Page 114 of Deception

Of course, making my body believe that is another story.

My legs shake a bit as I’m pulled from the van and walked over rough terrain onto concrete. It smells like the docks, sour and stale.

“Take her down to the holding cell.”

“Then what?”

“Then we fucking wait, dipshit.”

The march through the warehouse, down the steel steps, and into what seems to be a tunnel in the basement of the building gives me time to make mental notes.

There are really only two options for why they took me: One, they plan to take me to Dom or whoever is in charge. Two, and more likely but not exclusive from the first reason, they’re using me as bait to lure Alessandro into a trap.

My stomach sours at the thought. That I may cause him to put himself in danger.

But I remind myself that danger is his way of life.

I just pray that my imprisonment doesn’t endanger Angelica, Gigi, or anyone else.

I hold my ground when they try to force me into a dark room that smells of soured water, rat droppings, and who knows what else. Fortunately, this handler has been less rough with me, staying silent. He shoves me into the wall, letting me slide down to my bottom.

“I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours.” It’s awkward, forced.

The other man with him, the one I scratched, is less kind.

“Sit there like a good fuckin’ dog and maybe we’ll throw you scraps!”

“Man, cut that shit out…”

“What? Ain’t she Diamante’s bitch? Deserves everything coming to her, just like them,” he sneers, speaking overly loud for me to hear.

“Come on, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. If you play nice, maybe I’ll come back and visit you in a little bit. Find us something to do to pass the time.” His voice echoes in the hallway as he leaves.

I swallow hard, shivering in the damp.

An hour passes in darkness, my hands still bound behind me. It’s a slow process, shaking my head and bouncing up and down a bit to get the sack off of my head. When I do, the dank air feels like a fresh breeze on my sweaty skin, my hair a matted mess.

Now I can work on loosening the bindings enough to get my arms free; to either slip them under my legs or get out of them completely.

Another hour and I’m drifting, trying to stay upright against the wall for support. Sleep is the last thing I want to do, but my ordeal is exhausting. I doze hear and there, working on my wrists between naps.

The cell door slams shut, jarring me awake.

My mouth is bone dry and I almost cry at the sight of the cup of water sitting over by the exit.

Stretching to my limit, I manage to get to it.

“Careful,” I whisper to myself, “don’t spill.”

It’s the first interaction I’ve had with my captors, after several hours. I can’t be sure how often I’ll get water or food, if at all.

“Small sips. Pace it out.”My father’s survival lessons echo through my mind, grounding me. We used to camp every summer, fishing and hiking with Gio.

I have to hope they didn’t spike the water with anything. It smells stale, probably from the tap.

It tastes like heaven on my parched tongue.

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