They drag me out into the night, kicking and thrashing like a wild animal.
Cursing, they shove me away from them as quickly as they can, toward the rest of the girls who are standing together outside a dark warehouse. Thankfully, a few of them are able to catch me, preventing me from face-planting onto the asphalt. The smell of low tide is heavy in the air. We’re near the docks.
I take in my surroundings, planning out my next move, but there are more men here than I’d counted on. At least seven or eight men surround us; it’s hard to tell in the darkness. Each one of them brandishes some type of firearm, though they look bored, standing together in groups and talking rather than patrolling the area properly.
One by one, the men at the front shove girls through the warehouse door. My eyes dart around, looking for a way out—but there’s just too many of them.
Lorenzo appears, cigarette in his mouth, striding up the line of girls—inspecting them. I catch his eye, and he catches my darkest glare.
He moves fast. Faster than I would’ve thought possible for a man of his size, ripping me out of the group by my arm. I’m surprised, but still I resist. Digging in my heels, I fight against his grip.
Frustrated, he throws me against the van with a force hard enough to knock the wind out of me. My head is still questionable from the lingering effects of whatever it was they drugged me with, and my vision tunnels. My knees give out, and I feel myself sliding to the ground, but he catches me.
Fear yet again slices through the heavy fog when Lorenzo pins me up against the vehicle. I go rigid as he brings his hand up to my face. “So pretty,” he murmurs, almost reverently, before he hits me—hard. The force of it whips my head to the side, and darkness once again clouds my vision. It’s a fight just to stay conscious. “And so fucking stupid,” he mutters, his grip on me the only reason I’m still on my feet.
I struggle, but it’s pointless. My head is pounding, and nausea rolls through me. His sweaty, stinking body is pinning mine in place, and there’s nowhere to go. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, a sadistic smile on his lips as he watches my pathetic struggle. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn, Bella. I’ll take great delight in helping you.” He takes the cigarette from his mouth, holding it in his hand for a moment before wrenching my head to the side and pressing the burning end to the soft, exposed skin of my neck.
My body jolts instinctively, frantically trying to escape the white-hot searing pain that tunnels deeper as he presses it evenharder. I thrash and scream, but he covers my mouth, silencing me while laughing at the tears streaming down my face.
He finally pulls the cigarette away with a smug smile on his face. It’s rage, not fear, that he’s summoned with his actions, and I spit at him, hitting him in the eye.
The few remaining girls outside let out a collective gasp, and the men all go quiet.
Lorenzo looks from me to them, his face boiling with fury. A second later he lashes out, striking me so hard I hit the ground.
I spit again, this time blood—my own, onto the cold asphalt.
Fight. Keep fighting.
I’m not an idiot. I know how this ends. I know what fate awaits me on the other side of that warehouse door, and I won’t accept it.I won’t.
I push myself up onto shaky arms, trying to crawl away as best I can with my hands bound in front of me. I have no chance, and I know it, but I have to keeptrying.
Lorenzo looks down at me like I’m a cockroach he wishes he could smash with his boot. A snap of his fingers brings about two of his guys, who haul me back up to my feet and inside the warehouse.
15
FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT
BRIAR
Now
Still dazed by Lorenzo’s last hit, I’m dragged through a maze of wooden shipping crates, stacked high, until we reach a small clearing, somewhere near the middle of the packed warehouse. I lift my head as they drag me forward, but there’s no sight of any of the other girls I arrived with.
There’s a random couch, ancient, by the looks of its stained, eighties-era fabric, and a folding table covered in empty beer bottles and playing cards, with a few metal chairs scattered around it.
The men carrying me drop me without warning in the middle of the freezing cement floor. A groan of pain escapes me. I recognize Mateusz sneering down at me, his nose still smeared with blood from my kick.I hope it’s broken.
The second I hit the ground, I attempt to push myself back up. But Mateusz quickly intervenes, shoving me back down roughly. “This one’s spicy.” The excitement in his tone is unnerving and I flinch away, but he grabs a fist full of my hair, keeping me in place.
While Mateusz holds me still, his friend rips my feet out from under me. I fall forward, smashing my face onto the concrete, too dazed to fight him as he ties my ankles together with rope.
“Good luck trying to kick me now,” Mateusz chirps. I still try, though it’s no use; there’s barely any give in the ropes.Fuck they hurt.
Next, the guy grabs hold of my hands, hauling me forward while pulling another zip tie from his pocket. Swiftly, he connects my already zip-tied hands to the metal grate cemented into the floor.
I let out a yelp, attempting to wrench my hands away but he’s too fast, and I only succeed at tightening the noose around my hands to the point of pain. My wrists are now slick with blood from my continued struggle to pull them free.
