Page 5 of A Pawn in the Game
Three things I can hear.
My heartbeat is one.
“Need some help?” a voice asks, a hint of an accent detectable.
“I’m fine,” another voice grits out, right next to my ear. It’s deep and gruff and so close he must be the one carrying me.
Two things I can smell.
I inhale deeply, relieved at least one of my senses isn’t disrupted. A musty scent hits my nose, like the thing I have over my head stood in the closet for too long. A hint of something else reaches my nostrils. Tobacco, maybe?
One thing I can taste.
I lick the item in my mouth, my stomach rising with the taste of cotton.
A door clicks. The guy carrying me takes two more steps. The door clicks again. A few more steps and I’m dropped to the floor.
The fall feels like eternity, my heart stopping while I gravitate towards the merciless ground. But then I stop, bouncing off a soft surface that is definitely not the floor.
Next thing I know, someone is yanking the cover off my head, and I almost say thank you, because not knowing what’s going on is a fate worse than dying.
I blink, getting used to the light, though the light is barely there. It’s dim and the walls of the room are black, adding to the goosebumps now tattooed on my skin. Two figures stand in front of me, both of them larger than life.
They wear masks that reveal only their eyes, but it’s too dark to discern the color. Black cargo pants and combat boots cover their legs and feet. One of them wears a dark gray hoodie, whilethe other sports a black undershirt stretched tight against his intimidating muscles. Dark ink sprawls across his exposed skin.
“Mmm! Mmm!” I thrash my head from side to side, trying to expel the gag from my mouth.
“I’ll untie you.” The tattooed one says. I recognize the voice as the one who carried me. “Feel free to scream. But no one will hear you.”
I’m freezing. Not because of the temperature, but because of the chill enveloping me. The man proceeds to untie something behind my head, and I spit out the piece of textile from my mouth.
The panic in my stomach reaches a boiling point and bubbles out of my mouth on a scream. “Help! Help!” It’s an instinct, a reflex, because my mind tells me he was telling the truth. There’s no way someone will hear me.
He rolls his eyes behind his mask, as if disappointed in me.
My screams continue while he turns to his accomplice. They start talking, which makes me shut up to hear what they’re saying. I need as much information as I can possibly get.
“Šta cemo s jebenim psom?”the one who hadn’t carried me says in a foreign language.
“I’ll handle it,” the other one responds.
“A ja?”
“Untie her,” the tattooed guy shoots me a disinterested glance, “but don’t let her out of your sight.” He starts for the door.
“Why am I here? What are you going to do to me? Where’s my dog?” I yell in a desperate attempt, not expecting an answer.
Still, the guy turns to me, his voice hoarse like gravel. “Your father is the reason mine is dead. You’re here to pay the debt.”
Breath whooshes out of me but before I can recover, he’s already out.
The other one unties my hands and feet. “Make yourself comfortable,” he says. “You’re going to be here a while.”
He turns his back on me, entering a small, connected room.From the white tiles peeking out, and the sound of running water, I’d say it’s the bathroom. As soon as he’s out of my sight, I jump to my still wobbly feet, rushing to the door. My head spins with the remains of what they’ve drugged me with, but my hand grips the doorknob with all the strength I can muster.
It’s locked.
Of course, it’s locked.
