Page 8 of Darkness

I was taken.

Abducted.

Ivy torn away from me.

My eyes fling open, and El Diablo stares back at me, standing against the wall on the other side of some weird red room. I sit up in a hurry, scrambling back on the bed to get away from him. The red lighting makes me feel like I’m in some kind of dungeon, or worse, a brothel.

Oh God, is that where I’ve been taken? To be pimped out?

His hands come up in a placating manner, but it doesn’t soothe me.

I’m terrified. Sick.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my room.”

He exhales loudly and takes a few steps closer.

I swallow to try to ease the nausea as I look around the medium-sized space. Between the dull lighting, my vision swimming, and the pounding of my head, it takes a little while for my sight to adjust. My heart hammers in my chest as I take it all in as quickly as I can. There are no windows, only dark walls. But there are two doors—two possible chances of escape.

The bed I’m sitting on is large, probably a king, and takes up most of the room. A long rectangular desk sits against the wall, then a large freestanding wooden closet fits perfectly nestled between two doors. The ornate patterns on the tattered closet doors make me feel like it could hold a multitude of secrets. On the wall next to the bed hangs a large television. It’s cozy, I suppose. I guess it has everything you need. I still don’t know why the hell I’m in his room.

“You’re American. Am I in America?”

He dips his chin. “Tampa.”

“Why here?”

“Does it matter?”

I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Where’s my sister? Is she here too?”

He storms toward me, my eyes opening wide at the anger etched on his face. He stops at the edge of the bed. “You ask too many questions. You’ve been captured. That’s all you need to know.”

I rise to my knees to point my finger directly into his chest, jabbing a few times. “You, sir, don’t answer enough.”

“You shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have done this.” He runs his hand through his thick head of hair and turns with a huff.

Panic washes through me. Does this mean he’ll… get rid of me? I don’t want to be captive, but I’m not ready to die.

I edge closer to him. “Shouldn’t have done what?”

He turns back to me, his eyes widening when he sees I’ve moved nearer. Softening his stiff posture, he exhales. “I took you. I was supposed to deliver you to someone else, but I didn’t.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Neither do I.”

“My sister?” I beg, sitting up on my knees, desperation in my voice. “Please?”

“She’s gone.”

Fear cripples me, but somehow, I manage to jump from the bed right in front of him, my hands gripping the leather of his vest and shaking him. “What do you mean, gone? Where is she?”

He grabs my wrists, yanking my hands free. I gasp in shock as he throws me onto the bed. “Don’t you ever, ever touch my cut without permission.” He pants like he’s having trouble breathing as we glare at each other, my eyes locked on his.

I should be scared of him.

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