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I had been sitting in my own urine for many hours, unable to move. The water tank, still a few meters away, seemed to mock me. I hadn't seen anyone since I passed out. During that time, I was alone, in the dark. They only turned on the light when they brought me water and something to eat. I found out that I had been here for at least three days because the date was on the newspaper they used to give me food.
After that, they turned off the light again. I couldn't assess properly, but when the light was still on, I saw that the cut on my leg was deep, judging by the amount of dried blood covering my pants. My clothes and hair were still wet, my mouth tasted awful, and my body felt numb all over.
The light comes on, and my vision darkens, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness after so long in the dark.
"Look at you, you don't even look like the same person who came in here. Brett did a great job." Anthony's brother enters, closing the heavy door behind him, along with some guards. He wore a similar outfit to before, but now it was slightly wrinkled as if he had spent a long time sitting in a meeting.
"Hold her." He orders, and two of the guards make me stand up at the same time I see the rest of them dragging the same water tank. "We're going to have a talk. I heard your boss is under SWAT protection."
"I swear, if you lay a finger on her, you're dead."
"Ah... I won't do that, Brett will. I just need her to keep believing she's always one step ahead. I know that bitch, Anthony got inside her head so well that she'll do anything to avenge my brother."
"Try your luck. I'm not just saying it, I will put a bullet in your head at the first opportunity."
"I know how you work, I've been watching you since the hotel in New York, the restaurant, and the assassination attempt. Brett was there, remember? You may be cautious and cold-blooded enough to kill without a second thought, but you get careless around your boss, the last place you should let your guard down."
"Where are you going with this?"
"I just want the McAllister Family's money, it belongs to me. But why dirty my hands when I have her? Brett is so obsessed with getting revenge on Dianna and Matteo McAllister that she's blind. It's been quite fun watching her think she has any control. When she takes all of her boss's assets, all I'll need to do is kill her."
"If it's so simple, why the hell am I here?" For the first time, I let my anger show.
"You killed my brother, but above all, her husband. It doesn't sit right with me to let you go, even though his death is convenient. Plus, I need to convince our dear secretary that she has some power, so when she made that whole scene, seducing me, taking me to bed, and sucking me off just to try to convince me to bring you here, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to play her game, to see how far she thinks she can go." The truth shines in my brain, and I can read between the lines. I almost laugh.
"I was convinced that the mafia was about loyalty to family and blood. I guess I was wrong, after all. You have no idea of my surprise when I found out that you were genuinely happy about your brother's death. And now, I find out that you're having an affair with his fiancée. How long has this been going on? Because it certainly isn't recent. What is all this? Jealousy? Nothing is capable of surprising me."
I barely have time to catch my breath. My head is slammed into the water. I scream and thrash. They lift my head so I don't die without oxygen, but soon plunge it back in. The pressure holding my arms back is intense. I accidentally swallow water, and when they pull my body back up, it's harder to breathe. I start coughing, my body trying to expel the water from my lungs. I realize that their plan was to push me to complete exhaustion.
They dunk my body into the tank and only bring it up to repeat the process again, and again, and again. With Brett, she holds me down and waits longer underwater until I'm almost unconscious.
"Water? Again? I honestly expected more creativity from you. You didn't even want me here. You should be grateful, I gave you the position you always wanted, and now some skirt is telling you what to do? Aren't you the boss? Isn't that why I killed your brother, you son of a bitch?" My head is violently shoved into the water, and my mouth hits the iron edge on the way back. I taste blood.
"You know what? You're right." He smiles, taking a blowtorch out of his pocket. My smile disappears. They shove me violently and tie me back to the wall. This time, they handcuff me to the top iron, forcing me to stand. "You have a lot of tattoos. I want to put them in a clean place." He grabs my chin, lifts my face, and exposes my neck. "Here will do."
The flame comes, and I scream. I scream so much. No one listens. I only saw the ceiling and the reflection of the blue flame. The fire burns the side of my neck, and the smell of burnt flesh rubs in my face the extent of my helplessness.
The feeling was desperate, and I was sure I was going to die. That's when I stopped fighting and hoped my organs would fail faster than the flame that was charring my skin.
When they release my body, I fall inert to the ground. My mouth bleeds, and my breathing is weak. For a moment, I thought I was completely blind, but I was relieved when I realized it was just my consciousness leaving me.
My body weighs to the side, the pain making even the slightest movement impossible. I just clench my jaw, crying. I feel the cold concrete against my hot face, and dark spots, fortunately, start to fill my vision more and more. I feel my body detaching from my mind, as if the pain I felt was so violent that my brain simply didn't process it.
Suddenly, I find myself having a daydream. Luke's face fills my memory, his sight at the end of the bed with his knee resting on the edge of the soft mattress. I remember his warm mouth on my sex and the softness of the pillows supporting my back. He smiled satisfied, taking the whip out of the suitcase. I remember the tip being so thin that, if I wasn't careful, it could break the skin and form severe welts.
He then pulls my legs, effortlessly spinning my body and fastens my ankles in the leather buckles. The thick and heavy handcuffs were my favorite part, making the simple act of keeping me on all fours almost impossible. He always arranged my hair, taking it away from my face and tying it in a high ponytail with care. He slid his fingers over the skin of my thighs, pinching and slapping to warm the skin, and then the first crack comes. I remember holding back the scream and feeling pleasure. The first blows always hurt the most.
Luke liked to linger, strolling with the whip between my legs, so I was distracted enough not to prepare for the second blow. When it came, it was with force. My eye filled with tears from the sharp pain, but what came out of my mouth was a hoarse moan. The third and fourth follow each other, and my body involuntarily fights against the handcuffs.
"You're not going anywhere." He pulls my thighs without much delicacy, causing me to lose my balance and stay with the upper part leaning on the bed, on my knees and with my body thrown forward.
"Who said I'm running away?" My response is the sharp leather whipping against the inside of my thighs.
The blows continue. My buttocks and thighs burn. I gasp with the sensation of the sharp leather on my skin.
At that time, pain was good, it gave me pleasure. Chains and handcuffs were synonymous with fun and intense orgasms. If I had strength, I would laugh at the situation.
Of the contrast.
Of irony.
Of my blood spilled on the floor.
Of the urine.
This time, when I open my eyes, the lights are off. My head takes a few seconds to remember where I was, and the slightest movement makes me want to scream in pain. Nausea hits me, and I can only turn my face enough to not drown in my own vomit.
My body was beginning to show clear signs of infection.
I have been an atheist since adolescence, never missed it, but at the moment, I wanted to believe in anything. I would only ask to end my pain, to die soon, that's all. I was so weak that reality was fragments between one blackout and another, each time returning to me like a bitter poison. My eye, already accustomed to the lack of light, makes me able to see the figure of a man leaning against the closed door, and I become alert.
"Look at you. You're dying. Personally, I don't think you'll last more than a few days." The man turns on a dim flashlight and places it on the edge of the tank. This allows me to see that it's a familiar face, he was the man who pointed a gun at Dianna's head on the same day Katie was shot.
"I didn't expect to receive so many visitors." I say, too weak to pay full attention. I wasn't surprised that he didn't stay locked up for long, people like him never do.
My neck hurt, the burn was not third degree, which meant there were still functional nerves and muscles. This was the maximum luck I had had in the last few days.
"I have a proposal for you." I stay silent, and he continues. "I have a knife with me. I know you would prefer to take your own life than die at our hands. Because, anyway, you're going to die, but, at this point, I think you already know that. I can give you the chance to end it soon. Take it as... An act of mercy. Or you can do me a favor."
"I have spared your life before."
"By not shooting me in the head? That wasn't any kindness. But if you kill a person for me, I'll send a location signal to that boss of yours. I can't guarantee more than that."
The desperation I felt to leave that place spoke louder than anything else. It was fighting against agony and pain that I gathered strength to respond.
"Who?" He points to the water tank, and I understand the message. "With pleasure. But I need a weapon." I reply, pointing to his waist.
"Only a very idiotic person would give a firearm to a threatened sniper." He reaches for his ankle. "You get this." He throws the knife to me. It was so small it looked more like a pocketknife. "Make it be enough."