"Yeah, well, I think I would have been better off in prison," I respond.
"You think so, huh?" he asks. "I can arrange it, Axel. Just say the word."
27
Harley
I should have known better. No one gets a job the way I did. Jobs don’t offer room and board in exchange for a salary. I knew better and I let fear take over. It's a weakness I haven't succumbed to in years, and now I'm running again.
Part of me wonders if Axel is running after me for selfish reasons. Part of me thinks he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I've been running faster than I thought I was capable of, but with the adrenaline ripping through me, I've managed to put space between us, especially with an SUV pulling around the corner.
The SUV stops, and I know it's my chance to get out of sight.
Which, won't be a problem.
A hand claps over my mouth, and I'm flung into the vehicle, restrained from moving as the door is slammed against the material of this damn dress I'm in. The hand remains cupped tightly over my mouth as my senses ignite one by one.
There are four men in the car, none of which are speaking English. They're grimy, covered in sweat, and the man's hand over my face smells foul, like gasoline and sweat.
I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, and I can hardly breathe with the frantic pace my heart is beating. They're going to kill me. Maybe Axel knew these men were waiting for me. Maybe he chased me into them. The world has been against me for years, and I've run out of places to hide.
It's the waiting part that will be the worst, then the several attempts of interrogation techniques they'll use. When I refuse to give up the information, they'll put a bullet into my brain. If they can't have the information, no one will be able to. It's how they probably see it.
The driver has his eyes on the rearview mirror because he must know where I came from, which probably doesn’t matter at this point.
I could bite this man's hand and stir them up, but then they'll think I care, or worse, that I’m scared. Instead, I hold still, trying not to blink. It starts now, not when we get wherever we're going. They'll be watching my every move. I've prepared for this. I've had nightmares about this moment, knowing it was only a matter of time before Mason’s mistakes caught up with me.
From the looks of the direction the driver is heading, we're making circles to lose anyone following us. I can't see behind us, but I assume when this vehicle stops, it means no one is behind us. It means their disclosed location will be safe to enter. I can predict every moment of the next twenty-hours of my life—most likely the last twenty-four hours of my life as well.
I close my eyes, blocking out the scene around me to avoid their analyzing glares in attempt to read my thoughts. Playing dead and mute will only work for as long as we're in this car, but it gives me time to collect my thoughts.
After what must be thirty minutes of driving, the SUV stops short and the doors open all at once. I'm swung around, though, trying to remain stable on my feet as the cold concrete turns into damp brick steps. When I open my eyes, the sight in front of me doesn’t change because we’re walking through opaque darkness, and from the steep descent we’re moving in, I assume we’re heading underground to their version of a torture chamber.
After the final brick step, the ground's texture turns back into concrete, and we walk for several more minutes until I hear metal clashing against metal. I’m tossed into a wall, feeling more brick scrape against all areas of my exposed skin. The metal crushing sounds occur again, and though I can't see a thing, it feels as though the space around me is empty.
I right myself, so as not to lean against the wall. I don’t want to appear weak for when they can see me.
I'm not afraid of them.
They're speaking in the distance, still in their foreign language, so I take the opportunity to feel around the space I'm in, but my hands don’t land on anything but brick until I reach a set of scuffed, likely rusted, metal bars. I'm confined, as expected.
I'm sure they'll keep me waiting just to try and up my level of paranoia and anxiety, but maybe they weren't warned of my skills to fight their game. Even if they do know my background, they may not care. When someone wants something badly enough, people become hollow bodies, and minds are just objects locked in a safe.
Minute by minute crawls by, and I rest my back against the wall, facing the emptiness in front of me. Without light, I’m forced to think and recall memories from the last couple of years. I shoo the thoughts away, knowing these men are intending to weaken me by taking away my senses. I’ve been outnumbered since day one, yet I’ve come this far and remained alive and unharmed for longer than I could have asked for. I signed my name on Mason’s papers and agreed to the potential outcome I’m living through. I’m the only one to blame, which makes dying for this reason a little easier. I don’t have to be angry with anyone except myself.
My only regret was feeling any sort of mere happiness for Axel because now I’m almost positive he was a tool used to weaken me. I have to believe that now.
I want to hate him for it. I want to hate Everett for helping him. However, it’s desperation that got the best of me. Desperation will always win. It’s the rule in life.
A lightbulb flickers above my head, offering me a small area of visibility.
The sound of the metal door unlatching echoes against the wall behind me. Footsteps from what must be a heavyset man come forward, and it isn't until he's almost in the center of this cell that I can make out his features—the features that are visible. He's cloaked in black, and his face is completely covered except for his eyes. He's tall and overweight, which I assume is supposed to add fear to this situation.
"What is your name?" he asks, his accent thick, almost incomprehensible. I’m not sure where he’s from or the language he speaks because it sounds like a combination of accents mixed together.
I won't give this man the satisfaction of thinking I'll be easy, even with a fake name, so I keep my mouth closed. They will do whatever they have planned regardless of the information I give them. The quicker their aggravation grows, the faster this will be over and at this point, that’s what I’m hoping for—a quick ending.
"Fine," he says. "Are you going to answer our questions?" Are you a moron? I want to ask him. I think I already know the answer, though. "We can do this easily or the hard way." I cross my arms over my chest and reposition my back against the wall. "What would you like first? Toothpicks under your nails, waterboarding, electric shock?" By his forward questions, I'm certain he is knowledgeable of my education. In any case, I remain silent. The man pulls a chair out of the dark corner where the bars meet the wall and with an achy groan, he sits down under the hanging bulb. "We are aware that you are fearless, and that no tactic of ours will extract the information we are after. Well, except one." I can live without fingers and toes if that's the direction they're heading. I know rape and other sexual tools are available at their discretion, as well, but I'll just let them think I'm enjoying it. They have nothing. "This is your last opportunity to speak before we take things a step further." I'm surprised he has already dragged this out as long as he has. It's making me wonder if this is his first interrogation. Wouldn't that just be my luck? I'll be sitting in this fucking cell until I die of starvation.