Page 64 of Cassio (Belles & Mobsters 3)

“I prefer you guys,” I told him. “We are close to ending human trafficking on the East Coast. I need you all to stay and cover our business here. I will handle Áine Evans.”

ChapterTwenty-One

ÁINE

Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. I was so fucking scared. How did I get here? I was a frightened, snot-nosed, red-eyed spoiled teenager who found myself in a nightmare, and I feared it would be my end.

I watched with wide eyes as they tortured the poor woman, my entire body shivering with cold and fear. My teeth actually chattered, the loud noise of it mixing with the painful cries of the young woman. Her face was so swollen and her skin had a blue tint to it.

“This is waterboarding,” the guy that gripped her hair explained. He wasn’t old or dirty like some of the other men. But his eyes… they were worse. The scariest thing I had ever seen. A menace and maniacal expression lingered in them as he watched me.

I wrapped my arms around me, my teeth making an unnatural sound as they clattered against each other. A combination of cold and terror. The mixing of my chattering teeth and the whimpers from the woman made for an eerie loud sound as they echoed through the bare room. I could hear more cries in the distance but they seemed so far away. As if we were in a separate nightmare, different twilight zone.

There were no windows in this room. Just dirty walls, three men, and three women. Three girls actually. I was fourteen and the other girls couldn’t be older than eighteen. But it was hard to tell from the terrified expressions, the blood all over their bodies, and their beaten faces.

The one he was torturing now… Her right eye was swollen shut, her lip split, and I… I remained quiet for fear he’d do the same thing to me.

I deserved to die; the thought played on repeat in my mind. I was no better, because I didn’t utter a single word to save her. I was a snot-nosed teenager that only worried about self-preservation. All I could do was cry and cry, shiver with fear I had never felt before.

We would die here. I was certain.

“Still not a single word?” His taunting voice startled me, and I peeled my gaze from the poor girl. “One word and we’ll stop this. Any word. Or it could just be a simple ‘stop’.”

Except, if I’d say it, he said he’d touch me. Make me scream, he said. He said I’d like it but I was certain I wouldn’t.

The hard, rough dirt floors and rugged rocky walls of our prison were all I'd seen. I shifted uncomfortably as a rock on the dirt packed floor dug into my knee.

I wasn't even sure how long I'd been here... days, weeks. Months maybe. Definitely not long enough to be a year, but then again, I guess I couldn't be sure. Time blurred together here. The musty smell of the wooden cell doors, mixed with the overwhelming scents of body odor and other bodily fluids. I still wore the school uniform I had on when they took me. When they kidnapped me.

My eyes found those of the terrified girl next to me. Her face was bloodied too; her body discolored because of the bruises, cuts, and other wounds. My eyes flashed back to the other woman, spitting and sputtering water from her mouth.I deserved to die... I'd watched them torture both of the women, yet, I didn't utter a single word to save them... to help them. All I could do was cry and tremble with a fear I'd never felt before.

I didn’t stand a chance against anyone, never mind this cruel and twisted man. He was enjoying this. Even without the bulge in his pants, I could see it all over his face. Bile rose in my throat, and with each second, it threatened to empty my stomach contents.

My eyes returned to the poor girl. Her eyes were blue, though right now it was hard to tell.

“Do you know who I am?” he shouted and my eyes snapped back to him. Why was he doing this?

My brain was in a fog. He asked the question as if Ishouldknow who he was. But I didn’t; I was certain I had never seen him before. I shook my head, gritting my teeth, desperate to end my teeth from chattering against each other. I stood up, hoping some resemblance of my strength would appear.

“You will,” he snarled. “You’ll never forget it.” He shoved the other girl onto the dirty ground and stalked over to me. With each step he took closer to me, the bile in my throat rushed further and further up.

It was a bitter acid on my tongue, and it burned as I swallowed it down. I couldn’t let it come up my throat. I had to show at least some strength. I watched in slow motion as he balled his hand into a fist and swung through the air, hitting my jaw. My head flew backwards and I stumbled. My skull hit the wall so hard spots danced in my vision, different shades of black, red, and white.

I barely blinked my eyes before his other hand wrapped around my throat and lifted me up into the air. My hands wrapped around his hand, my fingernails clawing into his wrists.

“Say the word,” he taunted. But I refused. If I said it, he’d rape me. He said so, and God help me, I still hoped for a rescue. My father was the prime minister. Someone was coming for me. For us. Right?

Desperate for air, I kicked at him, gasping. Just a tiny breath.

“I’m Marco King, you bitch,” he spat out. “You’ll never forget my name.”

He threw me through the air, and I flew further down into the dark abyss, nothing there to stop my fall…

“Áine wake the fuck up!” The voice came from a distance, breaking my fall. Another shake of my body and I peeled my eyes open. I was exhausted and nausea lingered in my system. Goddamn it! I should have seen Dr. Taylor before I left for this assignment. My dreams were getting worse.

“Stop shaking me, John,” I muttered in a raspy voice. I didn’t need to puke right now, I was already somewhere in the dark pit of the fucking nightmare that I didn’t understand. I had never met Marco King, yet I knew his face. I knew his voice. I even knew his scent.

Benito King killed my father. I would kill his legacy. His offspring. The only reason I could conjure that I knew so much about Marco King was that I researched him so thoroughly. I knew of Cassio and Luca King but finding something on them was next to impossible. I only knew their names. But Marco… I knew a lot more, and if I was honest with myself, I’d enjoy killing that man. The psychotic part of me even anticipated it with delight. I would enjoy torturing him.

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