions void of emotion. At the same time, the green door groaned as it swung open. And from inside, more men emerged.
I didn't count them. I didn't need to. I was surrounded.
I was trapped.
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