CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: WINTER
I wake, feeling groggy, my throat tight and my arms pulled above my shoulders. I turn my head, looking around but the room is dark.
I let out a soft groan, wishing I could rub the side of my head where it feels like I've been hit with a brick.
"Winter?" Enzo's voice drifts toward me in the dark and I incline my head in the direction it's coming from. "Winter?" he asks again.
I let out a moan in response.
"Are you okay?" he asks and he sounds a thousand times stronger than I feel.
"Head... head hurts."
"I bet." He lets out a soft curse. "He pistol whipped you and knocked you out."
"Who?" It hurts to even get the one word out. I try to take more awareness of my body but all I can tell is that my hands are pulled above my head, my wrists bound by some type of restraints. Maybe rope? My bottom is cool and it hurts slightly as I sit against a hard surface. The small drip of water moves through the room and the air smells faintly of mildew, but I can't figure anything else out.
"I don't know," Enzo says. "All I know is this whole thing was a fucking trap. Someone wanted us at the warehouse."
I open my mouth, unsure of what's going to come out when a thin piece of light streams into the room. I spin around, but I can't turn far enough to see the door or who just came inside of it.
Footsteps move through the room, slow and measured.
I'm suddenly jerked to my feet, wincing as I'm pulled by my shoulder.
And then a man is standing in front of me. He's unfamiliar, his dark hair cut short. He has a scar across his cheek, his tan skin clashing with the blemish. His lips are pulled into a smug grin. "Well then," he says. "You're the little dove, or shall I say raven, that Costa has decided to capture." His eyes roam up and down my body. "I can't say that I'm exactly impressed."
I don't know what to process first, the racial slur or the slight accent the man has.
Something Hispanic?
His fingers trail across my face and I flinch backwards.
"Get your fucking hands off of her," Enzo booms and when I look up, I can slightly see him now. The small light streaming into the room bounces off the side of his face. His features are drawn tight, his lips pulled into a sneer and his chains rattling as he tries to pull his arms free.
The man in front of me turns and when he says something in a foreign language, I decide it's most definitely Spanish. He switches to English. "You're only here so that I can have someone to cut pieces off of and send to Costa." He turns back around to look at me and the dark glint I see in his eyes has my body tensing. "This one is far too precious to me whole to cut into pieces." His hand slides along the top of my breasts and bile rises in my throat. "I'd like to fuck her whole after all." He gives a sick laugh.
"You won't lay a hand on her," Enzo says, still struggling.
"Funny you say that, seeing as you're too tied up to help her." He lets out another laugh as his hand trails from my breasts to my stomach. "Don't worry, I may even fuck her in front of you a few times before I kill you. A luxury I'm sure your boss was never nice enough to give to you. You'll have to wait until after my buddies and I have given her a couple of spins first."
The room spins.
The man's hand drags up to my throat, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp for air before he finally pulls his hand away. "You tell me what he finds so fascinating about you and maybe I'll tell the boys to go easy on you," the man says.
I turn my head away from him, only for it to snap back when he slaps me hard enough for me to see stars. "Don't you disrespect me when I'm talking to you, bitch."
I wince as something wet hits my face and it doesn't take me long to realize it's his spit.
My stomach turns.
"Now tell me, what's so special about you? It can't be your pussy. Costa has more than a few he could dip his dick into at any time, including other black pussy if he wants something a little different." His fingers squeeze the side of my face, until my lips are pressed into an o.
I look behind at Enzo and I don't miss the pain in his eyes though it takes me a second to realize that's what it is. I've seen a lot of emotions on the man's face in the last couple of months, anger, irritation, frustration, but never pain.
And certainly not for me.
I turn my eyes back to the man as he stares up at me, his face pinched. "Is it a connection to the seven quad gang?" he asks. "Are they trying to make a move on us in secret?"