I deserve a goddamn chance! I wanted it. I want freedom so fucking badly, and I’d do anything to get it. But I’m too weak. Raised to be weak and helpless, that's all I fucking am. Hate consumes me, mostly for my father, but also for myself.
I finally open my eyes fully, and my heart starts to hammer. My body is like ice in that it's cold, numb, and still. I know better than to let my enemy know I’m awake and conscious.
There’s a cloth hood over my head, and my hot breath goes stagnant in front of my face. As I swallow, I feel slightly dizzy. I close my eyes and focus on steadying my heart. It’s only then that I take in my situation.
I can still run. If I got away from my father, I can get away from anyone. But he let you get away, a voice hisses in the back of my head. The pulsating pain comes back, but I ignore them both. He wants me to be a good little victim. To listen and do his bidding. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. I’ll survive, and I’ll escape. I won’t stop until I’m free. Free or dead.
I just need to be smart and wait for the perfect opportunity. Quietly I swallow, filled with equal amounts of fear and conviction. My breathing is steady but hot, filling the bag.
My shoulder is sore, and the metal cuffs holding my wrists together behind my back are cutting into the skin. It hurts so fucking bad. I realize that I’m slumped against the wall, and I feel every muscle screaming in agony.
The pain dims as soon as I hear the door open to wherever I am. My body freezes, and nothing matters anymore. I’m alert, and all I care about is finding a way out. My freedom. I try to keep still and pretend I’m still knocked out, but it doesn’t work.
They know.
A man’s rough laugh cuts through the air as he says, “She’s up.”
My heart pounds, but I stay motionless. In this position, my options are limited, but I’m ready to fight. I’ll do whatever it takes. It sounds like there are two men in the room judging by the two sets of steps that walk on the left side of me. I hear them sink into what sounds like a sofa, and I wait. I can hardly breathe, waiting for their next move.
This could be my chance. My father is who-knows-where, and maybe these men will underestimate me.
The fear of the unknown is what restrains my actions. I’m not going to be submissive for them. I’m not going to keep my head down and wait for them to tell me what they want from me, because I don’t know if that will save me from whatever their intentions are.
In this moment I hate my father more than I ever have. I hate my life.
I hate myself for being so damn pathetic and not fighting hard enough. Death is a comforting thought, but I won’t give in to that weakness. Not when there’s still a chance.
Deep voices echoing Italian words that I vaguely recall from my childhood seep into my bitter thoughts. I never learned the language. My father didn’t want me to. He enjoyed being able to speak without me understanding. He sends me in here to spy, and I can’t even do that. Pathetic. The Romanos are old school, but hopefully English will be spoken more than Italian.
I know some though. I know the words slave and princess. Both continually appear in the conversation, and I know they’re talking about me. The Rossi princess. Slave. I guess that’s what I am now, or at least what they want me to be. I swallow thickly, hating that my initial thought is to want to be back home. Back to that prison. No! I refuse. That’s just the fear talking. I don’t want to go back. Anything but that.
I turn sideways and scoot away from the sound of someone approaching. But it’s useless. I fall to the hard concrete floor, my head and shoulder slamming onto the cement with nothing to break my fall. I wince from the pain and then scream from the violent hold on my arms, hauling me up and against a man’s body.
I struggle against him and he shakes me violently, spitting Italian words that I assume are a threat, although I don’t understand.
Stupid girl, be still. Save your strength for the right moment. The voice I hate calms me.
The thought makes my body still, and the other man laughs at my weakness.
If only they knew. With nothing to lose, I’m the strongest I’ve ever been.
Small shreds of light filter through the burlap bag over my head, and I realize I’m currently outside. I must be under a street lamp, because the light quickly fades and the sound of a van door sliding open fills my senses.
My heart speeds up, but I don’t react yet. I listen and try to gauge what’s going on. There’s a third man. I can hear him now.
The one holding me tries to toss my body into the van, but I twist and kick out as hard as I can. However I’ve hit him, it’s enough that he releases me and I fall back to the ground, nearly stumbling, but I right myself as best as I can, bound and blindfolded.
“Fuck!” he screams out as I weakly stand, balancing my body against the cold metal of the van door.
I try to run, but a fist slams into the side of my jaw. It forces me off balance, and I fall, my head slamming against the unforgiving ground. Fuck! The worst part is that I didn’t see it coming. I couldn’t even try to defend myself.
The pain is overwhelming. A foot swings into my ribs, and nausea threatens its way up my throat with stinging pulses of agony.
Stupid girl. You can never run from me. You can never hide from me.
My body freezes as the words of my father haunt me, momentarily crippling me.
Another kick to the gut forces a strangled cry from my throat.
