Her skin crawled. Amara made sure her dress still covered her knees and folded in on herself, to make her body as small as possible.
“Okay, so you ain’t talking Dante Maroni,” the man leaned back, straightening, the wood groaning under his weight. “Know anything about a Syndicate?”
Amara’s mind flashed back to the room at the Maroni mansion. Lorenzo Maroni’s cousin had mentioned it. She shook her head.
The man nodded. “Know anything about a shipment?”
‘The shipment goes out in three days.’
Amara denied it.
“Stubborn bitch,” the man laughed. “I’ll break you yet.”
Amara shivered, from the cold or the fear invading her entire being, she didn’t know. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice breaking as her eyes welled up.
The man hopped off the table. “Sorry, sweets. My boys and me, we don’t leave witnesses.”
With that, he went out of the door, leaving it open this time. He returned in a few minutes with a bag, placing it on the table. Taking out a large key from his pocket, he came towards her.
Amara shrank into the wall, backing away from him.
“No,” she begged, desperation leaking into her voice. “Please, let me go. I’ll never tell anyone anything.”
The man chuckled, as though she amused him. The scent of tobacco, motor oil, and that overly sweet smoke invaded her space as he unshackled her wrists. “Rest up. Be back soon.”
He took the bag and walked out again, locking the door, leaving her in the dark.
As soon as the man had left, Amara had explored the other closed door for a weapon. It had been a bathroom with nothing but a toilet, a sink, and liquid soap. Out in the room, there was nothing except the table and the chains that were bolted to the wall, so she couldn’t use them either. Defeated, scared, Amara had simply walked to the corner and huddled in on herself, praying for someone, anyone, to come to her rescue. She didn’t know how long it was, or what time it was, when the man returned, this time with both his companions.
Heart in her throat, she looked up to see them blocking the light from the door.
“I don’t know anything,” she pleaded again, her voice cracking. “Please. If you want money, I can get you some. Please, let me go.”
They ignored her. One of them dragged a chair into the room. The second man came to her, pulling her up roughly by the arm, and threw her into the chair. Amara looked at them frantically, her eyes coming to a halt at the first man laying down a coil of rope, a knife, and a container on the table.
He put on gloves.
Her breathing escalated.
No.
“I don’t know anything!” she didn’t care how her voice broke on that last word. Her fear eclipsed everything.
“We still gonna chat, girl,” he informed her, as her gut tightened.
He took the rope, dipping it in the container. Amara heard the slight sizzle and her body began to tremble. He spoke. “You don’t wanna have these acid ropes around those pretty wrists, do you?”
She shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face.
“Very good. Then tell me about the compound. Is there any entry from the woods?”
“I don’t know,” Amara said, even though she knew there was. “Kids aren’t…aren’t allowed to go in the woods,” she stumbled upon the words in her nervousness. She’d come across it on one of her walks and though it was fenced, it was still there. But she wasn’t going to tell them that. Not when it was her home.
“See,” the man nodded. “That was a test question and you passed. Good. Is there any underground entrance?”
Amara shook her head, her eyes on the rope. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything.”
The man stepped closer, the acrid scent of acid coming with him. Amara clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from trembling.
“And you know nothing about the Syndicate?”
She denied it.
“Lorenzo Maroni has a weakness outside that you know about?”
Why were they asking her these absurd questions?
“Dante Maroni have anyone in his life outside?” the man asked, leaning closer to her. “Someone we can use against him?”
His brother.
Amara shook her head no, silent, trembling all over, panic, real panic setting in as the man brought the rope closer.
He smiled. “This will be fun.”
And so began the screams.
They had the wrong girl. It didn’t make sense. She was nobody.
Minutes blurred.
Heartbeats blurred.
Questions blurred.
Was it day? Was it night?
Everything blurred but the burn.
Her hands. Her back. Her feet. Everything burned.
And she screamed.
“What do you know about the syndicate?”
Breathe.
“Does Dante Maroni have anyone that can be used against him?”
Focus.
“Is there a shipment you know anything about?”
Live.
“When do the guards take their patrol break at night?”
Survive.
“Should we tell Maroni his little girlfriend is here?”
Scream.
Focus. Breathe. Live. Survive. Scream.
Breathe. Live. Survive. Scream.
Live. Survive. Scream.
Survive. Scream.
Scream.
She was alone.
Somehow, someway, her brain had sent her that message through the fog of pain.
Amara sat in the chair, wrists free but limp, her whole body shaking like a leaf as her skin burned.
She was alone.
And the door was open.
She blinked, barely able to see past the water in her eyes. Everything hurt. Everything was pain.
But she had to survive. She had barely lived her life. She had singing lessons to attend in summer, school to graduate, books to read, places to visit, a boy to kiss, babies to have. Her mother couldn’t lose her. Vin couldn’t mourn her.
She was alive. That was all that mattered. They hadn’t broken her yet.
Gripping the sides of the chair with juddering arms, Amara somehow found the strength inside herself to push up. The burning in her wrist flared and she bit her lip hard to stifle any sound. She couldn’t alert any of them.
Amara stood up, her legs unsteady, the soles of her feet burning with every step she took, circulation agitating the assaulted skin there, leaving prints of blood on the floor. Her eyes went to the open door. They thought her scared enough or weak enough to not try anything. They didn’t know. Fear was sister to desperation. And she was desperate to escape this hell.
With soft steps, stifling every whimper, tears running down her cheeks, hair matted around her face, Amara edged towards the open door cautiously, getting out into some kind of corridor. Looking left, and then right, she headed to the latter, going down a set of stairs, every step feeling like a pit of fire. She breathed through it somehow, her need to escape greater than anything else, and came to an empty office room of some sort with an EXIT door. She heard the men who had abducted her somewhere, watching a game.
Her only goal was to escape.
Spying the door, Amara felt a burst of adrenaline shoot down her body, filling her with energy, and worse, hope. She limped towards the door, panting, and exited into a garage of some kind with shuttered doors. Unlocked shuttered doors.