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With an ominous creak, the door yawns open.
In a corner, a woman cowers, feet tucked up against her bottom as she sits on the concrete floor. She’s as far away from the bed as she can get, even though she’s manacled to the bed frame. She’s visibly trembling. Long dark hair covers her face, and it’s dark in here, too dark to see her skin or any features save she’s slim and tall, but I already know it’s a false trail.
With a sinking heart, I school my voice, demanding, “Key.”
“No. We come in two hours,” Gunman One says.
“I want another light in here. I like to see their faces when they cry.”
Gunman One scoffs, directing Gunman Two to walk along the hallway and pick up one of the orange glowing lamps. While I wait, Gunman One appraises me, a sneer on his lips.
Gunman Two thrusts the lamp into my waiting hands.
“Is she drugged?”
A nod.
I curse. “When does it wear off?”
“Now. Twenty minutes. Who knows?”
Annoyed, but for reasons he can’t comprehend, I order in English, “Now fuck off. I don’t want you two listening in, touching yourselves; you can buy your own whores.”
Gunman One juts out his jaw. His soulless eyes laser into mine. Shorter than me by five inches, he can’t carry off the threat, even with a gun.
The gunmen step back, ready to lock the door as I walk past them. When the lock twists closed, I waste no time texting Jeremy and Ben.False lead.
This is no longer a rescue mission.
Once it’s sent, I delete the message.
Using the extra lamp and the torch on my phone, I look over the walls, searching for cameras or sound equipment, but I can’t see anything. No wires or CCTV screens were visible in the corridor, or where Luca waited, so I conclude that I’m not being watched. But, they will be listening.
A small table with a bottle of whisky and a water bottle stands against a bare brick wall. I pour myself a whisky and knock it back, my eyes fixed on the girl and then the double bed. It looks so incongruous in this farming environment, all dusty brick and ancient cobwebs. There’s also a small key on the table, which, after a quick investigation of the dozy, drugged woman, unlocks the restraint at her wrist. I chuck the open cuff to the floor, the sound of metal loud.
She flinches at the sound, so I squat down in front of her and carefully peel back her eyelids. Bleak eyes stare back. Eyes that look fucked.
Fuck,I whisper, my stomach unable to deal with what I’m facing. And my brain can’t deal with it either. And I don’t want to look at the bruises on her face or neck.
“Let’s get down to business,” I say pitching my voice to a suitably dark level. I’m talking to myself, not the woman, and need to be convincing. Pretending to pick her up and throw her on the bed, I bounce on the mattress myself, making the legs squeal against the floor.
“Got nothing to say?” I say to the empty bed, rolling over the mattress so that the frame squeaks. “You going to show me a good time?”
I rattle the chain at the headboard. A spring in the mattressboings.
“Yes,” I groan. “Nice.” I pant, pretending to work up a sweat. “Time to wake up, pretty thing.”
I mimic the sounds of sex, even my release at the end which is an abhorrent grunt of satisfaction.
I disgust myself.
Feeling sick, I flop to my back and stare at the ceiling. “Rest. I want you at least three times before I go. And I want that mouth on me too.”
Checking my phone, I stifle a groan of disappointment that only four minutes have passed. My pretend sex is pretty lame.
Remembering I need this to look convincing if I get searched on the way out, I open one of the condoms in my pocket and spit inside, hoping my saliva will fool anyone sick enough to check. I chuck it to the floor, next to the discarded wrapper.
“Christ alive,”I mutter. These two hours are going to lag something bad.
