Page 28 of Their Stolen Obsession
I’d talk. Hell, I’d yap these motherfuckers’ ears off, but I wouldn’t give up anything about my country. I’d rather die.
The enemy brought me to a room with no windows. There was no ventilation, and it was hot as hell in there. Beads of sweat fell from my forehead as the enemy sat me down in a metal chair and tied my hands behind the back of it. They forced my legs apart and secured chains to the floor, fastening them in place.
“Shit. Could someone get me a glass of water?” I asked.
The guy in front of me groaned at my question and threw a punch at my left cheek.Okay.I’d take that as a no.
Fuck. That stung.
“You’re in no place to be making demands, American,” a voice answered from behind me.
Finally! Someone who spoke English. About damn time.
“Not a demand. A simple favor. I’m fucking parched.” I smacked my dry lips together, and there was a salty, metallic taste. “It’s hot as fuck in here.”
Low laughter followed.
“We’ll quench your thirst soon. Promise. But first”—a thin wire pulled tight around my neck from behind me and cut off my airway—“we want answers.”
He strangled me, and the wire cut into my skin. I couldn’t experience the pain, not yet, at least because I couldn’t breathe. I panicked. My arms thrashed out, a natural reaction to save myself, but I couldn’t. My tied hands prevented me from doing so.
Cowards. Not man enough to fight—only torture to get what they wanted.
Finally, he let up. My lungs screamed for oxygen, and I got a few breaths in. Then the asshole did it again. Choked me out until I’m sure I was blue in the face, and my fucking eyes bulged right out of my head.
“Ready to talk?” he hissed in my ear.
His noose loosened.
“Yeah,” I choked out, turning into a coughing fit after he released me.
“Good,” he said as he ambled in front of me so I could see him. “Now, tell me where you’re from?”
Shit. This guy was huge with brawny arms and armpit sweat soaking through his shirt. He was fit as fuck. He must work out every day to keep that physique up, but he had shit for brains because his head was small.
Poor asshole.
“A farm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere,” I replied.
It wasn’t a lie. I grew up on a farm and hated it. I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen and never turned back. Cow shit, milking udders, early mornings, and killing animals wasn’t for me.
“Wrong answer,” he sighed with annoyance.
He picked up a chain from the ground, and I was sure he was going to choke me out again with it. Instead, he lifted the links, displaying a large ball attached to the end. He swung the metal piece around once, twice, and I grew dizzy watching the fucking thing.
“What the hell is that—” my confusion ended when he whacked the metal piece the size of a baseball right into my groin.
Immediate pain crashed through me, my face hot as heck as I held my breath and wanted to cry. Tears burned my eyes, bright dots danced, and I was lightheaded. I was ready to throw up as bile collected in the back of my throat, and I wanted to vomit all over the bastard. He deserved my puke all over him after he crucified my junk. But I knew my throw up on him wouldn’t help the situation and only make my time with his asshole worse. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat and exhaled out my nostrils. Not the most pleasant sight as my snot followed because the pain was excruciating. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before and never wanted to witness again, but I had a bad intuition this wouldn’t be the last.
Torture was a son of a bitch who wore a black suit and awaited death.
“Now, I’ll ask you again…” he whispered, his spit sprinkled my face. “Where. Are. You. From?”
I choked out, “Your mother’s vagina.”
He lost his shit.
First, he headbutted me. Next, he punched me multiple times in the face until I lost count after five, and then he kicked me straight in the chest. Themetal chair flew backward, and the only thing that stopped me from hitting the ground were my legs strapped to chains.
