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My dad gave me the lighter when I was thirteen.
I didn’t believe it was actually supposed to be a gift. More than likely, Dear Old Dad had forgotten my birthday and grabbed the first thing he could find, which happened to be a silver lighter with his name engraved on the side. Still, it was my prized possession, my favorite belonging, because it reminded me that even when he ignored me, he still loved me. The love was twisted and sick, broken and jaded, but it was the only love I knew. Especially after my mother…
I shoved the thought away, shoved the lighter back into my jacket pocket, and dropped my cigarette onto the ground, stomping it out with my shoe.
The pizzeria I worked at already had the lights out, the owner having closed up for the night. He would be pissed I spent the last half hour smoking, but he would get over it. After all, I was the reason the local cheerleading team ate here almost every day.
A grim smile curved up my lips when I thought about all of the girls I’d fucked. Some alone. Some together. All meaningless, mindless, emotionless fucks.
The alleyway I was in held a pungent, acrid scent. Garbage bins rested against the brick walls, currently overflowing with days old food and wrappers. The ground was littered with trash as well. In the distance, I could see the downtown street bustling with late-night shoppers.
I would have to walk home today, since my father had needed my car for traveling. I had no idea where he was going, but it was important enough to rattle him. He’d left with barely a word to me, his eyes crazed and almost feverish.
Thoughts of my father had me pulling out my phone, checking my text messages. I half expected to see a new one from my father, explaining where he’d disappeared to.
Nothing.
I pursed my lips, hating how much I relied on the bitter old man, before shoving my phone back into my pocket with a growl. I didn’t want to think of him or his strange, eccentric behavior. I didn’t want to think of anything, really, except for…
Except forher.
The girl who’d been ordering from Mario’s Pizzeria almost every week. My mind conjured up images of the last time I’d seen her, a few days earlier. Her golden hair had been thrown into a haphazard ponytail, a few strands hanging loose and framing her angelic face. She wore a leotard and pair of sweatpants, the material clinging to her considerable bust and emphasizing her glorious curves.
I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head since she’d first arrived a few weeks earlier, smirking and flirting with me behind the counter.
Bianaca.
I told myself I’d gather the nerve to ask her out, but for now, I’d simply act like a complete fucking fool.
Thoughts of her made my cock so incredibly hard, it rubbed against my jeans. All I wanted to do was bury myself in her hot heat, devouring her mouth as she moaned my name in ecstasy.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, if she came to the restaurant, I would ask her out, damn the consequences.
My mind made up, I grabbed my backpack from where I’d dropped it on the street, shrugged it over my shoulders, and turned towards the mouth of the alleyway. Before I could take a single step, a figure materialized at the very end of the alley, his face shrouded in darkness.
“What the fuck?” I murmured, taking an automatic step backwards. Before I could reach for the knife in my backpack pocket—something that was always necessary, considering the part of town I lived in—a heavy object hit the side of my head.
The whole world disappeared, and my breathing became nothing but a distant sound, barely audible over the thrumming in my ears.
And then…darkness.
I woke up groggily,struggling to remember where I was and how I’d gotten there. Snippets of my dream replayed in my head—Bianaca, her mouth opened as she orgasmed, her gorgeous, tan body spread out before me.
And then I realized where I was.
On all sides of me, I saw nothing but gray cement, making me suspect I was in some type of warehouse. There was nothing that I could see—no shelves, no tables, and no chairs, except for the one I was sitting on. My hands were tied behind my back, and my head ached fiercely, almost as if I’d been tackled by a charging bull.
What the fuck?
My brain seemed to have been jammed, apparently, because that one statement played on repeat. Questions raced through my mind—where was I? How did I get there? What was happening? They tripped over one another, demanding to be asked.
“You’re awake,” a thick, accented voice mused. I struggled in the ropes as my head twisted, desperate to see the newcomer’s face.
“Why the fuck am I here? What do you want with me?” I demanded as panic tightened my stomach into dozens of knots.
