Page 91 of Four Times Taken

When it became clear that I couldn't come to my feet, and my limbs grew numb, my thoughts dashed to the open door and my vulnerable mother. I'm was torn between wanting the bastard to go inside so that the security cameras would catch him, and Eric, Ethan, Matt, and Ryan would call the police, come to my rescue, anything and imagining my mother alone in her bed, being frightened out of her wits, unable to move. It might be too late by the time the cops arrived. So, no, I didn't want him to go inside. But my consciousness slipped from me before I could tell what happened next.

My head is throbbing. There's a sharp pain shooting up the back of it and when I move my hand to touch it, it's dry and crusty. I reel back in disgust. The air is musty, and I can't tell whether my vision is fucked, or it's just dark as hell. I blink a few times, trying to test it, and wiggle my fingers in front of me to see if I can spot movement. That doesn't help a damn, but at least I'm not dead.

I'm not dead! Whew, I ran my hands over my body to check that everything was still there, and I'm happy to report, I'm all in one piece. But where the fuck am I? Where the fuck did this asshole take me? And my mother? What happened to her? Is she all right? My heart and my lungs collided but like a lightbulb flashing on, I remembered that I had my cell phone on me when I went to collect that package. Damn it, why did I have to pick up that damn package? I know I ain't never seen that damn name in my life, no neighbor that I know of has that damn name, and I've lived at that house a long-ass time. Whether or not I interact with the neighbors, I know who the hell is who. I should've known from the get-go that something was suspicious.

Clever fuck. How did he know to lure me from outside the house? He must have been lying in wait to see if any of my men would follow me and when none of them did, he pounced. Did he have someone with him? I'm sure that one second I was looking straight at him and in the other second, I was out like a light. He was standing a bit of a distance ahead of me too. What the fuck? Well, I hope he didn't see that Ethan and Matt hadn't been there for two whole days. I hope he assumed that they were inside and didn't go in.

Patting my body, I checked my pockets in haste. Where did I put the phone? My brain must have suffered some damage because it took me a solid minute before it dawned on me that if the bastard had a single functioning brain cell or two, he'd have removed the phone the first chance he got.

"Fuck!" I yelled, kicking out against something. My foot connected with what I perceived to be a wall, but it echoed back with kind of a dull ring of sorts. That definitely ain't no wooden wall or even concrete. What the fuck?

Losing my ever-loving shit in hopelessness, I banged on it, kicking it and yelling. "You fucking shriveled-up dick face, dried turd ass fucker! Let me the fuck out!"

I screamed until my throat caught fire, and my head grew dizzy, but to no avail. No one responded. My body gave out again, and I hit the ground.

The shutting of the door woke me up again, and I opened my eyes to see a different person, someone I didn't recognize holding a sandwich in a Ziploc bag, a bottle of water, and a flashlight. I reeled back, huddling away and plastering my back against the wall.

"Who the fuck are you?" I asked, presuming it's the one who hit me over the back of the head.

His lips turned up in a smile made even creepier by the shadow of light across his face. "I heard you got yourself a bunch a rich fellows. I can see why; you're quite the looker when you ain't got your head bashed in."

My blood ran cold. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Ah, don't worry. I ain't gonna touch you." He handed me the food. I eyed it with disgust. "Come on, you gotta eat. Your men ain't gonna pay much for a dead bitch, are they?" He shone the light at my face and head, hissing, "Ooh, sorry about that. Didn't mean to crack your fucking skull or anything. I just wanted to knock you out. We should get that looked at. Wouldn't want maggots to feed on you." He wiggled his fingers around, stuck out his tongue, and widened his eyes in a move that would be goofy and stupid as hell if it weren't for the situation I'd found myself in and that stupid flashlight.

When he moved toward me, my breath left me in a hiss, kind of like a snake. "Don't fucking touch me."

"You want maggots feeding on that gash?" he asked.

No. Of course not. The mental image made me shiver. "What I want is for you to let me go. You doing this for a few measly dollars? You ever think about what would happen if he's just using you and doesn't pay you?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I'd kill him," he said with such casualness I shivered. "Hey, don't worry. If your men give as much a damn about you as I was led to believe, then you'll be out of here in no time."

"How long have I been here?" My lungs tightened.

He chuckled. "It's just been a night. I bet it feels long as hell in here, doesn't it?" He tsked. "Sucks to be you, really."

I took a deep breath to subdue my anger. "You know if all you wanted was money, all you had to do was ask. Spare you the trouble. In fact, if you let me call them..."

"How dumb do I look, lady?" he asked, his playful energy changing. He shoved the food at me as if I'd bruised his ego, insulting his intelligence so much so that he's angry. "Eat the food, or I'll force feed you," he threatened. "And turn the fuck around and let me stitch that up."

Trembling, I bit into the sandwich, and at that moment, he chose to tell me there's a sedative inside it that'll help me sleep as he stitches up the back of my head. With what? Dirty, infected needles? Unsanitary thread? Would I catch a disease when he's done?

My head spun as I wondered how I managed, after all this time, to end up in yet another traumatic situation when life had been going so damn well. My childhood, fucking Marco, now this? I hadn't sought this out. But I hadn't taken heed to the warnings of my men. They kept insisting that I stay with them, move in with them. My choices had led me here again, and I couldn't help but blame myself again. If I could've rewound the clock, I'd have accepted their offer, or I would've begged them to stay instead of trusting myself to make my own decisions, when it's clear I can't make a fucking decision to save my fucking life.

I fought the sedative, hoping to stay awake long enough to at least see the door when he left, get a glimpse of the outside, see if I could piece together my location. In the pitch black of this place, I couldn't tell where one shadow ended and where the other began. I had tried feeling around for an exit earlier but with my head spinning, everything was like one surface. However, I'm helpless against the drug moving through my body, and by the time I opened my eyes, I'm alone again.

There's a tightness around my head and when I brought my hand to touch it, I found a bandage wrapped around the entirety. It's still pounding, even harder now, and I kind of wished I'd eaten the entire sandwich so that I could sleep through the pain, sleep through the next couple of days. But that would be giving up. And I couldn't let that happen. Not when I don't know whether or not my mother is still alive, not when I have my men out there, unaware of the news they're about to be hit with. I had to do whatever I could to keep my strength up. Push through the pain. I needed to figure out a way to escape.

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