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“We’ve been expecting you, Olivia.” He laughs with another man, a man I also recognise from my younger years. They’re both here for me, both grinning manically at my presence. They grab Oscar and me, hauling us down the hallway. I’m kicking and screaming, my lungs eradicating all my hate and fear in despicable screeches. My hand swings out to connect with flesh, and when it does, I feel elation skit through my body. I dig my nails in and scratch. I hope it hurts like hell!
“Fucking bitch whore. I kill your father. I kill you too, bitch whore!” he snarls in my face. I’ve drawn red nail marks drawn on his cheek, and his breath repels me. I grimace, turning away briefly, but find myself stunned into shock when I see Chloe tied to a chair, gagged and crying silently. She is begging me with her eyes for something, anything: silence, compliance, help. She is shaking, and her hair is matted to her damp cheeks. Oscar is dragged back to an empty chair, where they begin to tie him back down, too.
“I’m sorry, Z. I am, but they—“ A man cracks him on the side of the head with a gun, and he grunts, dropping forward. I flinch at the sound. It’s deafening. I’m queasy. The crunch is loud. Blood pools and runs down his face and begins to drip on the floor.
“No more talking, pretty boy. The bitch is here now.” He sighs happily. “Yes, the bitch is heeeere,” he croons.
I’m trembling. I can’t even focus on my friend or his girlfriend. He sold me out. Let me come here knowing this awaited me. My oldest friend just threw me to the wolves like a lump of worn meat. The tallest man saunters towards me.
“Little Olivia Monroe. What a beautiful woman you have grown into. Some would even go as far to say priceless.” He wiggles his dirty, knowing brows. I understand the undertones of his words, the foulness that surrounds him, what he does to people, women. He plans to sell me.
I spit in his face.
“Fuck you!” I scream and kick out, clipping his cheek as the guy behind takes my weight. A wide fist slams into my jaw, and I sink forward. Pain lances through my face, and the nerves in my head protest. Groaning, I force my head up. If I’m going to die, I will go down fighting, just like my father. Tears well up, not because of these men, but because all I can see is my father’s face as he took his own life to save mine. Just like I would do, I realise. Even though Oscar gave me up, I would never do that. I could never feed someone to the wolves to save my own skin. I’m better than that.
“Kill me!” I shout at him, egging him on, but he merely laughs, a sickening laugh: musical and evil.
“No. No. No. We have plans for you, Olivia, or do you prefer Zara?” He tilts his head, and the man behind tightens his grip on my arms, keeping me still. He looks back at Oscar, who is looking seriously perplexed.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the guy says, his Russian accent deep and cruel, “have you two met?” He points his gun filled hand between us. “No?”
He kicks another chair out and uses his foot to drag it to him so he can sit.
“Well.” He looks over his shoulder at my friend. “Oscar Winters,” he looks at me and grins darkly, “this is Olivia Monroe.” He points his gun directly at me. Oscar frowns at me. “Ah, she even had you fooled. You are a very good liar, Miss Monroe, and you have something of mine.”
Oscar frowns at me, but I don't confirm my true identity. Oscar will believe this is something to do with Callan. I’d rather he not learn the real truth. It could endanger his life.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have nothing you could possibly want, and I’d never give it to you anyway!” I scathe, shaking the guy off, but he holds fast, digging his fingers in deep enough to bruise.
“Ah, because I shot your father? Terrible shame, but he made a mistake,” chair guy says to me, lifting his hand, using his thumbnail to pick at his teeth.
“So did you,” I spit. I fucking hope Callan is on his way or tracing my phone. Anything. Because I know I won't make it through to the next day without his help. I was never prepared for this, never wanted to prepare. Refusal to act meant it wasn’t really true, and I was keen to stay in that bracket of denial.
He tsks at me, staring at his gun and stroking it—toying with me.
“I do not agree. You mean Mr Scott? Nothing we can’t handle.” He scoffs out a laugh to his friend at my back. “But your father, he had too easy a death. I did want to torture him, slowly, take off his fingers, and remove his tongue.” He eyes me darkly, and Chloe whimpers in the background. “I like to get dirty. It’s Ramis who likes to play with what’s left.” He lifts his chin to the man behind me. “Just like after we have finished with you, Olivia, Ramis wants to play. You escaped him all those years ago,” he tsks again. “Silly girl,” he muses, rolling his neck.
Ramis leans in, and his tongue runs up my cheek. I yank away and whip my head back to hit bone, but he anticipates it, shifts, and laughs.
“Still feisty, I see. Good.” He grabs my face and bites into my cheek, moaning.
My eyes go wide, my cheek stinging with pain.
“Get off!” I scream, wriggling and lashing out. With a quick move, he slaps me forcefully and I fall back. What pain was already throbbing in my face, doubles.
It’s Santino who crouches down to level up with me.
“We’ve had a buyer for you for years. He’s waited a long time to sample you. Hundreds of thousands he offered to have you for only three months.” He grins wickedly. My eyes widen in horror. “Of course he will give you back afterwards.” His eyes dance to Oscar, who is getting paler by the minute.
Ramis drops down too.“Back to us. Such a treat, aren’t you lucky?” he whispers. I swallow the sickness threatening to leave my stomach at the image being painted. I hang my head and breathe through my nose as Santino stands fluidly, his partner following suit.
“But first, you have our file, and we need it, so,” he hums, “unless you give us the file, we will cut off her fingers one by one until you give us what we need,” he says in a singsong voice. Chloe begins to cry uncontrollably, and Oscar is begging me to give them what I have. But I have nothing. I have no file. No evidence of their wrongdoings. No information they need.
“I don't know what they are talking about!” I scream at Oscar, furious at his betrayal. I do not know these men or what my father was really involved in with them. I feel my phone against my stomach as it begins to vibrate. Callan. Slowly, I reach for it. Ever so slowly, trying not to draw attention to my actions until I can feel my phone. I keep my eyes fixed on the glow through the hoodie pouch and connect the call and shout as clearly as I can.
“Yovenko’s at Chloe’s!” My voice cracks, showing my fear. “They’re here… They’re here!” I warn, pleading, begging with my tone for him to come and save me.
“You stupid bitch!” Santino roars. He yanks the phone, but I hold it tight.
