So, I'm being kidnapped.
I. Am. Being. Fucking. Kidnapped.
I should probably be writhing in fear right now, with rivers of tears streaming down my face, creating messy lines of black down my cheeks. I should be screaming for help, whimpering and pleading like the perfect damsel in distress.
But I'm not. I am pissed.
Now don't get me wrong, I did scream – but it wasn't near a whimper, and I certainly wasn't pleading. It wasn't gonna change a thing. I knew that.
"AGHH! You... you fucking pieces of shit! What's he paying you? I'll double it!" I forcefully attempt to wriggle out of the two hands wrapped around each of my forearms.
Needless to say, it didn't work, so I then decide to stop moving my feet altogether. Only this leads to me being dragged, the tops of my toes skimming the cold marble until we reach the front door. As they drag me through, I wrap my legs around the frame and try my damndest to dig my short toes into the wall. In return, the men shoot me a 'you've gotta be kidding' look before attempting to pry my legs from the door.
But I have a kung-fu grip. I'm staying right where I am.
Well, that's what I thought.
Legs still convoluted, my head hit the floor.
No, not the floor. The ground. It was concrete. My upper body was outside, while my lower half was still intimate with the frame.
You know how in old cartoons, the whimsical antagonist who just got thumped on the head always sees stars or birds?
That's bullshit.
At least, that's not what I saw anyway. All I could see was a thick layer of darkness. It appeared in the corners of my eyes, slowly but surely filling up my entire line of vision. I felt my legs drop from the doorway, and I wondered if I was dying. I tried incredibly hard to mutter any last words that sounded remotely threatening (or even cool, for that matter):
I promise I'll haunt you.
Yes, I am aware that those are the lamest last words ever, but I was put on the spot – it was the first thing I thought of. Not that it really matters now, for when I heard the pathetic excuse for a voice protrude from my lips, it was clear that I didn't get my threat across at all.
"I.. I prominent." Those three senseless words took all of my breath, and I knew I couldn't stay awake any longer. I ordered my brain (or rather, my brain ordered me) to surrender control of my limbs.
I did so without hesitation.
"Shh! Just shut up, Bailey." I could barely make out the words the men were saying.
"He'll kill us something something pick her up. Something something something hear us. She'll be fine."
Would I?
The darkness took over.
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I sit at my desk, looking over the latest update on the Holly Bridge blueprints.
And, oh, they look good.
The city was going to be more than impressed when this was all over, and they should be. I've been designing this baby for three years. I've had the best men possible to help me work out any possible error. We could start building in a matter of months.
I take a sip of my coffee and smile to myself. I haven't felt satisfied in a long time. This is a rare and beautiful moment.
Shawn should be arriving any minute, and I'm more than happy to have someone to share this moment with.
As if on cue, Deborah rings the phone in front of me.
"Ms. Hawthorne," she sweetly sang. "Mr. Hawthorne is here for your three o'clock."
"Please, send him in. Thank you." I couldn't hide the smile in my voice.
Not a minute later, the wide door of my office slowly cracks open.
I gasp at the figure before me. It wasn't Shawn, though the two shared similar features.
No, this man was shorter and older. He wore a casual business suit with slicked back grey hair. He smiled at me - a smile that was full of love – it caused wrinkles to form around his eyes and the corners of his lips, ones that proclaimed that this man had endured enough sadness to know that laugh lines were to be treasured; this man was wise.
"Hey, kid." His smile grew even wider.
This man was my father.
I didn't sit in awe. I didn't gape at him for rising from the dead.
I simply ran to him, as a puppy would run to an owner who had been gone for far too long. I wrapped my arms around him desperately.
A ship, we sank.
And I could no more but lie there in his arms, my head on his shoulder as my eyes poured him his own ocean filled with the waters of my pain.
My longing.
My bundled up grief.
We stay there for what seemed like hours. It was only half a minute after my tears finally subsided that my dad spoke for the second time. Rather than something heartfelt like I expected, he simply stated with a melancholy tone,
"He's not coming, Or."
It takes me a second to realize that he is referring to my actual three o'clock.
"Oh, Shawn? He's just late, dad. He's always late, you know that. Oh man, he's gonna be so flabbergasted. He has no idea that you-"
I was interrupted once more by the same "He's not coming."
I stare blankly at him, trying to understand. He was gazing at me with what seemed to be a look of absolute pity. He brings his hand to meet my face, running his thumb along my cheek – still wearing that same expression. Just as I began to speak, a veil of darkness is placed over me.
I awoke vertically.
Upon breeching consciousness, this was the only thing I was absolutely sure of. Everything else – my surroundings, how I got here, why I was brought – it's all just a thick fog. My vision is speckled with black spots. But my position. That, I am sure of. My hands have been cuffed and my arms put around some sort of pipe protruding from the ceiling, leaving my body to dangle freely. That is, except, of course, for my toes, which just barely graze the floor. My whole body is a fresh bruise, rhythmically aching, never missing a beat. My arms, my head, my everything – it all hurts so badly.
"Jesus," I groaned loudly, rattling my hands above me to test the endurance of the pipe.
Update: it's not gonna break.
Still yet, I persistently shake my hands, attempting to cause some sort of damage. I stop only when I realize the toll it's taking on my already exhausted body. Laughter sounds from my left and I cease all movement.
"Hey, you're awake. I hope you don't have a concussion." A raspy voice addressed me, sounding more amused than concerned. I blinked continuously until I could make out the figure before me, who was a man standing probably 6'1", with short, dirty blond hair and an even dirtier facial expression, matching well with his dark brown, deviant eyes.
Is this who took me?
"Why am I here?" I said calmly, despite the throbbing in the back of my head.
"Well," the man began, moving towards me with a growing grin. "I'm not really the person to answer that question. I just do what I told. It's kind of my job."
Suddenly I feel his hand on my hip. I mentally prepare myself for the situation I know is about to take place.
"This is part of the job, is it?"
He chuckled, his hand proceeding down my hip now. He stops when he reaches in between my thighs.
"No, no – pretty little things are usually never part of the job. That's why we're gon-"
I'm just about to kick when both myself and the man are interrupted by a door slamming open behind him. His hand, just reaching my groin, vanishes as he whips around. His body noticeably shakes.
My eyes trailed, longing to find the person that had just saved my ass – hoping maybe they could save it further and get me down from here.
What they find is a man much taller than that of my attacker, who almost looks familiar. He is entirely too well built. His black hair is freshly disheveled, with strands still falling back into their former place. His jaw, cloaked in a short, black stubble, seems so tight that it might snap at any given second.
I then realize that this brutally handsome man is Ever, which immensely augments my confusion, causing my head to pound harder. Where in God's name am I and why has Ever Kingsley come to save me? His eyes, even in my current state, I can see, are filled with a violent hatred. Their color is that of the deepest depths of the sea. They dart to me.
"Close your eyes."
The words seeped with venom; despite my confusion, I did what I was told.
A gunshot echoed loudly throughout the room. I could hear footsteps faring towards me. I kept my eyes closed.