𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞

WARNING: Will contain upsetting flashbacks, torture and mention of r*pe.

As the man regained consciousness, he felt the rough rope digging into his wrists, binding his hands tightly behind his back. With a low groan, he blinked his eyes open, struggling to focus as his vision swam before him.

Gradually, his surroundings came into view, and his eyes widened in both fear and confusion. There, sitting before him, was a pitbull, its once menacing demeanor now tainted by the dried blood staining its mouth and fur. The sight sent a shiver down his spine, as he wondered what had led him to this perilous situation.

The room he was in was dimly lit, with the only source of light coming from a small window high up on the wall. The air was thick with the stench of decay and he could hear the faint sound of dripping water in the distance. Panic began to set in as he realized he had no memory of how he had ended up here, or who had put him in this terrifying predicament.

As he struggled against his restraints, the pitbull let out a low growl, its eyes fixed on him with a predatory intensity. He could feel his heart racing in his chest as he tried to piece together the events that had led him to this moment. Had he been kidnapped? Was this some kind of sick game being played by a deranged individual?

Despite the fear coursing through his veins, he knew he had to stay calm and think rationally if he had any hope of escaping this nightmare. With a deep breath, he focused on his surroundings, searching for any clue that could help him unravel the mystery of his captivity. But as he strained his mind for answers, the pitbull in front of him began to inch closer, its teeth bared in a menacing snarl. Time was running out, and he knew he had to act fast if he wanted to survive.

Tears streamed down his face as he writhed against the restraints. The rope chafed his skin, causing blood to seep from the wounds.

As soon as he caught sight of them, he let out a piercing scream. It was feeble, barely louder than a whisper.

Rachel's grin widened at his anguish. Watching him struggle against his bindings, tears flowing freely, eased some of the tension in her chest. His cries grew louder, almost as if he was attempting to hurl curses at her. But all she heard were muffled words and empty threats.

It felt almost poetic, considering what he had done to her.

"Are you sure about this?" Robbie inquired. "I can take over if you—."

"I'm sure," she interrupted firmly. "He deserves every bit of what's coming to him."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the guilt that threatened to creep in. This was justice, she reminded herself. This was retribution for the pain and suffering he had caused her when she was at that place. That place that made Hell seem like a playground.

Rachel approached him, the sound of her boots reverberating through the room, and locked eyes with him. She plastered a sweet smile on her face and spoke in a taunting, seductive tone. "Hello, Jordan, it's lovely to see you again."

The man, Jordan, stared at her, bewildered. "Who the hell are you?"

Rachel let out a fake laugh. "I'm surprised you don't remember me, considering every time you came around, you always had your way with me."

"Oh, come on, I—!" Jordan scoffed.

"Fine, if you want to play dumb." Rachel pushed her hair aside to reveal the barcode tattoo on her neck.

"You're one of the products they—."

Walter growled and barked, his presence a reminder of the danger that lurked in the shadows.