Chapter 12: Marcus

627 43 9
                                    

Trigger warning: Depictions of animal abuse and mild violence.

I should've just killed Silver when I had the chance. I thought as I squeezed my eyes shut tighter as the sound of my stall's gate latch being undone reached my ears. If I did, chances are this wouldn't be happening right now! Alasdair and some of the others were whispering solemn words of comfort to me over private links and occasionally, someone would try (in vain) to distract me by sharing what were supposed to be hilariously bad jokes. Or maybe it would've as some sort of 'punishment' from the Amri boss for killing not one, but two of his (or her) underlings. I didn't remember if Silver had referred to his boss as a 'he' or 'she' and quite frankly, the sex of the head honcho didn't matter right now. I had to worry about being beaten.

"Well," A shaky male voice that I recognized as belonging to Golden said. "Looks like she's asleep. Maybe we should come back-"

"Nah." The harsh, gravelly male voice of Marcus replied with a hollow chuckle. "The fucker's fakin' like they all do when they know I'm around. Watch this."

Fwip. A sharp, fiery pain manifested across the entire left side of my body and I could feel the blood start to bead up from a gash just above my left eye. The resonating crack of a bullwhip right by my head caused me to involuntarily flinch, and I could sense the general fear and discomfort from the vast majority of the resident equines over the general link upon hearing that sound; which no doubt brought back some bad memories for them. Despite the pain, I forced myself to keep my eyes closed and my head on my front paws. There's no telling how many hides that whip had struck up until my own.

"Stupid, stubborn mother f-"

Fwip, fwip. More pain; this time from my right shoulder and across my back. I clenched my jaw to the point of it starting to feel sore; but still, I didn't dare budge. Why wasn't Golden or another scientist trying to stop him? I thought with a whimper as I silently began to beg Golden or another scientist to interfere so that I was spared from the pain; only if it was for a brief moment of respite. Of course, my pleas would fall on deaf ears.

"'Aight, I see how it's gonna be." Marcus growled before he cracked the whip at his side; the sound making me involuntarily flinch. "Ya wanna play hardball, eh? Let's play, then!"

Fucking psychopa- My thought was cut off as something sharp sliced through the the outer edge of my left ear, accompanied by the sound barrier-breaking crack of Marcus' bullwhip right by my head. The pain easily felt like I had been bitten by an entire nest of fire ants in one spot, and then sliced with a spring-loaded knife on that same spot. In other words, it hurt. My eyes flew open and I immediately backed myself into the back left corner with a startled, fearful yelp. I watched the brown-haired man with the whip warily; unable to contain the shivers of fear that had begun to afflict me. He smelled strongly of cigarettes, cheap alcohol, and something that that had a more... pungently sour smell to it that my brain instantly labeled as the smell of death. I pressed my ears back flat against my skull as Marcus alone walked further into my stall and I shook my head in an attempt to clear the blood that had begun to run into my left eye from the cut that was above it; sending blood droplets splattering onto the closet wall and onto the hay around me as well.

"There we go. Now that's more like it!" The man said with a toothy grin as he watched me attempt to press myself back further into my corner of the stall with each step that he took to move closer to me.

My gaze followed the apparently modified bullwhip as Marcus slowly rose it above his head in preparation to bring it down again somewhere on my body. I hadn't even left my stall yet, and the beating had already begun! With a quiet whine and the sudden feeling of warmth between my back legs and the feelings of shame and embarrassment that came with it, I closed my eyes and waited for the instrument of torture to strike me once more.

TakenWhere stories live. Discover now