Page 27 of Taking Me

“Remember this moment,” he says coldly. “It’s the price of defiance, Little Sinister.”

I try to say anything to him and speak out the words,“I didn’t even do anything!”But it just comes out as a bag full of mumbled cries.

The pain radiating in my face takes away all of the things I feel in my body and pins it to one place.

I can’t save myself this time. I am tired of fighting.

Marklov bends down, placing his tongue on my busted face, and licks a stream of blood that is now oozing out and running down the side of my head.

“You taste like death, Little Sinister.” He moaned out with a growl. “It would be much better to end your miserable life right here, right now.” He says with a wicked smile. “However, I wantto keep you here and make you wish death upon yourself. Do you think that I am the devil? The devil himself would not dare to fucking cross me.” He spoke out in a voice filled with hatred.

Marklov’s body shifts at an angle as he draws his arm back. With all his force, he slams into my face again with his brass knuckles. The impact sends shockwaves through my skull, and I can feel the warm trickle of blood running down in a steady flow.

“Get her on her feet,” he commands his men with a voice as cold as steel. He begins to pace in front of me. “Beauty is key in today’s world. No one will love you if you aren’t up to those standards.” The pain stings sharply, radiating through my entire face.

I know I have a concussion; the world around me spins, and my vision is blurry. I just need to fight it a bit longer.“Don’t give up…”I repeat to myself over and over again. Every muscle in my body screams in protest as I struggle to stand, the taste of blood in my mouth mingling with the bitter taste of defiance.

He looks up at his men and gives them a slight head nod. Each guard pulls the ropes off my weakened limbs almost simultaneously. Although it feels like a weight has been lifted, I know whatever he has in store next will surely make me wish the restraints were still holding me down.

“Do you have any fucking idea what you have done, Little Sinister?” He barks out, licking the corner of his mouth. His mood clearly says he’s beyond pissed off at me for whatever I did.

Marklov begins pacing back and forth in front of me as the huge ass guards hold me in place. My head drops down. The blood is trickling down my face, making a puddle of crimson right below me.

The metallic scent fills the air, and I can’t help but admit that it drives me insane.

I gain the courage and the strength to pull my head up to make eye contact with Marklov. He stops mid-step with anger-filled eyes. I swear you could almost see the flames burning inside of them.

Stay strong. Stand your ground. You’ve been through worse shit than this.

My heavy breathing starts to slow down. In the military, I was trained to slow down my heart rate in any situation that came my way. Drawing on that training, I begin to focus on my breathing, each inhale and exhale becoming more controlled and measured. The chaos around me fades slightly as I center myself, my heartbeat steadying with each passing second. Despite the pain and the blood, I find a small pocket of calm within the storm, readying myself for whatever comes next.

Locking eyes with him again, I plaster a crooked smile. My mouth filled with blood, covering my teeth. It begins trickling out even faster. “You hit like a fuckin’ bitch.”

I am getting the fuck out of here one way or another. I’m not going to fall. I will end this bastard or die trying.

Twenty

Here comes the boom

Hours had passed under Marklov’s brutal torture. His abuse. His destructive words. His laughter reverberated in my one good ear, an incessant reminder of his cruelty. I am almost certain he completely blew out my left eardrum. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, each one a testament to my growing despair.

His words hurt me more than any of the blows that he had given my frail body. My face is so swollen that my eyes involuntarily close, the puffiness forcing them shut despite my efforts to keep them open.

I’m drained, and it seems like surrendering might be my only choice now. However, my stubbornness won’t even let me entertain the thought of quitting and giving him the satisfaction of victory. I’m puzzled as to why he thinks I have any link to what’s happening on the outside world when I have been confined in here with him. Even more, why he believes I have someone coming after him. Its not like I went around saying,“If I ever disappear, it was Marklov Aragon, this is what helooks like and this is where he lives.”He was simply dead to me, buried with my childhood.

The floor beneath me is painted crimson, and under different circumstances, I might have found it beautiful. The rich, deep red could have been striking, almost mesmerizing. But knowing it’s my blood staining the floor, any appreciation for the color fades. The realization that my suffering is what created this ghastly masterpiece only deepens my sense of despair, making the room feel like a macabre gallery of my own pain.

Marklov is preparing to strike me again. He takes a step closer, cracking his neck and grunting.

“Boss!” One of Marklov’s men shouts as he sprints over, I can see a glimpse of panic in his demeanor, he leans in to whisper something urgently in Marklovs ear.

The sudden change in Marklov’s expression makes it clear that something significant is happening. His face goes from a wicked grin to draining its blood. I try to focus, straining my ears to catch snippets of their conversation, but my condition is beyond terrible. I probably resemble a bag of hamburger that’s been left out too long, battered and bruised beyond recognition. The pain and exhaustion make it nearly impossible to concentrate, my mind swirling in a haze of confusion.

“Get her dressed!” He yells out to his men.

I let my head slump down, trying to relax as much as I can. The weight of exhaustion pulls at me, and all I can think about is how badly I need to sleep. Sleep makes everything better, a temporary escape from the chaos. Maybe a bottle of Tylenol and a gallon of water wouldn’t hurt either, offering some relief from the physical and mental strain. As my eyes begin to close, I force them back open.“Not yet, T, not yet.”I can’t give up yet.

Marklov storms out of the room, leaving a tense silence behind him. His men slowly lift me onto my feet, their hands rough and unyielding. I feel nothing but the intensethrob coursing through my body, each pulse a reminder of my suffering. Blood is still spewing everywhere, painting a gruesome picture of my ordeal. The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth, and my vision blurs as I try to stay conscious. Every movement sends waves of pain through me, but I force myself to stand, knowing that showing weakness is not an option.

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