Mafia Darling

12 | Hostage (Ella)

(Warning: harassment, no rape)

The bag is wet from my tears. When it's pulled off my head, a bright light blinds me. My wrists and ankles are tied to a chair, and when my eyes adjust to the light, I realize I'm in some sort of warehouse.

"Well, well, well," says the man sitting in front of me, and I freeze.

Because he looks like Niklas, the man that Marco shot dead.

This is Niklas's crime family.

"Who are you, krasivyy?" he asks, leaning forward. "Marco's new girlfriend, perhaps? A fiancée?" 

I clench my hands, breathing slowly. "I'm just a maid," I say weakly, my throat dry. I was screaming all the way here.

He looks at me from head to toe. "You certainly don't dress like a maid," he comments. "What kind of maid goes shopping with the boss?"

My stomach churns. How long were they spying on us? His goons behind him watch me with hungry eyes, and I almost want to scream at them how I watched Niklas die and cleaned up the mess he left behind. How the dead body shit itself, and the only reason I didn't have to clean that too was because his pants kept it against the dead body and didn't spill out into the blood.

But I don't say any of that, because I want to live.

"I was helping him run errands," I say. "I'm only a maid. I swear, I don't know anything valuable, and the family wouldn't give you anything if you threaten me. So please, just let me go."

"I think you're underestimating your worth," the man says, standing up. "Marco looked quite concerned as he ran after you. He wouldn't do that for a lowly maid."

But he did.

The man approaches me and brushes his hand against my face. His skin is rough and grimy, and I don't try to hide my recoil. Offended by my disgust, he slaps me.

"Oh, you are quite pretty," he purrs. "You'd fare well in my brothel. Our customers would love an underage girl-next-door."

I want to throw up. "I'm twenty-one!" I scream. "You disgusting, pedophilic--"

He slaps me again. "You're seventeen," he snaps, "and you'll say you're a virgin until it stops being believable. Now, let's see what we have to work with." He snaps and beckons a goon over. "Take her shirt off."

I start squirming, pushing the chair this way and that, but the goon pays it no attention. In two bounding steps, he reaches me, hooks his fingers under my shirt, and lifts it up. It only gathers around my neck because those fuckwits forget that my arms are tied and they can't actually get the shirt off me.

I'm livid and humiliated as they all stare and contemplate my chest. My bra is still on, but they look at my boobs through it.

The main guy nods. "Decent."

He places his hands on both my knees and spreads them and looks directly at my crotch.

"Now, let's see that pretty little snatch. Don't worry, we won't cut you." He grins. "At least, I hope not."

The goon crouches in front of me and positions a pair of scissors on the inseam of my pants, as close to my crotch as he can get. My heart is pounding impossibly fast, and tears blur my vision.

"Please don't," I beg. "Just let me go."

"Relax," the goon says, rolling his eyes. "It's not like we're raping you."

Just when he's about to cut into the fabric, a bullet sails through his head. Blood splatters all over me, and instead of screaming, I start laughing. The main guy's head also explodes. So does the other goon's.

Marco is suddenly there, gun in hand, panting. There are scratches on his face and rips in his clothes; he fought through people to get here. Without even looking at me, he gently lowers my shirt and starts untying me from the chair.

My laughter turns into sobs. "You...you came for me," I say between gulps of air.

He looks up at me as he unties my ankles, his face pained. "I should've kept you safe. I'm so sorry."

He helps me out of the chair. He pays no mind to all the carnage on the floor and just leads me out. I hold on tight to his arm like the pathetic weakling I am.