by Forgy, M. N.
He bends down unlocking the silver bars that trap me in my mud hole. Slowly I crawl out, my legs and arms stiff from the small space.
I stretch my arms above my head and my stomach cramps painfully. I haven’t eaten in days, and I was given very little water yesterday so my motivation for winning today is at its highest.
“Move it,” my handler says hatefully, before nudging me in the back with a silver pole. He hardly touches me with hand-to-hand contact, he always uses a metal rod to instruct me around. As if he’s herding sheep. Heading out of the darkness it begins to get lighter as the hole in the ceiling protrudes sun. I smile, who knew something as small as the sun could bring such happiness. It’s warmth on my skin reminding me that I’m still alive, and one day I will dance in the sun. As soon as I step foot into the sunshine, Brown 5, my opponent steps out from the other side of the room. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, my head lowering as my body tenses into fight mode.
I blink slowly, she’s strong and I hate her. I go hungry every day because she is greedy and can’t let me win one fucking fight.
Screaming, she comes at me, and I dodge out of the way quickly. Using a high kick, I slam my foot into the back of her head and she falls to the ground fast, her nose slamming into the dirt.
Climbing on top of her, my long braided hair falls over my shoulder and she reaches behind her and grabs the ends of it, tugging it hard, she flips us until she’s on top. Her fingers wrap around my neck like a collar and squeeze. My eyes bug out as my heart starts drumming in my chest harder than I can breathe. Using the same tactic, I try and strangle her back, but blackness surrounds my vision first. She’s suddenly lifted off me and I choke back to life. I turn over and spit onto the ground trying to catch my breath.
My handler pulls me up by my hair, disappointed in my lack of fighting, and shoves me back into the dark hallway. My head hangs as I know I will go another couple days without food. At least until my injuries heal and I can fight again. Just as I’m about to crawl back into my cage, my handler fists my long braid, halting me where I stand. He wraps it around his hand, jerking me back.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to look over my shoulder. Pulling a big knife from his pocket he slices it through my hair, chopping it, and cutting it from every angle. I cry, trying to pull away from him but it does no good.
When he’s done he pushes me down into the dirt and I slowly crawl into my cage. Grasping the bars with both hands, I scream with rage and he locks it uncaring.
Weeping, I run my fingertips through what is left of my hair. It’s uneven and choppy. I can’t braid it or do anything with it now. Sliding to the back of the mud hole, my head falls against the cold metal bars as I silently cry. They take everything from me. Everything. Brown 5 is the reason for my pain. I hate her.
The sound Machete’s voice takes me from my flashback.
“Man, if I’m going to be here I need some basic shit to live. Like, some weed, music or a fucking TV would be nice, and get me some fucking Fruit Loops or sandwich crap, there’s shit here to eat.” Machete orders, the sound of his voice rugged even through the metal door.
I wait for a responding voice, but there’s nothing but silence. He must be on the phone and alone in the other room.
“No she hasn’t given up anything yet, but I’m just getting started.” The commitment in his voice makes my chest tighten. I’m so screwed.
I hang my head, knowing he won’t give up until I tell him something. Cross is an enemy of theirs and the more I sit here I doubt Cross will come for me. What has Cross really given me? My brows pinch together thinking about the hell that man has put me through, the things he’s taken from me just for himself.
My stomach churns thinking about my lost family, the childhood I never had, and the idea that I may die in this shit-hole all because of Cross. He led me right into the arms of the Sin City Outlaws, using my grudge against Alessandra to do his dirty work. That motherfucker!
It’s now that I realize… he’s an enemy of mine too. He won’t save me, he probably hopes they’ll kill me. Then again, I am the only prodigy left of his so-called crew so if he comes for me, it’s just because he wants to use me.
My teeth graze my bottom lip deep in thought, snot threatening to drip from my nose from my wave of mood swings.
Still, if I tell the Outlaws where Cross is, what’s stopping them from killing me after they get what they want. What if Cross wants to kill me because he thinks I’m a risk now?
Cross is the man that gives the reaper a run for his money. He’s the fucking Devil ordering out which souls to be taken and when. It’s just a matter of time before my name is whispered from the lips of thy majesty.
That is exactly what he is; my majesty. He’s played the strings of my heart until I couldn’t feel anymore, the common feeling of emotion bleak and cold. I’m broken.
Machete thinks he can break me, but he can’t break what’s already been destroyed, and Cross did that to me when he took me away from my family when I was a little girl and filled my heart with abuse.
He gave me a life full of bad memories, and numbness. He says he taught me to be a survivor, but sitting here in this fucking chair. I’m not so sure anymore…
* * *
I jerk awake from the light being turned on. I wince in reaction, my mouth dry and I have to pee so bad my bladder feels like it’s about to burst open right where I sit. The smell of mildew and concrete reminds me where I am and I try to blink the sleep from my eyes.
A man that is not Machete blurs in front of me, and my fingers curl around the arms of the chair in anxiousness. He has short dark hair and tattoos up and down his arms. He’s young looking and is familiar but I can’t put a name on him. An Outlaw for sure, that leather cut telling me so. I just can’t read his name.
“Who are you?” I ask sleepily, my body stiff and sore from this fucking chair. I can’t see my toes, but I also can’t feel them being roped so tight to the legs. I bet they’re purple.
“Mac,” he responds toneless. “If you fuck with me, I will leave you here in the dark again. Do you understand?” he clips, showcasing a gun inside of his leather cut. “That little stunt in the van was enough to have me shoot you in the damn foot right now.”
I thought he looked familiar. That asshole drugged me. I owe him a kick in the teeth.
“I- I need to pee,” I respond, ignoring his threat. Deep inside my chest burns that they found out I’m terrified of the dark. They will use it against me now.
“She needs to pee,” Mac hollers with an amused tone.
Machete steps into the room with a beer in his hand and a blunt hanging from his mouth carelessly. His red hair is tousled and messy, his black leather vest no match for his large chest and even bigger biceps.
“Is that right?” He tilts his head to the side. This game we play with our eyes still going strong, so I stare back at him.
“Tell me where Cross is and I’ll let you use the toilet.” He juts his head to the corner. Following his direction, I find a silver toilet just feet away, it doesn’t help my bladder any seeing it. As if knowing it’s right there makes my mind think it’s ready to release.
Closing my eyes, I slowly breathe through my nose. I don’t have to pee. I don’t have to pee.
“You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” Mac laughs at Machete. Looking over Mac’s shoulder, I stare at Machete who watches me closely. As if he’s never seen me before, or as if he’s fascinated with me. Like I’m the only woman in the world. It’s weird, yet my body finds it as a turn-on.
Pulling a small knife from his back pocket Mac slices through the ropes that hold my hands in place. The blood rushes to my fingers so fast it hurts, and I can’t move them. Bending down he slices the ties on my ankles too, and the same reaction happens as blood regains its original path. It hurts so fucking much.
“Stand up,” he orders, aiming a gun right at my skull.
“You have to give me a
second, you tied those things so tight my legs and hands aren’t ready to move,” I snap. Mac stands back, huffing. On shaky legs I try to stand, and the piss I was holding slams down so hard in my bladder, warmth floods my panties.
I look down as pee drips down my legs, tears threatening to spill from my eyes from the humiliation. I just peed myself. Oh my God.
“Great, she pissed herself,” Mac mumbles irritated.
“Are you serious?” Machete asks with a bored tone.
“I told you I needed to fucking pee!” More emotion than I wanted to display laces in my tone. Reaching outward, Mac pushes me to the left where a steel toilet sits and he shoves me down hard. It’s cold against my thighs, and I shiver in reaction.
“Are you done or do you still need to go?” Machete asks from the doorway.
Ignoring him I hang my head, I feel humiliated. I just urinated on myself, but the relief is so blissful I almost could care less.
Looking up through my wet lashes, Machete’s eyes fall on mine, and the way he stares at me is too direct, too intense, so I look the other way.
“You can’t just let her sit in her piss, man,” Mac stands up for me, and it takes me aback.
“What do you not get about her being the enemy. That I’m supposed to torture her for intel?” Machete snaps. Mac’s shoulders rise as he looks at me with sympathy. If he really knew me, he wouldn’t look at me like that.
“I don’t know. I guess that’s why Zeek picked you to do this shit and not me,” Mac scoffs.
Machete shakes his head, walking further into the room. His broad shoulders taut and lost ivy eyes looking right at me. My gaze falls to his mouth, noticing the perfect arch of his upper lip and the slightest scar along the outer edge of the bottom one.
“Go, I’ll take care of it,” Machete responds stepping in front of Mac. I jerk my eyes from looking his face over and glare in his direction. Rage building in my chest as I sit here in my own piss. The warmth of it starting to chill and cause a blanket of goose bumps to race down my legs.
“Stand up,” he snaps his fingers pointing up. My body tenses as he orders me around like a dog.
“Why?” I sass.
“Because you smell like piss.” He tilts his head to the side with a condescending tone.
“Whose fault is that?” I rebuttal.
“Yours for being a fucking idiot and trying to cross us,” he clips. Biting my tongue, I flex my fingers that ache from the stupid ropes that were tied too tight.
Out of patience, he suddenly grips me by the arm and yanks me up off the toilet. His touch harsh and fingers bruising my skin.
“Get off me!” I jerk from his callused hand and rub at the soreness his fingers left behind.
He looks down at me, a cold soulless look in his eyes holding me captive. His shoulders rise with a large inhale.
“Take your shorts off.” He juts his head toward my bottoms.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Take them off or I will do it for you,” he replies with no emotion in his voice. He pulls his Machete from his side, and I know then he will slice my shorts off in one swipe if I don’t obey.
Crossing my arms, I look toward the other room to hide my discomfort.
“Do I least get some privacy?” I can’t help but ask.
“No, you don’t get shit. You’re lucky I’m doing what I’m doing.” Machete’s thick eyebrows rise as he spews his hatred toward me. He’s so handsome, it’s a shame he’s a dick.
“What is it you’re doing exactly?” I whisper, and Mac suddenly appears in the doorway with a sandwich. My mouth waters at the sight of it, my stomach growling.
Stuck where I stand my eyes flicker between Mac and Machete, scared of what they have planned.
Machete sighs heavily and reaches for the button on my shorts. I jump back, my legs wobbly from the rope burns around my ankles.
“I’ll do it!” I croak, jerking my hands up to keep him away from me.
Tilting his head to the side, he takes a step back but his eyes never leave mine.
Slowly, I unbutton my shorts and slide them down my thighs, then my legs. My chest sinks and my teeth press into my bottom lip tightly. My pink panties are on full display for both Outlaws as I undress in front of them. My heart races in my chest, and my hands hesitate to cover myself. I’ve never shown this much skin in front of two men before. I stand straight and lift my chin for effect. Telling myself I’m not scared, and it’s just a body.
Machete’s eyes that are usually cold and emotionless look like they’re on fire, and his chest is raised as he takes in my long tanned legs and ass cheeks that play peek a boo with the material of my panties. He has no shame looking me up and down, the look of hunger igniting in the depth of his eyes.
“Damn!” Mac compliments, but I just stare straight ahead at Machete. Our eyes locking in place with one another.
Keeping his stare steadily on mine, he holds his hand out to Mac who places a metal cuff with a chain attached to it in the palm of Machete’s hand. My brows furrow at it, unsure what it’s for. Machete steps up to me, and bends down near my feet and clasps the metal cuff around my ankle. The coldness is like ice against my skin, and it hurts amongst the rope burns on my ankles. His hand snakes across the chain links until an end appears and he jerks it causing me to stumble forward like a pet on a leash.
“Follow me, pet,” Machete orders, pulling me along like a slave. Exiting the cell, we head into the main room. It’s small, just a little bigger than my cell. There is a counter with a sink and stovetop. What I don’t see is windows or a sign of escape.
Suddenly Machete turns left where a wooden door I didn’t notice sits. He flips the light on displaying a bathroom. A white ceramic toilet, showerhead bolted into the wall, and drain in the corner. It’s bare, and reminds me of a prison bathroom you’d see on TV more than anything.
Machete struts to a heater welded to the wall I didn’t notice before, and wraps the chain around it, reaching in his pocket, he pulls out a lock and snaps it in place.
“Shower, piss, do whatever. You got ten minutes,” Machete informs as he walks out the door.
“Aren’t you going to shut the door?” I ask. I plead for some privacy. Maybe with him looking the other way I can put something together in here for a weapon to escape.
Machete walks back in the room and glances at the wooden door. His eyes ablaze, and jaw ticking.
“You mean this door?”
I raise a brow knowing I’m not going to like what comes next.
He fists both sides of the wooden door and tears it off the hinges as if it was made of graham crackers. My jaw drops as it splinters and breaks in his grip. My eyes widen, and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I underestimated his strength. I’m so fucked.
“Dude, Zeek is going to kill you!” Mac laughs, observing the destruction all over the floor.
Machete glares at me, and my nostrils flare in reply. Fucking animal. Now I have no chance of escaping.
I have no privacy, not even a fucking shower curtain for Christ’s sake. There’s a toilet, drain, and showerhead. That’s it. Nothing to hide my naked body from wandering, savage eyes.
Mac and Machete walk the other way, and I stand there unsure if I want to shower or not.
“Eight minutes left!” Machete hollers from the other room. I roll my eyes. I can’t believe he’s actually counting down.
Gritting my teeth, I opt for getting the damn shower. Who knows when I’ll get another chance, and I’m soaked in urine and dirt. I pull my shirt off but decide to keep my panties and bra on. It’s like a swimsuit I tell myself.
Grabbing the cold metal steel that makes up the knob I turn on the hot water. Razor blades of water pelt into my skin and I wince trying to move my body just right to where it doesn’t hurt as much. Jerking my ankle bracelet, I try to get a little more under the waterfall, but it’s no use. I’m barely within reach of the water and it’s slicing into my skin like hail.
“Here’s some soap.”
I jump where I stand and cross my arms over my chest to turn around.
Machete holds up a green bottle of shampoo with a green apple printed on the front.
His cold eyes hold mine as he tries to resist looking my semi-naked body over. My heart beats a little harder knowing he has some compassion in there somewhere not to eye fuck me. Then again, my nipples perk wanting him to look.
“Why are you being so nice?” I ask, reaching for the soap. If I’m his prisoner, why would he care if I smell like fucking apples.
“I’m not being nice, the ventilation in here sucks and I don’t want to smell your piss all night,” he informs rudely.
Popping the plastic top to the shampoo I look down at it and inhale a shaky breath.
“So, I’m going back to the chair after this I suppose,” I mumble. Realizing apple shampoo is the best I’m going to get out of this animal. I know I’m the enemy, but they don’t know my story. They don’t know the hell I’ve been through to make me the way I am.
“Probably,” he retorts, before walking out.
Shaking my head, I turn around and continue my shower knowing deep down I’m a dead girl.
Machete
Chapter 2
Machete
“You don’t look like you’ve gotten anywhere with that bitch,” Mac states, sitting on the couch, each arm sprawled out on each side along the back. His dark hair is tousled and messy, his intricate tattoos climbing up his neck and arms. He’s probably the handsome-ist of us all, and he fucking knows it. Prick.
I scoff in reply, continuing my manic pacing of the floor. I feel like a prisoner down here myself without any sunlight or fresh air. This is an old bunker under our warehouse that holds illegal ammo, the same place I’ve tortured others and gotten what I’ve needed with no problems. This time though... It’s different. She’s different.