His Only Captive - (Far Cry Fan Fiction)

Chapter Four - Know Your Place

“Wow, I mean wow.”

Vaas stuck out his tongue, laughing, and looked around the shack, brushing his fingertips through his thick ebony Mohawk. He pulled out a cigar and a match, placed the cigar in his mouth at set it ablaze, holding it between his fingertips. He inhaled deeply, and withdrew the cigar from his lips, blowing out a thick cloud of grey smoke.

“You know,” he chocked, blowing out more smoke, “I admire your courage, your lack of regard to physical fear.”

He ambled towards her, laughing, bringing the cigar up to his lips and holding it there. He then took out a knife and held it on her skin. She flinched at the ice metal clawing at her, but locked her heavy glance on his face and said nothing, firmly bolting her lips together. Slowly he traced the cold knife down her chest, gentle enough not to pierce her skin, and then in between her breast. She struggled, shifting nervously, and grimacing at the touch. He grinned and trailed it down further, slicing the blade across the fabric of her wet blue shirt. The fabric tore easily, and Vaas grinned ripping it off her body. She shivered and jolted backwards, but Vaas clutched onto her arm and held her steady, surveying her with his stone eyes. His eyebrow raised, his eyes scanning her like a painting, a work of art for people to view at their leisure. With a grin, he placed his jagged dagger back in a black sheath attached to his pants.

“Well,” he hummed, “I like what see.” He removed the cigar from his lips and held it between his fingertips in his other hand.

“Fuck you!” she spat.

His clasp grew coarser, his blunt fingernails quarrying in her skin. In pain she bit her lip, and tensed her body, shuddering from his spiteful touch. “Just because I said I admire your words of courage does not mean you can get away with speaking to me in such manner! But, I’m a reasonable guy, I’ll let this one pass, once!” he growled, his fierce eyes burning into her skin - she glanced up with anxiety, her eyes glassy and shiny, “Once!” he continued, bitterly jerking her closer, his expression cold and serious and cruel, “Which means, no more petty persistence, and aggravating assertions. Know your fucking place! I want respect, so I will get it, got it?” He jerked her body again, making his harsh hold even more brutal and agonizing, by tightening his grip. This time she winced, and yelped soundlessly, fighting the tears that yearned to escape from her stinging eyes.

She nodded her head rapidly, choking on her muffled whines, his head drew closer as he cocked an eyebrow, “what?” he barked - his livid face beside hers. She was glaring at his boots. The black boots, dark and ireful. Dusted with white sand and blood. She shivered to the sight, and choked more on her hidden cries. He shook her, slapping her suddenly on the arm. “Use your fucking words!” he snapped, taking one small step closer to her. Her lip trembled as she moved them, but only air would depart.

“Hey!” he barked, making her jump, “I don’t have all fucking day. So fucking answer me!”

Her eyes tightened as tears flooded from them and down her cheeks, and as she cried silently her knees wobbled and her body arched. Still he had a tight hold onto her.

“Fuck!” he snapped, “Hey!”

Tilting her head away she continued to weep, though they were slightly louder and more filled with dread – the sound of a pup away from its mother. She didn’t want to cry. She really didn’t. She wished she could be strong, a true fighter. Strong enough physically to break free from this wretched nightmare, and strong enough mentally not to crumble into a whimpering sheep that cowered in a dark cold corner. He shook her again.

“Hey!” he roared, and then he concealed his palm against her mouth, she gasped and whined, grasping onto his rough hand as he pressed it harshly against her lips, “stop fucking crying!”

She straightened her back, looking gingerly into his dark eyes, and sniffled, swallowing any cries that strived to escape. She concentrated on her breathing, so that the trembles would stop. Her heart beat -that was a minute ago, thumbing quickly against her chest - slowed. It relaxed her, and finally she could breathe properly again. Yet, Vaas still retained a wrathful mien that startled her if she was to look at it for too long, and his palm still concealed her lips.

In nothing more than sheer gallantry, she coiled her slim fingers around his large hand and lowered it smoothly and slowly, detaching it from her lips. To her surprise, he did nothing against it, but stare in confusion and curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered calmly, boldly glaring into his chary eyes, “Yes, I understand you.”

His eyes assessed her face, his lips slightly parted as his eyebrow raised and his head further away than it was before. One hand, slid into the pocket of his pants, and the other brought his burning cigar to his lips – first tapping it so that the singed ends would crumble and flutter to the floor. He inhaled, then lowered the cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke that clung onto Katerina’s wet skin.  She grimaced, coughing, snapping her head in another direction, avoiding the suffocating smoke he was aiming at her. He snickered once under his breath and brought the cigar back to his mouth.

Katerina bowed her head, burying it into her chest, but her body remained motionless, as if she was a statue for him to marvel at. Her eyes flashed to her bound hands, and she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. She could see the red, inflamed marks beneath the rope where she had struggled, and she smiled at it. She was proud to see that she had made an effort, some effort to escape that had an effect.

Slam! Her head shot up, and searched the room. Vaas was not there. The dark, red rusted door was shut, and to her disappointment she heard the key turn, thus locking it. She hadn’t looked around before, so now was her chance. Where was she? In a corner, besides the door was damaged wooden desk, flooded with papers, glass bottles and bullets. The wood on the desk was ruined – being the victim of many knife attacks. The wooden chair beside it wasn’t in good shape either, frail and thin, as if it was whittled with a blade by someone who was jaded or aggravated. There were many glass bottles, all empty, with not a drop of fluid inside them. Probably contained alcohol, Katerina thought as she peered around the cold dim room. To the far corner, close to where Katerina was standing, was a bed. It was quite small – stuffed with straw and had a red blanket tossed over the top of it. In these conditions, in this dreadful place, having a bed was probably a luxury. That was when her eyes widened, as if she had seen a monster, or felt a frightening ghost tap her on the shoulder and whisper in her ear. Was this? No, couldn’t be… but what if? Katerina slunk to the floor, her eyes still wide, her lips parted, and her face in shock. She gulped, and scratched her wrist nervously, biting anxiously on her lip. Does this room belong to Vaas? She thought herself, glancing over to the bed and shuddering to the thought of him lounging there. It must be his room. Who else would be occupying here? Oh god! I hope it isn’t. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for clues. Maps and documents were scattered around the room, and were stuck randomly on walls with a rusty grey pin. There was a small chipped wooden wardrobe, with the door left ajar, and inside… inside were copies of the same red, low-cut vest Vaas had worn, and two more pairs of combat boots and another pair of army pants. Now she knew. She was in the same room that Vaas slept, worked, ate and… she shuddered, not wanting to imagine what other affairs most likely occurred in this horrid place. Why he is keeping me here? Katerina thought, her head buried in her arms, why didn’t I go with the others, with the other girls? What does he find so fascinating about me, to keep me for himself? I tremble to the thought of what he could…

Disrupting Katerina from her thoughts, the door swung open. She snapped her head up to look, and quivered, bringing her knees up to her chest and squeezing onto them tightly. In the doorway stood a dark, tall, terrifying figure, and from the figure, blood dripped loudly onto the floor.