The crash.
Shit, they got me…so where am I? My head feels like blood is pooling in it, like when you lie upside down for too long. My ears still ring, but I can hear past that and my slamming heart to the dripping surrounding me—like water slowly hitting tile, again and again. Other than that, all I can hear is the rustle of wind seemingly far away…then silence.
Okay. Calm the fuck down, Rox. First things first, open your fucking eyes and find out where you are. Then we escape and kill these motherfuckers.
I’m going to make those bitches cry for their mommies…just as soon as I can open my eyes.
I don’t let the panic settle in or give it a hold on me, it won’t do anything. This is life or death, and I need to get out of here before they come back. I know it will only mean torture until they are done with me, and then I will end up with a bullet in my head. I refuse to die that way. I’ll die as I lived, with a beer in my hand and riding a dick.
I manage to finally pry my eyes open. They swim with tears, and I have to blink several times to clear them. When I do, I frown in confusion, trying to understand what I’m seeing.
Am I upside down?
My hair is trailing below me, touching the floor and soaking up the blood from a rapidly growing puddle there. The floor is carpeted, a dirty white colour. Lifting my head with an audible groan, I take a look around the rest of the room. The carpet trails to cement farther out into the space, the walls painted an off white. There’s what looks like a boiler to the right, and the rest of the room is almost empty apart from nudie mags taped to the wall in the corner with an old wooden chair angled next to it.
She’s got nice tits.
Shit, focus, Rox.
There is an off, damp smell in the room, and it’s musty like it’s been closed up for a while. I can’t spot any windows anywhere either. Fuck. Lifting my head higher, my back straining, I glance up at the ceiling to see I am, in fact, chained to it, dangling there like fucking meat in a butcher’s shop. I twist my hands, which are tied behind me, and notice my lips are sore like they were duct taped. The fuckers.
No wonder my head is rushing, all the blood is draining to it, and I’m starting to feel lightheaded. My body is weak, and I have no choice but to drop my head down, forcing my frame to swing precariously. I swear if I fall right now, I’m going to be pissed, but the chain holds even as it creaks.
Okay, so I’m tied upside down…ideas? Ugh, my brain hurts. Then I remember the knife I had at my spine. I strain my hands, trying to feel if it’s there, my shoulders aching with the movement, but it’s gone. They took it. Okay, so no weapons either. I could keep swinging, try and break the beam I’m hanging from. The only issue is I might crack my head on the floor or the ceiling might come down, which doesn’t seem like a good idea.
I’m betting by now the guys know I’m gone. They will be pissed, and Diesel will be infuriated, but I can’t wait for them to come save me. I need to get my own ass out of here. Then I hear boots coming my way. My breathing picks up, my heart racing as I swallow back my bile.
Okay, whatever they do, I can handle it.
A lock clicks, the door opens, and three men step into the room. The door slams shut behind them with a loud snap. I’m locked in with them. Brilliant. I should play it cool, play it smart, but as always, my mouth runs away with me.
“Evening, arseholes, is this a new kink? ’Cause I gotta admit, it’s not doing it for me. I’m wet, but honestly, I think I peed myself a little, so I wouldn’t take that as a point for you.”
They don’t respond, but the one in the middle steps forward. He’s wearing a black suit with the top buttons undone. His short black hair is swept to the side, and his brown eyes are tight and angry. His lips are pursed, and I spot the number ‘three’ starting on his neck and stretching onto his shoulder. The other two are clearly goons. The one on the left has a shaved head. His body is bulky, encased in black jeans and a black t-shirt. I spot at least three guns on him, and he looks more like brawn than brains. The one on the right has a purple mohawk, a piercing through his left eyebrow and nose, and even one on his lip. His eyes are blue and a little wild as he grins at me. His body is lanky and covered in tattoos, and he has no shirt on, just some leather pants.
“Do they chafe you? I got the worst chafe from them, you know? Especially when you start sweating a lot, and in leather that’s all the time, am I right?” I ask him.
He grins wider. “Baby powder.”
“Huh,” I say seriously. “I’ll have to try that, thanks.”
“Enough!” the man in the suit barks, drawing my gaze back to him.
“What? I was just getting started. You should know I once talked my way out of a ticket…okay, three times, but who’s counting? Then there was that time I was in a Mexican jail and I—”
Fuck.
My head snaps around, and I swing from the slap he delivered. My cheek stings, but I laugh as he catches my swaying body and stills me, turning me to face him. “Damn, that’s fun, do it again, see how far you can swing me!”
He backhands me again, and this time I twirl, it sends bile rushing up my throat, and I hold it until I face them again, and then spew it on them. It sprays across his shoes and trousers, and I laugh as some of it drops down my cheek. “Damn, that was fun.” I cough.
He yells, stepping back and looking at his once shiny shoes in disgust. The mohawk guy laughs, and I wink at him. “I thought you would like that.”
“Shut her up,” the man in charge snarls, as he lifts his foot, glaring down at it.
The other man, Baldie, steps forward and slams the base of his gun into my stomach. My breath leaves me in a grunt, and I swing back and forth, pain splintering through my gut. He does it over and over until I can barely breathe, never mind talk. I feel my ribs crack, shit. So every breath I take hurts, causing pain to flow through me.
But I’ve had worse, so once I can breathe again, I let out a pained chuckle. “That was good. Got to admit, though, my boy is a torture master, and he’s a lot more inventive. Where are the toys? The fear? Come on, you guys can do better.”
“Oh, that will come later.” Mohawk grins in a good boy type of way.
“Roxxane, look at me,” the suit guy demands. So I do, and he steps closer, grabbing my shoulder and holding me still as he tilts his head down to meet my eyes. “I’m giving you a chance to tell us everything. We know you don’t want to be there with them, they stole you, but we can help you. Just tells us what we need to know to kill them, and then you will be free.”
“Yeah…see, I’d believe that more if you didn’t have me hanging like a pig. You should start with that before the chasing and the drugs, but your information is out of date, babes, I’m a fucking Viper.” I lunge my head forward, smashing mine into his.
Headbutts are not fun.