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"Damn you, Marcel," I whisper, the words a bitter mantra that hangs heavy in the air. The tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks are held back, my resolve refusing to break. "Damn you both."
As if my words have summoned him, the door creaks open, revealing Marcel's sinister silhouette framed by the dim light. His eyes narrow, focusing on my now-free hands, and a twisted grin twists his lips. In a fraction of a second, he lunges forward, his movements swift and precise, re-binding the ropes with a vengeful tightness that digs into my flesh. The pain is excruciating, threatening to consume me, but I refuse to grant him the satisfaction of witnessing my suffering.
"Go ahead," I hiss defiantly through clenched teeth, my voice laced with a determination that borders on reckless. "Do your worst, you snake."
Marcel's eyes gleam with malicious pleasure, his sadistic delight evident in every fiber of his being. He relishes the opportunity to inflict pain, to wield his power over me. "Watch your tongue, whore," he growls, his voice a venomous hiss. "You're not worth the trouble."
"Then why am I here?" I retort, my voice filled with a fiery defiance that rivals the intensity of my pain. I refuse to let him belittle me, to dismiss my significance.
With every ounce of strength I possess, I hold onto my defiance, my resolve unwavering. Though the ropes cut into my flesh, I refuse to let him break my spirit. The countdown has begun, and I am determined to defy the odds, to prove that my life holds value beyond the games of power and control.
Marcel's sinister smile widens, a twisted reflection of his malevolence. "Because you're a means to an end," he snarls, his voice cold and calculated. He steps back, admiring his handiwork with cruel satisfaction. "And by tomorrow, we'll find out just how much your precious uncle values your life."
Chapter Four
Bastien
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ATEMPEST BREWS INClaude's eyes, a dangerous storm of fury and concern that threatens to consume the room. His fingers grip the armrests of his imposing chair, almost tearing into the fabric. The air becomes heavy, burdened with the weight of his anger and the humid embrace of a Louisiana summer. "I want Lisette back," he growls, his voice a gravelly rumble reverberating through the room. "Use any means necessary. I don't care what it takes."
Etienne and I exchange a brief glance, our shared history woven into the lines of worry etched across our brows. Together, we have walked through the darkest corridors of hell, forging unbreakable bonds amidst the unforgiving streets of New Orleans and the blood-soaked sands of the Middle East. Now, standing before Claude, we find ourselves bound by loyalty—to him and to each other.
"I received an anonymous tip," Etienne interjects, tossing a crumpled piece of paper with urgency onto the table. It lands softly, a lifeline cutting through the swirling uncertainty. "The Laurents' compound. That's where they're keeping her."
I reach for the paper, smoothing out its wrinkled surface with steady hands. My fingers trace the hastily scrawled address, absorbing its significance, its potential to lead us closer to Lisette. It may not be much, but it's a glimmer of hope spearing through the darkness.
"Let's move," I say resolutely, my hand coming to rest on Etienne's shoulder. He nods in agreement, his gaze filled with determination, mirroring the fire that burns within my own being.
Our preparations begin, as we study the blueprints of the Laurents' compound, dissecting its intricate layout. The hallways and hidden passages depicted in the plans are a testament to their cunning and paranoia. Memories surge forth, unbidden yet resolute in their presence.
They carry us back in time to another compound, another battleground. It was Syria, a few years prior. We had navigated a similar maze of danger and uncertainty, operating under the cover of darkness, all while facing the ever-present threat of death.
"Remember that shitstorm?" I ask, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips despite the gravity of the current situation. Etienne grins in response, the memory both bittersweet and empowering.
"Hard to forget," he replies, his gaze lingering on the detailed blueprints spread before us. We had emerged from that night stronger, forged in the crucible of fire and blood. But would our luck favor us once more?
