“Axel, let her fucking go.”
“Stay out of it, Thalia,” Axel warns.
“Axel! Fucking stop!” Ariella cries out.
“You know as well as I do, Thalia, if the Cuevas’s get wind of her acting like a fucking slut the deal is off!” he growls.
My fists clench at my side. I’m ready to walk forward, expose myself, and expose Patricio, to protect Ari, who has been nothing but kind to me. But then Thalia reaches out and punches Axel in the face. I’m about to take a step forward when a hand wraps around my mouth. Something lights my airways on fire. The fight in me emerges, then dissipates.
It’s the last memory I have before losing consciousness. Something burns in my lungs. I look around, but there’s nothing but cement walls surrounding me and a light bulbswinging in the center of the room. The repetitive squeaking is only half of my torment.
Squeak
Squeak
Squeak
There’s an ache in my jaw and another in my ribcage. The pain is there, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. This is like the Extreme Horror Adventures I would sign up for. For a couple of hundred dollars, I’d pay to be tortured and left alone in the woods to survive. But this is a hundred percent free, organic torture.
I look around the concrete room, but it’s barely visible out of the swelling in my right eye. A faint dripping sounds in the distance. Not water. Blood, maybe, or sweat. The stench of both clings to me. My eyelids feel like sandbags, every blink scraping grit across my eyes.
A shiver licks down my spine. The first thing I register is the pull in my arms, then the frantic search for ground beneath my feet. I try to free my wrists, but they’ve been chewed raw by the weight of my own body.
“Fuck!” I wail.
The cry echoes around me, fading into the dark.
Squeak
Squeak
Squeak
The bulb overhead swings on its chain, casting warped shadows that crawl up the walls.
My body’s broken. But I’m still here.
My eyelids grow heavy, but I’m still here.
And if I’m still here,they fucked up.
_______
I remain fallingin and out of consciousness until a flood of light shines through, followed by the sound of boots clicking against the floor.
“Take him down,” a voice demands in a thick Italian accent.
Two more shadows walk up. Rough hands tear at the restraints, sending a white-hot scream through my shoulders as I drop to the ground. My knees buckle under me, the cold concrete floor catching me.
“Mr. Nevarez.”
A large man crouches in front of me, his tailored slacks creasing at the knees. He hooks the barrel of his gun under my chin, forcing my head up.
It’s not the face I expect. I’d been sure Axel sent his flock of vultures out for me. He’s got a reputation for that. But the man looking down at me has a lean, angular face, a long straight nose, and eyes too calm for a killer. His salt-and-pepper hair is combed neatly over, his beard trimmed with precision.
“I see you’ve been given the VIP treatment.” He observes, moving my face to the side.
My mouth tastes like blood and rot. I spit to the side, barely missing his shoe.
