Provoke

“Wait there.”

I rolled my eyes as he walked away. Really? Where else was I going to go? I yanked at the cuff, trying to pry it free from the staircase. Despite its rickety appearance, the staircase was quite sturdy.

I jumped as a scream echoed through the room.

Mace. Thank God. A scream meant he was alive.

I looked up, alerted by the sound of footsteps walking briskly across the floor. Luke was strolling toward me, a smile etched on his face.

“Leeta. Lovely to see you again.”

My stomach turned at the sound of him speaking my name—like we were old friends catching up for a coffee. He uncuffed me and took me by the hand, leading me out of the room. I wanted to resist, I wanted to fight, but the gleam from the handgun he held in his right hand stopped me.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked. I had to keep him talking. Whatever he had planned, I had to try and put it off for as long as possible.

“Why didn’t you stop your boyfriend from punching the shit out of me back at my house?” he shot back. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

He threw me into the room, laughing as I tripped over my feet. I winced, gripping my hands tightly together, trying to ignore the pain that was searing through them.

“I’ll be back,” he said, “I just need to take care of that boyfriend of yours, and then you and I can have a little fun.” He winked at me before backing out and closing the door.

I got up and raced over, my hand on the handle. It was locked. I laughed bitterly. Why the hell would he leave it unlocked?

Wiping away tears, I paced the small space, trying to think up some way out of this. Only this time, I had no ideas. I was locked in a room, separated from Mace…I had to be honest with myself: we might not be getting out of this.

Turning to face the wall, I banged my hands against it, dried blood from my grazes rubbing off against the white of the paint. My heart raced. I had to have a plan. I always did. I refused to just sit back and give in. That wasn’t who I was.

I ran my fingers through my knotted hair and tied it back up.

Okay, think. Focus. It had to have been close to an hour and a half since Mace had called Micky. They had to be close, right?

Yes. They would be there any minute. All I had to do was play along until then, buy myself some time. I closed my eyes and ran back over everything in my mind. If I could get out of this room, then maybe there was a chance.

I looked up as the door opened. Any hope I had of escaping was crushed when I saw Luke standing there along with another man. This was not the man who had forced me out of my car, which put at least three of these fuckers here.

Luke whistled as he walked over to me.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this.” He smiled as he nodded toward the door. “Come on. It’s time.”

I felt sick as I was forced out the door. Luke walked behind me while the thug with the gun walked beside me, both of them chuckling like they knew something I didn’t. Where the hell are they taking me?

No sooner had the thought left my head than I was shoved inside another room. This one mirrored the one in the abandoned house—sterile, cold, and empty except for a metal table and a small trolley.

My eyes darted from one camera to the next, to the mirrors lining the walls, and then fell on the table in the centre—and the trolley that lay beside it, covered in a full spread of tools. My eyes fell on the scalpel. I swallowed, trying to dissolve the lump forming in my throat. Oh, God.

“Guess who is going to be the star of our show tonight, little Leeta?”

Luke walked around from behind me until he stood in front, his cold eyes staring right into mine.

“We normally don’t offer the full snuff service, but tonight we’re making an exception. You’ll be excited to learn you’re fetching quite a price. There is a hell of a bidding war happening right now with buyers who want to watch me rape and kill you.”

“You’re a piece of shit,” I spat. I was past fear. Now all I felt was anger and pure hate for this asshole.

“Ah, yes. There’s that fire.” He laughed and shook his head. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

“What the hell do you mean?”

He walked over to the trolley and stood there, as if the decision to choose an instrument was so damn difficult. Finally he picked up a pair of scissors and turned back to me, smiling.