Page 9 of Psycho Boys

A wave of nausea surges through me. The whole room is an undercurrent of tense dealings and darkly veiled threats. My gaze darts nervously among the faces, searching for an ally, a glimmer of anything that might count in my favor.

“What could I possibly have that you want?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

He leans closer, a predatory glint in his eyes. “The evidence you have. Plus, your loyalty, dear. Or rather, your betrayal. You see, it’s time to choose a side.”

The air thickens, charged with unspoken implications. My heart races as I contemplate what this means. Dom, Addy, the others... I can’t betray them; I won’t. But tethered between family loyalty and self-preservation, I steel myself for the battle ahead.

“I refuse to play your game,” I respond defiantly, squaring my shoulders against their judgment. "Plus, if anything happens to me, all of the evidence will be turned in and everyone will be going down."

The suited man chuckles softly, and the sound sends shivers through me. “Very well, but remember, playing hard to get has its consequences.”

"So does kidnapping me..."

The masked figures step back, allowing me to sense the full focus of the room upon me—a spotlight that sears into my skin. But deep down, even amid the encroaching doom, the flicker of hope reignites. As their gaze sharpens, I take a breath, ready to fight, ready to escape, ready to reclaim my own fate.

"Take her back to the fucking basement. I want guards at the door at all times. We'll try this again in a day or two when she's had time to think shit over." The old man looks at me and grins, letting me know he's got something up his sleeves.

But I don't give a fuck. They have no idea how fucking determined I am to get out of here and finish my list, now with three more people added to it. I'm here to fucking win. I'm here to take back my power, control, and most importantly, my fucking life. And I refuse to let some sick man or men try to control my life and force me to do what they want. I'll ruin each and every fucking one of them, and I'll do it without flinching, keeping a smile on my fucking face.

They fucked with the wrong one; they just don't realize it yet. Oh, but they will, and they're going to regret ever fucking with me and my freedom.

The masked men backtrack, their grips firm but cautious as they haul me away from the meeting room. My heart races, the rush of adrenaline pushing against the brim of desperation that threatens to overflow. Every fiber of my being screams for me to act, to wrench control from their hands, but for now, I remain a spectator in my own desperate scenario.

As they lead me down the stark hallway back to the basement, I take mental notes, recording every turn, every flickering light, and every eerily placed item that could serve as a potential weapon or a means of escape. The realization dawns heavy upon me: if I’m going to get out of this, I need to be strategic—calculated. I need to be the girl who was trapped in the attic again. I need to summon all I have inside me, and I needto put it to good use. I know I can fucking do it; it's just a game of cat and mouse in the long run. But instead of a cat, bitch, I'm a fucking lioness, and I'll fucking devour anyone who gets in my fucking way.

Once back in the cold, dim basement, they toss me onto a lumpy mattress that lacks any semblance of comfort. My body protests against the hard surface, but I refuse to show weakness.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” I say evenly, gathering as much conviction as I can muster. My voice echoes slightly in the empty space. “You might think you have the upper hand, but you’re wrong. I won’t give in.”

“Not yet you won’t,” sneers one of the masked men, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall.

His partner turns to inspect the room, clearly unconcerned with my words. Their arrogance is palpable, a glaring oversight I can exploit.

The moment they retreat, I survey my surroundings. The basement is barely furnished—a light bulb flickers overhead, casting unsettling shadows around the room. A rusty pipe runs along one wall, and a few nails stick out at odd angles. My bindings burn against my skin, but I can’t focus on that now. It’s time to summon the resolve I hadn’t known I possessed.

They may forget about me, shoved aside like some forgotten piece of their game, but I won’t let them. I fight against my restraints, testing the ropes tied against my wrists. It’s tight, but not impossible. Through grit and determination, I angle my hands in an awkward twist, desperately working at the knots. Just as I start to scratch the surface of freedom, a creak interrupts my focus. My heart races as the door swings open. In walks one of the masked men, his eyes darkened by suspicion.

“What are you doing?” he snaps, stepping closer.

Panic creeps in, but I trap the feeling deep inside. I take a deep breath, doing my best to retain composure. “Trying to getcomfortable,” I fire back, allowing a smirk to slip onto my face, a mere mask for the whirlwind of plans playing out in my mind.

He narrows his eyes as if searching for a lie I yearn to slip up on. “Well, don’t get too comfortable,” he growls. “You’ll be here for a while, and I’d hate to see you hurt yourself.”

It’s a flimsy threat, just another feeble attempt to intimidate. The moment he turns from me, I launch into action. I focus on loosening the rope around my wrist, pulling and twisting until I feel a fray begin to form. The rope bites into my skin, but that sharp pain is nothing compared to the burning desire to break free.

Fingers trembling with urgency, my breath catches as I hear the key turning in the lock. He’s coming back. I feign innocence, collapsing back against the mattress as if resigned to my fate, but adrenaline courses through my veins, readying me for the split-second moment of truth.

When he swings the door open, I spring forward, acting on pure instinct. I lunge, using the momentum to knock him off balance and send him sprawling back into the corridor. His shout rings out—one of surprise and anger—but it’s too late. I seize the opportunity, darting into the hallway, adrenaline oozing through my limbs as I charge toward freedom.

“Get her!” I hear him roar, but I press on, fueled by sheer determination. I race past the flickering lights, heart pounding as I search for the staircase that led us down in the first place. My mind races, calculating every possible outcome. Each step brings me closer to escape; I envision Dom’s face, Killian's smile, Ash's laugh, and Addy grounded in my resolve.

Panic builds in the air as I hear shouts erupt behind me. Their deep voices meld together, a cacophony of chaos that only fuels my adrenaline. I twist around a corner, barely evading a grasping hand as I sprint.

Finally, I find the staircase, the promise of freedom pulling me forward. I glance back—a small victory as I see the masked man trying to recover his footing; the panic in his eyes is reflected in my heartbeat. With each step, I feel my chance for a life away from this nightmare inching closer.

As I reach the top, the door at the end of the hall seems impossibly heavy, yet I know what’s on the line. In one swift motion, I slam my shoulder against it, propelled by the primal urge to break free from my captors. The door creaks open, revealing night’s cool air—a sweet invitation to legitimize my survival.

But just as I plunge into the open space, another figure steps in, blocking my path—a giant shadow cast by the moonlight. I skid to a halt, catching my breath as he leans against the wall, arms crossed, a smile playing on his lips.

---