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I’ve never had a headache like this in my entire life. I feel like I’m floating through spacetime with a vice on my temples, but there’s an even more intense burning on my forehead.
My eyes are closed, and every time I try to open them, it hurts even more. I’m confused about where I am, what time it is, and how I got here.
“Wake the fuck up,” growls a deep, gravelly male voice with a thick Italian accent.
I groan unintentionally, and within seconds I feel a large hand strike me across the face. My eyes shoot open despite the searing pain, but right now, I can’t afford to lick my wounds. I’m in trouble, and I don’t know why.
“Wake up and fucking talk, bitch,” demands the voice again, the origin of which I can now see is an imposing giant of a man standing in front of me.
He’s blocking the light from a singular bulb in the middle of the room, and in a way, I’m grateful that he’s keeping it out of my eyes. I’m in so much agony that I can’t remember anything from before I blacked out, and I’m not even sure how I got there to begin with. This whole thing feels like a dream where I can’t remember the beginning.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask pitifully, the veins in my head bulging in pain and distress as I rack my brain for answers. What could I have possibly done in the past twenty-four hours that would warrant such torment?
“You know what I mean. Tell us what you know about Marcello,” he barks.
“Wait... what?” I say, completely dumbfounded. “Why do you want to know about Marcello?”
“That’s for us to find out. Now, tell us what you know about him, or we’ll hang you upside down from a bridge. It’s right outside this building. It wouldn’t be difficult at all,” he warns.
Now isn’t the time to make jokes, but part of me legitimately doesn’t understand what information I could possibly have that they want. Do they want to know that he has a big dick? Do they want to know that he’s really good at eating pussy? Because those are the only things that I can give them a definitive answer on.
“I really don’t know what to tell you. We hooked up five years ago the last time I came here, and then he ghosted me. That’s really all I can tell you,” I explain as my hands begin to shake.
The man is quiet for a moment. His expression is perturbed and maybe a little betrayed, as if he really thought he was going to get a substantial amount of information out of me. I was just a drunk girl on the street. How much help could I be in any situation?
“So, what should we do with her then? Clearly, she doesn’t know shit,” says another voice from behind me.
I have no idea how many men are in this room with me, and I’m already terrified from being injured and tied to a folding chair. I could be miles away from my hotel, but that’s the least of my issues. What if I don’t survive the night at all?
“We can’t let her go. She’s a liability now. But you’re right; she’s of no use to anyone now. Time to chop her up and toss her off the side of a boat,” replies the leader, still agitated that I had no more information for him.
I can’t believe this is happening. All I wanted to do was go out for the night, and I somehow ended up in the clutches of homicidal maniacs who knew I was connected to Marcello somehow. How did I get here?
“That sounds like so much fucking work, goddamn it!” shouts one of the voices behind me, kicking something in the back of the room and breaking it. “Why couldn’t you have just left her? She was going to die on the sidewalk anyway!”
The callousness of these men is terrifying me. They don’t know I have two boys at home that need me. They have no idea what kind of impact my death would have on the people who love me. All they want is to find Marcello at all costs.
But for what?
“How would you rather die, electrocution or suffocation?” asks a voice behind me, cupping his hand over my mouth and nose.
I begin to hyperventilate as soon as I feel him touching me. I need to escape, even if all I can do is sever the ties between my mind and this world. I’d rather be mentally untethered than bound to a world where this could happen to me.
“I vote electrocution. We haven’t done that in a while,” suggests another voice from behind me.
“No, we aren’t doing either of those. It takes too fucking long. She isn’t worth it. A bullet to the back of the head will do,” the leader replies.
As I hear movement from behind me, I begin to struggle against my restraints as hard as I can. My desperation to escape feels like my soul is trying to crawl out of my skin and fly out the door. It could leave my body behind as a shell to be abused without consciousness or any concept of pain. That feels like the only option for me right now, and it isn’t even possible.
“Are we supposed to do it here? It’ll be harder to clean the blood out of the wood. It’s too messy. We could move her to the freezer on the other side of the city,” suggests a voice from behind me.
“No, we’re going to transport her across town to the warehouse and do it there. It’s further out, and we’ve never had an issue getting caught there before,” explains the leader as he approaches me to cut my restraints and place me in handcuffs.
I’m shaking so hard that I can’t stand on my own. The leader grabs me by both my arms, and I break down into wailing, heaving sobs as I beg for my life. It’s almost impossible for me to speak through my hysterical crying, and my legs give out from terror as he drags me over to the door.
Just as we’re about ten feet from the door, both the blacked-out windows on either side of it explode.
Glass flies everywhere, and I’m lucky enough to have a human shield to block most of it from hitting me or getting into my eyes. Some of it does scrape me, and the heat of the air on my exposed nerves, combined with the shock of what’s happening, stuns me right back into reality.
