Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
That’s what scares me the most. I’ve never seen my father kill anyone, but I know they line the floor before they go through with it. It makes it easier for cleaning up.
I try to swallow again, gently lifting my head because I feel like I’m going to suffocate if I don’t breathe.
“Bitch is up.” My breathing hitches at the gruff voice coming from somewhere in front of me.
I tried and failed, not to let them on to the fact that I’m awake. Even when the cigar smoke woke me, and I thought I was in a fire, I was still. A few minutes have passed at most; I haven’t learned shit that’s going to help me though, other than that I’m lying on a floor and helpless.
Someone else responds, “Just in time.” And then rough laughter erupts in the room.
My aching body stiffens, my hands clenching and making the cuffs dig deeper into my broken skin. I’m so terrified, I don’t react to the pain shooting up my arms.
Every second that passes is agonizing. They speak calmly, softly, and in Italian. A language of which I know very few words.
I know baldracca though. It’s the word for whore and hearing that makes my shoulders hunch in a useless and pathetic effort to hide myself as a new sense of fear overwhelms me.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m being held captive by one of my father’s enemies. Romano, and he’s one of many. I would give them anything to be able to run back home and stay there forever.
“Please,” I can’t help the attempt to bargain that slips from me. “My father will pay you whatever you want.” The tears come without notice and my voice cracks on every other word. The warmth of my breath makes my heated face feel even hotter.
I’ve never thought of myself as such a weak person. But tied up and knowing my fate includes death or being a whore, the desperation outweighs anything else.
“There is no saving you Talvery trash,” a man sneers as he walks closer to me with deliberate steps. His heavy footfalls get louder and quicker. Instinctively I try to back away, despite being on my side with my ankles and wrists cuffed behind my back. The struggle is useless. With my back against a wall and nowhere to go, all I can do is hunch my body inward as the heavy boot kicks brutally into my gut.
The air leaves me in a harrowing instant. Pain bursts inside of me, radiating outward but coiling in my stomach. It sinks deep inside of me, making me want to throw up to get rid of the agonizing pain.
I sputter and heave, trying my best to remain quiet. Bastard tears leak from my eyes and I can’t stop them. I can’t do anything.
This is a hell I’ve been terrified of for so damn long. A nightmare that I knew could be a reality. Helpless takes on a new meaning.
My body trembles and the fear is overwhelming. But then I remind myself, be quiet. Be smart. There is always hope. Always. I’m smart enough to find a way. The idea is soothing for a moment until I hear the boot rise again and my instinct to cower is greeted with laughter in the room.
I pray that maybe I’ll wake up. Although I know it’s not a possibility I’m asleep, because pain doesn’t follow you to your dreams. Not this kind.
But the thought gives me a heady comfort that allows me to stay quiet as the men talk and laugh, their banter mocking me and my helplessness.
My father will come for me. That last thought I nearly whisper to myself. My lips mouth the words and I stay in the fetal position with my eyes closed.
He will save me.
It’s his pride at risk. If for no other reason, stealing me is a sign of weakness for him. He won’t allow it. My breathing slows at the thought, the adrenaline in my blood seemingly ebbing away from me. He has to save me.
“Do you think we should torture her first? Get any information out of her?” The two questions are asked by another man farther away from me and on my left. One with a casual and lighthearted way about the fucked up questions which leads to the room being filled with Italian comments and some amused chuckle from my right.
Sweat covers my skin. Turning hot and cold as the air smothers me.
The laughter is silenced with the sound of the door opening and greetings are exchanged. Only three men speak, and I can’t make out the words until the door is shut again.
Something’s changed. The air in the room is different. I can feel it.
“Is that her?” a deep, rough voice asks. The velvet cadence of the man who interrupted the jovial laughter makes everything still. Goosebumps flow over every inch of my skin.