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Througheyesthatare so swollen I can barely open them, I watch as the dirty boots come back into my line of vision. This time, the fucker isn’t here to taunt me by saying nothing or beat and cut me while I’m tied down.
Fucking pussy.
Instead, he unties me and grunts while pointing toward the door. As soon as I start walking, he drags something that looks like a doll toward the chains. I shake my head and grind my teeth. It might only be a few feet away, but it feels a lot longer with my stiff and aching limbs.
I swear this guy is either fucking mute, or he’s the master of holding himself back. He hasn’t uttered a single word in the precious time we’ve spent together, not while punching and kicking every inch of my body and not while standing behind me as he showed me footage of Luis and Baby on the plane.
Watching that felt like watching one of those horror movies where you want to yell at the woman, ‘turn around, he’s right behind you.’ Especially when Luis used some fucking voice alternator to make his voice sound like my brothers and me. An effective way to lure Baby into a false sense of security.
The guy isn’t just the very definition of a silent killer, he’s fast. I’ve unsuccessfully tried to get him back many times. He has the advantage of not being restrained and fuck if it didn’t make my pride fall to be this helpless.
“Is she okay?” I rasp, but I get no answer.
I almost miss the beating. Although it’s been far from my best outing, it gave me a focal point, something to keep me focused on. Without it, I’m left with my dark and depraved thoughts, and that’s worse than the physical pain. I keep picturing Baby chained up, completely at Luis’ mercy. Maybe she’s somewhere screaming for help.
Is it fucked up that I’m hoping for Luis to be nice to her? It probably is, but that changes nothing. I can’t stand imagining my woman bleeding and abused. The other places my mind wants to go, I don’t like them. I shake my head, a fruitless attempt at getting rid of the mental images that keep popping into my head. Neil almost broke her, almost.
A lesser person would have crumbled by now, falling to their knees and begging for mercy. Baby won’t though, I know it. She’s too stubborn, and I’m fucking scared of what that will mean for her.
I exhale deeply, listening as the wheezing and rattling sounds from my breathing ricochet around the room. As fucked up as it is, I know Luis has Baby. My brothers… I don’t know anything about them, and to some extent, that scares me even more.
“Where are they?” I wheeze, needing to stop to catch my breath. “Fucking tell me where my brothers are.” The guy keeps his back to me, so I can’t see his face.
When he came into the cold room I was kept in earlier, I was blindfolded. This is the first time I’m not, but with how swollen my face is, I can’t open my eyes enough to see anything but what’s right in front of me.
All the answer I get is grunts, which is probably his way of telling me my break is over because he starts walking again. “Nice talking to you, too,” I rasp, my throat sore from all the yelling and shouting I’ve done since I got jumped in the hotel.
While CJ knocked on the door and talked to Martin’s security team leader, I was so focused on him I didn’t notice the door behind me opening. Before I could do or say anything, I felt a sharp prick in my neck, and everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was on a plane back to Atlanta with this chatty guy.
As much as I hated seeing Luis with Baby, it still brought a calm to my internal storm. It sounds fucked up since the one man I wanted to keep her safe from now has her, but at least I know. It’s killing me that I have no clue where my brothers are or what Luis has done to them. I know for sure that he either has them, or he’s kil… No, I can’t think like that. Gotta stay strong, I have to keep my head in the game.
After walking, or limping, for what feels like forever, the mute finally comes to a stop in front of a door. I turn my head this and that way, trying to soak up my surroundings. This area of the house is not as well kept as some others we’ve passed. The paint on the wall is cracked, and the curtains in front of the windows are as dusty as the floor.
In front of me, the mute opens a door, grabs my arm, and pretty much hauls me inside. Then he pushes me toward the bathroom and makes a series of grunts while gesturing between my face and the cupboard below the sink. Right, I guess he wants me to clean up.
Doing as he says, I limp into the bathroom and straight toward the sink. I’m not proud of having to grip the marble to remain upright, but fuck me, everything hurts, and I feel as though I could sleep for days.
As I open the cupboard, I immediately spot the first aid kit and pull it out. I’m so busy looking through everything that I don’t notice the door closing behind me until I hear the telltale click of the lock.
“Hey!” I try to shout, but it’s coming out as a pathetic groan. Fuck it. I will not give him the satisfaction of me begging him to let me out. I haven’t begged for anything but information about Baby and my brothers, and I’m not about to fucking start now.
No way!
Right, the fucker wanted me to clean up and treat my wounds. I will do that. But it won’t be because he wanted it. It’s because I want to. Even though I’m thinking about all of this, it feels essential to distinguish my reason for doing it. Call me stubborn or pathetic, I couldn’t care less.
After I clean the cuts and bruises on my face, I lift my shirt to take stock of my body. I turn and twist in front of the mirror ever so slowly, cataloging the damage to my skin. Then I drop my pants and inspect my legs, feeling calmer now that I’m doing something.
Even though I can barely stand, I somehow manage to disinfect most of my cuts. The antibacterial stings like a motherfucker, it actually makes me hiss. The good news is that most of the cuts are shallow, looking worse than they are with the dried blood.
Ugh, why does the bathtub look so fucking inviting right about now? I’ve never been a bath kind of guy, but I can’t think of anything better right now. Well, nothing better that doesn’t involve Baby or my brothers.
Fuck, where the hell are CJ and Kas? Not having those two by my side is more challenging than I like to admit. I would kill for one of Kas’ ill-timed and ridiculous jokes that make absolutely no sense or for CJ to calmly explain our way out of here—yep, that’s what I need. We may not be brothers by blood, but we are in every way it really counts—and being apart makes me feel like I’m missing a fucking limb.
I almost do a double-take as I notice my weekend bag for the first time. It’s resting on the edge of the bath. I limp over to it as fast as possible, unzipping it so quickly I break the zipper. All my things are in there. Surprisingly, even the weapons CJ insisted we bring are where I placed them.
What the fuck?
After pulling some of my clothes out, I use them to rest my neck against as I sag to the floor. Although I want nothing more than to break the door down and get out of here, I know I have to play this smart. Besides, I need to rejuvenate my energy supplies before attempting to kick anything. In the state I’m in, I don’t feel confident I can even best an inanimate object.
