Shaking Hands. | Rindou Haitani

Shaking Hands. Part Two.

Pain was the first thing that hit you when you tried to open your eyes, the sharp pain that flooded your system almost made you sick. The next thing that set in was panic. The man who'd come into the church had done this? No he hadn't moved, that meant there had been someone else with him and that person hit you. But why? You weren't sure if it was the fear or pain that had you ready to throw up now.

Your body shook as you sat there against what you could assume was a wall. Finally opening your eyes you were met with darkness, something was covering your head and you let out a short whimper closing them again. Your hands were tied behind you, something in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. The reality was sinking in, had you really been kidnapped? It couldn't be real. There was no way this was real, it couldn't be.

There was part of you that still hoped maybe this was a bad dream. Things like this happened in movies and shitty books. Not life. In real life, people didn't just get hit over the head by men in fancy suits. At least not people like you, you'd never done anything.

Every time you even thought about doing something stupid or wild, that fear of your father's reaction would take over. A pathetic reaction for an adult, but one that had stuck with you since childhood. But even after doing what you were told your entire life, you still ended up in this situation.

There were voices, you couldn't make out what they were saying through the haze in your head and whatever was covering your head but you could tell they were men. One of them was the man who'd been talking to you at the church, you could hear his deep monotone voice from somewhere near you. So far he was the only voice you cared to hear, maybe he'd distracted you so someone else could hit you, but he'd not actually done anything yet. The person who'd hit you was probably one of the other two voices.

The tears finally started pouring when a foot nudged your leg, your cries were muffled by the gag in your mouth, but they were loud enough to be heard. The voices stopped suddenly, their attention now on you. You wished they'd just keep talking, if they kept ignoring you, you could pretend you were still in that church waiting for your father. There was no pain in your head, no voices around you. Just you and the church.

But the hands that grabbed your face kept you from anything other than reality. A whimper left you when the covering was torn from your face and the light hit your eyes. Closing your eyes tightly, you refused to open them. Opening them would mean you had to face what was in front of you, and the idea terrified you. The first man you'd seen, a long scar across his face, one blurry eye and the way he spoke... that was enough to tell you the kind of people you were with even without the kidnapping.

God. Kidnapping. That was what this was. It hit you again, you'd been taken from your home and brought to these strange men who couldn't be anything good. You'd wanted to be strong in front of them, to show them that you weren't afraid and they didn't scare you, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop the tears.

With your eyes still closed and the tears still flowing down your cheeks, you heard someone crouch down in front of you. "Don't scream. No one outside us will hear you and it will just piss everyone off." The voice of the scarred man from before. "And don't bite me." He added as if that had happened before.

The gag was slowly pulled from your mouth and you took in a deep breath, your eyes finally opening to meet the scarred man again. "Who are you?" Your voice was shaky as you finally spoke, mouth dry from the gag that had been in your mouth moments before.

"Who he is, isn't important." One of the other voices. "Who you are really isn't important either, what matters is you're important to someone who owes me money." Quickly, you jerked your head towards the voice, a man with long white hair and dark eyes stared at you. His clothing looked even more expensive than the scarred man's did, and the jewelry he wore was a clear sign of how much money he had. No one you knew could even compare to what he seemed to have, so someone close to you owing him money? That made no sense. Before you could open your mouth to question him, he kept speaking. "I let it slide for so long but I can only take so much, I tried to be nice because your father begged for his little church and family but spending two nights with one of our whores and at my casino? I'd say thank god he paid the girls, but he went and spent even more money that he didn't have."