The man who gagged me doesn’t wait for his partner, and he drags me out to a white van. How original. At least it’s not a trunk again, I muse as he shoves me in, which causes my head to hit the floor. He slams the door behind me. My head throbs from the blow, so I push myself up into a sitting position, lay my head against the wall, and blink to get rid of the black dots.
The bump wasn’t hard enough to give me a concussion, but it still hurt. One thing I’m always careful of is keeping my head protected when I fight. Too many concussions can cause a lot of problems I don’t want.
After a minute, the van starts up and lurches forward, sending me back to the floor. The men aren’t careful with their driving, my body sliding around as we take sharp turns and brake slamming stops. They’re speeding, which isn’t surprising.
Finally, the car stops, and the engine cuts off. Doors opening and slamming shake the van and signal the men’s movements. Before I can move, the back door opens, letting the light stream in and making me squint from the brightness.
“Get out here,” one man yells, pulling me by my ankle. Impatient much? He yanks me out and throws me over his shoulder. I curse him, but since I have a gag in my mouth, it comes out muffled and garbled.
The man carrying me follows the man from mine and Drake’s room one into an extensive building. My eyes widen as the man passes more henchmen, who just smirks at me. We enter a hallway and stop in front of a large door. The man in front pushes the door open, and the man holding me follows down the stairs. He walks downstairs, jostling me as we go and throwing me into a chair.
The men quickly tie my arms to the chair and then tie my ankles to the chair legs. Once done, they stand. “Boss will be here soon,” the one that carried me says. Loud footsteps sound from the stairs, making me lift my head. My eyes connect with the dark eyes of the man who killed my father. I gasp.
“Well, well, well. Hello, Athena, it’s good to see you again,” V mocks, crouching in front of me. I struggle against my restraints, wishing I could kick him in the face. If there were anyone I’d like to unleash my fighting skills on, it’d be this guy. He smirks, probably knowing what I’m thinking. “Now, I know you’ve been waiting to see me since you were… what? Twelve? Thirteen?” He asks, making me grit my teeth.
“Hold on.” He leans in. I don’t want his filthy hands anywhere near me for obvious reasons. I jerk my head back, but there’s only so far I can move in my restraints. Because I can’t get out of reach, he grabs my hair, holds me still, and pops the gag from my mouth. Taking in a gulp of fresh air, I glare at him.
“What do you want with me?” I might not appear scared, but I’m terrified of this man. If my hands weren’t tied down, I think they’d be shaking. He killed my father in front of me. It was traumatizing, and the images from my dreams flash before my eyes. I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem killing me either.
The man barks out a laugh. “I know your daddy left you a good bit of money when he died,” he starts, standing up. “And he owes me; besides, I need to finish what we started years ago.” What did we start? Does he mean the killing?
“How did you know about the money?” Mason, Alisha, and I were the only ones told about the money. V smirks and slowly starts pacing around the room. “Your mother was accommodating,” he states. My mother? Confusion fills me. My mother has nothing to do with this. Then I realize something.
“Alisha?!” I shriek. He nods. Anger fills me, and I groan. “She is not my mother. She had no right to tell you anything! Does she know you killed my father?” I inquire, making him stop moving.
He turns to me with a bored expression. “I don’t care if Alisha knows. I only needed her to find you.”
I narrow my eyes at his response and show my disgust in the best way I know. I spit. It flies through the air and lands on his shoe, which causes him to glare at me. “You’re going to transfer the money over to me, or I’m going to kill you,” V threatens.
Now, it’s my turn to laugh. “I can’t access the money until my birthday.” I have to be eighteen to get the money, something Alisha knows but forgot to mention.
“Didn’t Alisha tell you that, or are you just that stupid?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. This isn’t a time to be amused, but I enjoy messing with this guy. Before I can say anything else, he raises his arm and brings it down, slamming his fist into the right side of my face. My head snaps to the side as I groan in pain.
“Give me the account information!” His face turns an angry red color. It’s like in the cartoons when the anger turns the characters red and shoots steam out of their ears. V leans down and gets in my face. “I can have one of my men hack it, so just give me the information. I know you’re the only one who has it,” he growls, spitting in my face. I narrow my eyes and keep my mouth shut. He’s not getting anything out of me.
As he realizes I won’t talk, V stands back up. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me his best glare, which, may I add, is terrifying. I remember that glare. “If you won’t talk willingly, I’ll have to make you talk.”
Chapter 33
Drake
After about twenty minutes of Athena being upstairs, I follow. It’s sad to say, but I need some space from my friends. I want more time alone with Athena, and the guys know that when Athena and I are in our room, they’re to leave us alone.
I walk into my room to the sound of water running, so I walk over to my bed. My eyes catch the sight of a piece of paper on Athena’s bedside table. So, I reach across the bed and grab the note. Did she leave me a message to tell me she’s showering?
As I lift the note, something falls out and rolls off the bed. The small object lands on the floor, and I pick it up to see the ring that I gave Athena. My eyebrows pull together in confusion, and I open the note.
Drake,
She’s mine.
V.
My eyes widen. I jump up, running over to the bathroom. I push the door open to see the shower running, yet no one there. Panic and anger set in, rising with every second.
“Guys!” I clutch the items in my hand as I dash out of the room and fly down the stairs. “She’s gone!” When I skid into the living room, the guys jump to their feet, sending me startled and confused looks.
“He took her. Right from under our noses!” I growl, throwing the crumpled note at them. She should’ve been safe here; we were right downstairs. How did they get in and out while we were so close? After the last time, I should’ve put in a security system.
Chase bends down and picks up the note while I pull my phone out and dial Jason’s number. While I wait for Jason to pick up the phone, Chase reads the note to the guys.
The phone rings four times before he picks up. “Hello?” He answers. He’s probably at the station right now.
“Jason, she’s gone. This V guy took her!” His breath catches on the other end of the line, and he makes a strangled noise.
“When? Did he leave any evidence behind?” He asks as shuffling sounds filter through the phone.
“Yeah, he left a note,” I tell him, then there’s a pause of silence. I pace around, waiting for his answer. What if he’s hurting Athena? What if he kills her? What if I don’t see her again?
I shake those thoughts from my mind and run a hand through my hair. I tug at the strands in frustration. What’s taking so long?
“Okay, okay. Um, does it look like Athena had anything with her; a phone or something we could use to track her?”
I glance at Mason. “Is there anything Athena would carry at all times that the police could track?” I ask. Usually, it’d be a phone, but Athena’s is upstairs. All the guys look at Mason, waiting for his answer. Mason shakes his head but stops.
“She has a necklace from our father that has a tracker in it, but I don’t know if she was wearing it,” he tells me, making me smile.
“Seriously? Is it the one with the ‘A’?” He nods. I’ve seen her wear it more and more lately. I just didn’t realize it was a tracke
r. Relaying the information to Jason, I put the phone on speaker.
“Okay, Mason. We need the serial number of the tracking chip, so get that and get to the station as fast as you can,” Jason orders, a slight panic in his voice.
“Okay, I’m getting it!” Mason yells, running out of the room. He’s gone for a minute before he returns. “I got it!” We follow him to the door and head out to our cars.
Athena
A scream leaves my lips as the bald man, V- also known as Victor-, drags his knife over my arm again. He smirks and leans close to my face. “Are you gonna tell me what I wanna know?” He asks, still wanting the account information. If I die, the account goes to Mason, and this man will never get it.
“Never,” I spit.
His face turns angry again, and he growls. “Fine, be that way.” He sets the knife down and cracks his knuckles. In the blink of an eye, he swings his fist. My face snaps to the side, pain flowering from the impact. He throws another punch, lowering it a little. Every hit he throws hits a different area.
“Give.” Face.
“Me.” Chest.
“The.” Shoulders.
“Account.” Stomach.
“Information.” Face.
I cough, trying to regain my breath after all the punches. Victor stands there, panting like it was hard for him. He should feel how hard this is for me. I shake my head, not able to speak. He sighs in frustration and goes over to the door.
“Damien!” He yells up the stairs.
My pulse quickens in fear as loud thuds enter my ears. Another man stalks into the room, and immediately, he narrows his eyes at me. He rakes his eyes over my body and smirks. “She’s beautiful,” he comments, glancing at Victor. Gross. I want to yell ‘jail bait’ but bite my tongue.
The man, Damien, walks over and kneels in front of me. “It’s my turn to have a little fun,” he tells me, putting his hands on my knees and slowly starts moving them up. I try to shake them off, but since they tied my ankles to the chair, I can’t move them.
He smirks and stands. He enjoys my fear. “Don’t worry, you’re not my type, girlie,” he states. I silently sigh in relief as he moves away. He nods at Victor, and Victor moves to my side while the unfamiliar man pulls on the chains hanging from the ceiling.
Victor moves close to me and pulls something out of his pocket. “This will only hurt…” he trails off with a smirk, then adds, “a lot.” With that warning, he plunges a needle into my neck. Pain sparks at the injection point, causing me to yell out in pain. He pulls away from my neck, and I wince.
“Wh-what?” I mumble as my eyes droop. A wave of exhaustion sweeps over me, and my eyelids grow too heavy to keep open.
~*~
My eyes snap open as I gasp and observe my surroundings. I’m in the same basement room, but I’m no longer sitting tied to a chair. Looking up, I find my wrists tied and connected to a chain hanging from the ceiling. My feet barely touch the floor, even when I stretch, and my arms burn with pain.
I pull on the bindings, but nothing happens except the rattling of the chains. I hope somebody finds me soon. The thought makes me glance down; I spot the glint of my necklace around my neck. Hope. I still have hope.
“Oh, excellent. You’re awake,” Victor says, making me look up. He and the other man, Damien, are leaning against a wall opposite of me. My response? I glare at the men. However, all I get in response are two smirks. Damien pushes off the wall and stalks toward me, an animal stalking his prey. A silver glint catches my attention, and I notice the small, sharp object in his hand.
“Since Victor’s method didn’t work, we’ll get it another way. I have an idea, and you’ll follow it.”
I glare at him while he slowly drags the small knife across my cheek. It’s not enough to break the skin, though. I don’t make a move to acknowledge him, other than glaring, so he keeps talking.
“Victor here has told me you’re a fighter, like your father; he said that you might even be better than your father,” he states. “So, I’ll have you go against one of my men.” I raise an eyebrow. The way he says this strikes me as odd. I glance between the two men and compare them. Victor seems to be the leader, but at the same time, Damien gives off a leader quality, too. It’s confusing. “You will fight three fights. If you lose any of them, you tell us what we want to know.”
Briefly, I wonder if they’re co-leaders. Is that even a thing?
“I won’t fight for you,” I tell him, spitting on him. It’s the only thing I can do.
He grimaces and wipes the spit off of his cheek. “Fine, you will fight Victor, and if you lose, then you tell us what we want to know; and, if you don’t fight, we will find other methods to get our information,” he informs me, bringing the small knife to my neck and pressing against my jugular. If I can buy time with this, I will.
I’m sure my absence hasn’t gone unnoticed. I just need to stall long enough for the guys to find and help me.
“Fine, but don’t get mad when I kick your butt,” I say, directing my statement at Victor. He scoffs and walks over to me. They both grab my hands and untie them, quickly restraining my arms. In a last attempt, I thrash and swing my legs at Victor. He dodges my attack, and Damien kicks the backs of my legs, making me crumple and making the pain in my body resurface with a vengeance.
Someone wraps their arm around my neck in a chokehold. “Don’t do that again, girlie,” Damien threatens. I struggle in their grip, but when you have two very large, possibly steroid-enhanced men holding you down, it’s harder to get out; then, there’s the fact that I’m still a little drowsy from earlier. Add it all up, and you get a very stuck girl.
“Get up,” Victor demands, moving off of my legs. Damien pulls me up and pushes me forward. Rolling my eyes, I walk up the stairs with both men holding onto me still. It’s difficult, but we squeeze through. When we reach the top of the stairs, they drag me into a small, plain room. “Take a shower and get dressed,” they order. “Don’t try to escape because we’ll kill you, then go after your brother,” he threatens.
I grit my teeth in anger and pain as I stumble into the room after they slam the door with a loud bang. The click of the lock echoes in the silent room, and I sigh. I don’t have a way of contacting anyone, so I walk to the closet, grab a black tank top, and snatch up a pair of shorts. It freaks me out a bit that they just have a wardrobe of women’s clothes, especially since they’re in my size, but I try not to think about it.
Once I have the needed items, I make my way to the bathroom. Instinctively, I flip the lock and place the clothes on the sink counter. I don’t want to take the chance they barge in while I’m taking care of business. Next, I pull out a towel from the cabinet and lay it beside my clothes. Settling my nerves with a few deep and somewhat painful breaths, I turn the shower on, hop in, and quickly wash.
Dried blood and dirt run down my body, dripping to the bottom of the shower as I wash my body. As if dancing, the dirt and grime mix and swirl across the tile to slide down the drain. I sigh, massaging some shampoo and conditioner into my hair. Not sure when I’ll get another shower, I take my time. Hopefully, the guys are coming, and I won’t be here long. But if worse comes to worst, I could be stuck here. If I don’t end up dead.
Once I’m done, I cut the water off and step out. I wrap the towel around my body and start drying myself off. I go through the motions like I’m a robot, not feeling much besides worrying about my situation. Slowly, I slip the clothes on and walk out to the room. I try the door in a last-ditch effort since there are no windows, but it’s still locked. With an annoyed groan, I walk over to the bed and flop down.
As I lay here, I realize they didn’t tell me when they’d come back for me. It could be minutes or hours. I roll over on the bed and sigh. Maybe I can get some sleep before the fight. It would help with my body's pains if I could gather some extra strength. I’ll need it because my opponent is unfamiliar and because I’m injured.
The pain isn’t bad as I thought it
would be. Maybe that’s because they drugged me to knock me out. It could be messing with my pain receptors. With my luck, the pain will grow during the worst possible moment.
I’ve always enjoyed fighting, but I won’t today. My dad always told me if I fight, I should never do it for the wrong reasons. Dad wanted me to defend myself and to use what he taught if I needed it. He didn’t want me to abuse the ability like some men he’d seen. He was honorable like that.
“You won, Daddy!” I yell, my excitement evident in my voice. I jump into my dad’s arms and hug him. “Good job!” He laughs and spins us around. This is the second fight I’ve been to since he started teaching me to fight. It’s my eighth birthday, and that morning I’d begged him to let me see his fight. I smile at him proudly.
“Ready to go home?” He asks, and I nod. We pass several people who congratulate my dad on his win.
Daddy settles me in the car, and we drive home. He stays quiet as we travel, but I don’t mind. He’s way quieter than little Mason or me. We come back to the house, and he parks in his same spot beside Mommy’s car. I giggle. He always parks right here.
When I hop out, he walks around to me, picks me up, carries me inside, and we find Mama and little Mason asleep on the couch. He’s my brother, just smaller than me.
I giggle at the cuteness, then look up at my daddy. He sets me down and drops his fight bag by the front door. Daddy moves around to the kitchen and grabs a dirty and torn rag, asking, “Will you help me clean up, baby girl?” When I nod, he crouches down to my level so I can reach. I take the wet rag from his hands and start softly wiping the blood from his face.
“Daddy, is fighting bad?” I whisper, being careful with the rag on the cut across his bottom lip. He smiles at me and eases my hand away.
“It is if you fight for selfish reasons, like jealousy or anger, or to hurt someone because you want to. If you fight for something you believe, fight for someone, or fight for your life, then it is okay.” I nod my head, and he releases my wrist.
Not So Cinderella Page 30