An unpleasant sensation of cold tickling your feet woke you up – or maybe it was the pounding headache, you weren't sure. But you definitely wanted to bury yourself deeper in your covers and sleep for at least a week. You wanted to pull the covers over your head, but your limbs felt way too heavy to complete the task.
The memories of yesterday night were a bit hazier than you would like; you couldn't even remember getting home, so maybe this was the universe punishing you for getting so royally drunk. You groaned and tried harder to muffle yourself and keep yourself warm; only to realize you indeed couldn't move your hands. Or your legs for that matter.
In fact, you weren't even lying. You were sitting upright, your back rather narrow against a flat hard surface and you had a cramp in your neck as your head had been hanging down.
Your eyes snapped the moment your heart started beating its way out of your chest, your breathing turning frantic. You weren't hit by the sharp morning light peeking from under the curtains of your room and you were definitely not staring at your dark purple carpet. You were staring at a concrete floor, where your bare feet were resting, tied to legs of a chair you were sitting on.
Your mind turned blank, your blood roaring in your ears, only adding to the headache. The shiver running down your spine had nothing to do with the cold now.
You looked around the dimly illuminated room – messy and cold... a warehouse? Jesus. – only to find a guy sitting on a chair opposite to you staring right back. He was leant forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. And he was grinning at you cockily.
"Morning, Sunshine."
He slowly rose to his feet, making his way to you predatorily. You subconsciously backed against the chair, tugging at the cuffs restraining your wrists to your sides. His smile widened. You pulled harder, tears of fear filling your eyes.
Even with the terrible headache, with what could be a serious hangover, it was way too easy to figure out what was happening. It didn't exactly take a genius; you were kidnapped. Or maybe you had gone willingly, because you had drunk your ass off with like four margaritas and your brain had totally switched off.
And now were going to get hurt.
But why?!
Why would someone take you? Why would anyone want you of all people? And if they didn't care about you personally, why— why were you still alive? If they only wanted the cash you had, they could have taken it. If they wanted to-- you heart stopped as the idea hit you like a train, all of your focus on how your body felt, everywhere. They hadn't--- they hadn't touched you, right? You would feel that, they---
Shit. Fucking shit, this wasn't happening. What if they... what if they wanted to sell you? You always read about the human trafficking rings, targeting women or kids, selling them the highest bidder. And then raping them again and again, torturing them until they wished they were dead.
Your chest tightened in horror, tears rolling down your cheeks. No matter the restraints, your body trembled in fear and desperation.
No, no, no, god, please, no-
"How's the head, Sweetcheeks? Had a little too much to drink last night? Or more than just drinks?" he called out, stopping two feet from you, leaning forward so his face was right in front of yours.
His dark gaze was piercing yours, amused and so mean. You squeezed your eyes shut, more tears escaping them. You felt his hand on your chin, calloused fingers gripping it tightly. You sobbed, your body too overwhelmed to make an attempt to escape his touch.
Not that you would stand a chance. You were tied to a chair.
And apparently been drugged, your mind supplied helpfully.
"Aww, Babe, don't cry. Do you want me to distract you? Have a little fun...?" his sleazy voice offered and you let out a whimper at the terrifying – and so, so disgusting – idea. Your stomach rolled over and you were sure you were gonna puke.
"Milles, stop playin' with food," another man admonished him, annoyed, and you jumped at the sound of the newcomer's voice. The hand fell off of your face.
"Why? We're gonna kill her anyway. I would take a picture, ya' know. I bet it would piss him off even more."
You sobbed again, your whole body aching and paralyzed at his words.
Have a little fun. Playing with food. Kill her anyway. Your brain refused to understand those words, but at the same time, you were painfully aware of their meaning.
You were gonna die.
You yanked against the cuffs with all your strength, but they didn't move an inch. You did it again, feeling the rope cutting through your skin mercilessly, but the burn was almost pleasant, because it meant you were doing something, instead of sitting here and waiting for them to kill you. Cold sweat was running down your back, but you ignored it, tugging as much as you could until you couldn't find the strength to move anymore, your muscles aching and feeling like belonging to someone else.
You stopped with a frustrated huff, snapping your eyes open, finding the two men staring at you with raised eyebrows. The new guy actually looked a bit familiar, but it was probably just your terrified brain imagining things.
"Really, Babe? Aren't ya' a stubborn one?" Milles questioned wryly, exchanging a look with his friend.
Your vision was blurry as your gaze flickered between them desperately. You still had your life in front of you. Practically your whole life, for god's sake, you just got your degree. You wanted to live your life. And you were not above begging to achieve that.
"Please, please, don't hurt me. Just let me go, please-"
"Jesus, shut up. My ears ain't built for that," the other guy complained, pacing to you with his hand stretched out for a strike.
You immediately fell silent and he cocked his head to side.
"Huh. That's better. Go check what's taking Turner so fuckin' long. I watch her for a bit."
You breathed in shakily as Milles rolled his eyes and left via the very same door this man had probably come in.
Like a masochist, you couldn't keep your eyes off of the hitman who was in charge of you now. You had no idea why; maybe it was the strange familiarity.
"So. Tell me. Who are you, Girlie? Why you?"
You looked at him as if he was crazy, the absurdity of the question making you let out a helpless laugh.
Why me? Why don't you tell me?
"Why me what?" you whispered breathlessly.
"Why did you catch his eye? What so special 'bout you?"
"Whose eye?"
His eyebrows shot up as you were watching him with a mixture of confusion, disbelief and fear. He examined your face closely, until a surprised bark of laughter escaped him.
"You have no idea, do you?" he asked incredulously, laughing again. "That's rich. I thought you were just pretendin', but you really have no friggin' idea. Well, fuck me. You have no clue who he was."
Your breath hitched as your mind cleared out, the realization hitting you like a truck.
Oh god. Oh god, he was talking about the guy from the bar. The handsome one. What was his— Steve. This man – and you finally realized why you had the feeling of knowing him, he was the bartender, hell, maybe even the person who had somehow slipped you the drug – was talking about Steve. If that was his name anyway.
You truly had got yourself into a mess because of him, hadn't you? A kiss. One goddamn kiss with a stranger, who might and might not have been a spy or whatever, and you were tied to a fucking chair in a fucking warehouse, your feet freezing despite the middle of May strolling, and with a death and rape threat hanging above your head like a sword of Damocles.
This man's 'fuck me' suddenly felt like an appropriate reaction. Your mind was racing.
"I... I don't. Please, I swear I don't know what's going on and if you let me go, I won't tell-"
A sharp burn at your cheek shut you up, your words dying in your throat as you cried out.
"Told ya' not to do that, Girlie. You're dead either way, 'cause we won't need you anymore. You see, that door will soon be wired to a bomb our guy's still workin' on and whoever will come through will blow up, his insides paintin' these shitty walls in pretty red. Not even he can be C4-proof."
Your brain and stomach politely ignored the mental image the 'bartender' just gave you.
Who the hell was he? Who the hell you had met yesterday? Why was he so important? What was this? Some senseless gang war? No, Steve – or whoever he was – couldn't be a gangster, he must have been military, but-- what the fuck was this about?
And why on Earth it had to be you who got caught up in it?
Your lips trembled just like the rest of your body as the said door flew open and four men, all dressed in black or dark blue, came through carrying guns.
White male, 5 feat 9 tall, dark hair, athletic built... the words, painfully clear, replayed in your head as you saw a man matching the description. Another three came in and you had another winner. You felt a sadistic delight at that, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.
Not that it mattered, because you were gonna die. Well, at least you would leave one less unfinished business behind if you knew what was going on here. The thought was nauseating.
The man entering as last stopped at the door, laying down what he was carrying. Your heart jumped into your throat. A bomb. He was planting a bomb.
Jesus fucking Christ, this wasn't happening.
"He answered?" your interrogator asked casually as he turned to the other thugs.
One of them rolled his eyes. "Tried to call us. Then it was just a fuckin' spray of texts like 'don't hurt her', 'what do you want', shit like that."
Had they... had they tried to blackmail the Steve guy? What the hell?
Oh. Oh. He probably wouldn't come unless he had a reason. Right. You fought the silly warmth around your heart when you realized he would come and that he made some sort of a plea against them hurting you. Then again, he would be rushing towards the jaws of death, which... which sucked, yeah.
Fuck.
"Aww, look at that, he cares about her. Did you know she had no clue who he was? She doesn't even know who made out with her. Too bad she won't get another chance to tweet about that or somethin'."
You didn't even try to understand now. You were just too exhausted to do so.
With so many men around, there was no way you were getting out. Not even if you freed yourself from the cuffs, even if your legs weren't freezing and feeling as heavy as they were.
You were gonna die. And you were about to take the polite handsome stranger with you, whether you liked it or not. You sent a silent prayer and an apology to those who knew him and cared for him. And to those who cared for you as well.
And you cried.