by Nicole Fox
Then, with savage glee, I dispatch the two men.
These violent fantasies did not worry me. In fact, I felt they made me stronger. Just like Dominic. He was violent, sure, but it was a tempered violence. A mature violence, unlike Blade and the Hook.
This is what I planned to use against them. They might have had the muscles and minds of adult men, but they had the egos and the pride of toddlers. And if my extended relationship with Brian had taught me anything, it was that the immature are easily manipulated.
In my fantasy, Dominic congratulated me on my cunning and my brilliance in enacting my plan, which of course had worked out perfectly. He could not have rescued me so smoothly without it, and would, in fact, have probably earned another major scar if not for me.
These fantasies filled me with such satisfaction that I actually found myself grinning, toying with the collar of my shirt and casual confidence. Then, it occurred to me that if Blade came in with that look on my face, my whole plan would be ruined. And so I regained my focus, forced my face into a grimace of resigned terror, and burrowed into the cot, allowing some of my discomfort to come over me.
It was in this pose then, with me curled pathetically and clutching at my clothing for warmth, and Thunder prone on the ground, stemming his own quakes, that Blade found us again.
“Hungry?” He sneered, coming in with what looked like two piece of moldy bread–what, did they keep it around just for the occasion of tormenting prisoners?–and a jug of water so brown I could guess they scooped it right from the river outside. He threw the meager pickings our way on the floor–spilling at least half of it–then leered at me.
“Hello, Erica my sweet,” he simpered, sitting down on the cot beside me.
Deliberately, I hide my face from him and curled up into a ball, like a terrified child. I was nervous, yes, but not afraid. My crouching demeanor was an act. I wanted him to believe me senseless.
“You poor, poor thing.” He reached out and stroked my bare shoulder, while I did my best not to recoil from the contact. He continued speaking, his voice oily and yellowed as grease. “To be stuck in a place like this...” He looked around the room pityingly. “It is your fault you know. Getting mixed up with a man like Dominic Molina. What could you expect? You better hope that the ransom The Hook is demanding from him doesn’t prove too much–Molina is not exactly known as a generous man.”
I screwed up my fists over my eyes and made short, lurching croaks. He thought I was crying. Actually, I was trying very, very hard not to laugh. He purred at me, stroking my skin and my hair, whispering in a voice as ugly as a toad’s, “There, there. There, there.”
At this point, Thunder smelt his opportunity, for he stirred.
“You ask me,” he slurred through a bruised and battered jaw, “I’d say The Hook is the one you have to worry about being generous. What did he promise you, huh? Ten minutes of his sloppy seconds?”
He leered, and winked at me like a lecher.
“What do you think, buddy?” He said to Blade. “Think he’ll let get a piece of that ass, too? Sloppy thirds, we’ll call it, eh?”
Rage surged through Blade, like a rippling of flame over leaking gas. He whirled away from me and approached Thunder, lifting back his shoe to kick him in the ribs.
This is where our plan really kicked on.
“Oh, come on!” I interrupted, pushing myself into a sitting position, my eyes puffy with fake tears. “You know it’s never going to get that far! The Hook’s gonna kill me as soon as he’s done!”
After that declaration, I let out a pitiful wail, and dissolved once again into tears. I found it was not hard to cry. All I had to do was tap into the well of terror buried deep inside me, kept sealed by my courage and this thought: “I must help Dominic in any way I can.”
Blade’s shoe passed, like a pendulum held at the top of its arc. I hoped I’d laced my words with enough sincerity to keep him from harming Thunder. Slowly, he lowered his foot, and turned towards me.
“What do you mean?” He demanded.
“You heard him!” I sobbed, hiding as much of my face as possible. “He wants to make Dominic suffer, by r-r-raping me while he watches. I just know he’s going to kill me afterward, and I wouldn’t care except for Dominic. Poor Dominic! The Hook is sure to break him!”
Blade stared at me thoughtfully. Maybe he sensed I was tricking him. Maybe he realized I was laying my fear in a little too thickly. Then, he reached down and seized me by the jaw.
“You were promised to me,” he said. “La Gancho can have his way, but then you’re mine!”
A deep chuckle, like rocks tumbling down a wet chute, echoed behind him. It was Thunder.
“Hehehe, you were promised?” He mocked. “Tell me–how many promises have you seen La Gancho keep?”
Blade turned back to me. He reached out and stroked my breast. “Maybe, then,” he growled, “I should take you now.”
I recoiled from him, and glared in disgust. “If you do, the Hook will kill you. Ha! Perhaps I’m luckier this way. Once The Hook has had his way with me, he’ll never let me get to you. He’ll kill me out of spite!”
Blade blinked. My words seemed to shake him. I shaped my next sentences carefully. Now was the crux. Where my plan would succeed or fail.
“Oh, I wish I could kill you all!” I cried, throwing myself back onto the cot. “While Dominic is distracted! Weakened by lust! Oh, I’d kill him if I could!”
“Hmmm....” Muttered Blade. I could practically hear the gears in his head turning. Distracted...Weakened by lust...
He crouched down, and bared his yellow, mossy teeth at me in a smile.
“Don’t worry, Erica my sweet,” he simpered. “Perhaps you’ll get your wish soon enough.”
He reached down, and padded the gun holstered at his hip. It looked ridiculous on his bony, sagging frame, but it should get the job done just the same.
I forced myself not to smile.
“I’ll see you soon, darling,” he said. With a wink and a smile, he sauntered from the room, thinking himself a cowboy.
Once he was gone, and the door locked behind him, Thunder and I rose to seated positions.
“Well done, Erica!” He whispered. “Where’d you learn to act like that?”
I grinned. “You spend a lifetime dealing with asshole men, you learn how to flatter them. How about you?”
Thunder chuckled. “You spend a lifetime being an asshole, it becomes pretty easy to fake!”
We laughed, and he climbed up onto the cot beside me so I could rest my head on his shoulder.
“Well,” I said at last. “We’ve done everything we could. Now, the rest depends on Dominic.”
“Don’t worry, Erica,” Thunder sighed, giving me a one-armed hug. “We’re in capable hands.”
Chapter Three
Dominic
My hands, bound by the cuffs and holding the full weight of my body, ached and throbbed. Already, I was losing the feeling in my fingers. And it would have been easier just to sag, to let my head hang, rather than lift my gaze up and look him in the eye.
But Dominic Molina has never been one just to do what’s easy.
“Hello, Marco,” I said, as if greeting a man in a park. “You look crustaceous as ever, I see.”
I expected a scowl, but he was, at least for the time being, above that.
“Dominic, Dominic,” he hissed like a snake. “How delightful it is to see you in such a state.”
“Oh, this?” I wriggled my body so that my manhood flopped about. “Usually it’s the woman who usually enjoys this sort of thing, but I always knew you were into it. Tell me, do you enjoy the front view? Or the back view?” As I taunted him, I flexed my body to spin around, so that both my chest and back were displayed to him. I’m sure many would have thought my actions reckless–and they may have been right. But if they could see the look of rage building on La Gancho’s face, they would have known that it was worth it.
He seized me by the neck
to stop me twirling, then pulled me up, close, so close to his face, so that our noses nearly touched.
“For so long, I have dreamed of bringing you here,” he growled. “Helpless and bound before me.”
“Whooo-hee! You’re dreaming about me, too? Dude, I’m not interested. You really to get out there and play the field. Meet some people. You know, I hear there’s actually some great apps for it–”
Slap!
His hand–his good hand–came so fast that I was barely aware of it before it struck. It connected with the side of my jaw and up to my ear, making it ring like bells on Christmas Eve. Distantly, I felt my lip split at the seam, and blood dribbled down my face.
“Ha!” I giggled. “Nice one! Good thing you can only slap with one hand–otherwise I’d be in real trouble!”
I rolled my eyes and glanced at his mangled hand, crumpled like old kindling, with a disdainful, mocking look. Internally, I felt bad for insulting this injury. After all, I had caused it, of my own irresponsibility.
But I had to focus on Erica and Thunder now. The more I could get under his skin, the more likely I would be able to manipulate him into revealing their whereabouts.
He saw my derisive look, and reared back his good hand again and punched me in the gut, so hard my whole body convulsed on the impact. As I fought for my breath, I also regained my chuckle, and laughed derisively as I raised my head once again.
“Oh, no more shenanigans for us?” I pouted. “Did Erica prove too much for you then?”
He glowered, and then a wicked smile caught on his lips. “Oh, don’t worry,” he sneered. “I’ll have my way with Erica soon enough–and with you looking on, powerless to stop me!”
Outwardly, I composed my face to a look of anger and disgust. Inwardly, I cheered. “Thank Christ! He hasn’t touched her yet!”
He reached his hand up–his broken, crooked hand–and caressed my face. It took all of my self-control not to bite him.
“You can have your little jokes,” he snarled. “Your confidence in your own superiority. I do not care. And you know why? Because I know the truth. You’re a braggart. And a coward. And a fool. Your idiocy and bravado cost me my hand all those years ago. And now, they’re going to cost you your life.”
He pulled a blade from his pocket, and ran it, almost sensually, down my abdomen. The sight of the knife did not scare me, in that it made me think of death, but it did make me worry that he might incapacitate me before I was able to help Erica and Thunder.
“Wait a minute!” I protested, allowing a false edge of fear to enter my voice. “What about Erica and Thunder? You said that if I came here, unarmed, you would let them go!”
Now it was his turn to cackle.
“I said no such thing!” He sneered. “I told you that if you ever wanted to see them again, you needed to come. And see them you shall. You will watch as we slit that old man’s throat–what stupid nickname do you have for him? Oh, yes: Thunder–and then, you gaze on while I fuck every bleeding orifice that little cunt of yours possesses–argh!”
I lunged out, snapping my teeth in the air like a wild dog. In his gloating, he had come close enough to my face for my jaws to close over the weak, pallid flesh of his cheek, which split beneath my incisors. He snarled and recoiled, clutching his face in rage.
“Aw, did that hurt, Marco?” I jeered, spitting out the residue of his flesh into a sticky wad on the floor. “Not so tough as you think you are, huh?”
Marco glared at me, his eyes burning with that same corrosive hate that had filled his gaze all those long years ago, when I’d destroyed his hand.
“Whatever happens to you now, Dominic,” I murmured internally, “You brought on yourself. Just make sure it isn’t brought on Thunder and Erica, too.”
“When I’m done with you,” he growled, seizing me by the scalp and wrenching my head back so hard that I could barely breathe, “You’ll look at what you did to my hand and wish I’d only injured you that badly.”
I stared back at him, meeting his gaze with my eyes and with silence. At last, he broke away. His words had quieted me, but I had, at least, shown him that I was not afraid.
Then, to my surprise, he left the room.
“That’s it?” I had the temerity to say, before, a second later, I heard the sound of something heavy being wheeled back through the door.
Marco appeared, pushing before him a long, metal table on wheels. Covering this table was what looked like, at first glance, a giant’s dentistry set: Fine metal hooks large enough to fish with, scalpels deep enough to rest a finger, and ball bearings, lined up in little metal tubes.
I consider myself a brave person, but I will admit: when I saw this terrible collection of monstrosities, I was afraid.
It seemed, however, that he did not want to go for his collection of sordid tools right away. He ignored them, and reached for a small drawer on the underside of the table. From it, he removed, a long, glistening leather whip.
I whistled. “See, I knew we’d get back to the sexy stuff.”
Marco glowered at me, raised his hand, and struck.
I could hear the whip slicing open the air like an overripe fruit before it connected with my flesh. I’d bowed my head just in time, so it bit across forehead and my collarbone, but missed my face. A neat red line, as tidy as if he had drawn with a marker, appeared where he had struck, and blood began dripping to the floor.
If this blow had hit my eyes, it would have blinded me.
“Still cocky now?” He demanded, raising the whip again. My body cried out to wince, to draw my legs up in a little ball to protect it, but I forced myself to stay relaxed, and take it like a man.
Crack! This time, the whip struck my chest. It cut a line from my right pec all the way down to my left hip bone.
“Ooh,” I grunted. “Nice shot, Matty. You’ve been practicing.”
He snarled at my nonchalance, and struck me again and again, covering my body with agonizing stripes of blood and torn skin until, try as I might, I could not help but moan aloud.
Marco paused, panting with exertion. He held the tip of his weapon up to his face and scrutinized its bloody, fraying edge with a smile.
“In most civilized societies,” I murmured. “This would be the point where you ask me for information. You know, torture me a bit, then demand the truth. So, what is it you want to know? Tips on pleasing a girl in bed? Tips on pleasing a man? Oh, I know! It’s how to get your henchmen to respect you, instead of insulting you in the dark–”
“Argh!” He lashed out again, striking, this time, my open mouth. I felt my lips splitting like the skin of a tomato that’s been trodden on, and blood poured down my chin and onto my chest like spilled cherries.
“Wha? Di’ I touth a nerve?” I asked, struggling to speak with my injured mouth.
Marco did not answer. Instead, he turned away from me, and began tinkering–out of sight–with his torture tools, splayed across the table.
“Think, Dominic! Think!” I told myself, but it was getting harder and harder as the pain from my chest and mouth threatened to overwhelm me. “You need a plan to help Erica and Thunder! And something better than simply mocking the guy!”
I had hoped, that by angering him, I could manipulate him into losing control, and revealing something about either of my friends. But, I saw now: him losing control meant my death.
If I was going to survive long enough to help the two of them, I would have to be strong, and go with the sitution. Draw it out, until he tired or changed his tactic. It would be unspeakable agony for me, I knew, but I had to at least try.
For Erica.
When Marco turned around again, his whip was still in his hand. This time, however, it did not just end with a piece of tapering leather: now, those little metal ball bearings–in a group a three–were fashioned on the end. It would no longer be long, clean cuts. No, he wanted to bruise as well as lash. Fracture bone as well as bleed.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and
waited.
It was not a whip, but a hand, I felt upon me next.
He was swiveling me around, so that my back was to him now.
“Don’t worry, Dominic,” he said, drawing the cold steel of the ball bearings across my back. “I will not kill you yet. That would be too simple. Too...merciful. No, we’re gonna be together a good, long while.”
“Good, you bastard,” I thought. “Let’s make a day of it, shall we?”
But I remained silent. I wanted him angry, yes, but not so furious he’d lose control.
Crack! He struck! The whip flew through the air, connecting with its leather strap in the small of my back. Lighting fast, the rest of the whip followed across my back until the ball bearings, accelerating faster than the speed of sound, finally exploded against my shoulder blade.
I cried out. I could not help it. It felt as if I had been struck by electricity, arcing down the burning pathway of the whip to a deadly explosion on my shoulder. Just from that single impact, I could feel my flesh swelling, hardening as it puffed up with internal blood.
From behind me, Marco chuckled. “That hurt, didn’t it?” He asked. “Good.”
Crack! Smack! The whip cut the air again, this time from above, drawing a red line down the length of my spine and shattering upon my tailbone. The pain was enormous, and though I felt the scream clawing its way out of my throat, I fought it back.
I could not allow Marco to get bored with me before I figured out what to do. My silence did it: I could hear his disappointed grunt as he struck me again and again, waiting for me to cry out.
Strangely, as the pain built, I felt myself growing numb to it. Every strike knocked the pain further away, until it and I were floating in different universes. In fact, so distant did it become that, for a moment, I felt myself outside of myself, and looking down at my body, dangling through the air.
The wrists were purple and swollen. Blood trickled down from where the cuffs had cut into the skin. My chest was savaged red with lines, as if a wild, clawed animal had ravaged me. And yet, my back was even worse: there were the red lines, yes, but also deep, mottled bruises, red and purple and green, where the ball bearings had struck me. I had only seen bruises like that a few times in my life: