Page 2 of Empire of Carnage
Whatever oversized brute was carrying me didn’t bother to be gentle, forcing my head to bounce off his back with every step he descended. We were in some sort of basement, and my limbs were starting to burn again from that feeling that let me know I’d have all of my sensations soon.
“Can you stand yet?” I heard a voice behind me I didn’t recognize. They were talking to Santos. I couldn’t make out his answer, but I heard the clinking of the metal chain and the unmistakable sound of handcuffs closing.
Funny how the sounds that correlated with trauma permeated deeper into our memories than the joyous ones. A thousand happy memories couldn’t wipe away the existence of one bad moment.
Then it was my turn. Multiple hands slung me about until I was chained to a metal pole, my arms up and joined together at the wrists bound to a hook. Mirrored opposite to me was Santos, just two or three feet away. If we both reached hard enough, we could have touched our toes together.
A box was placed under my feet, taking the pressure off my arms and reducing some of my pain. A small kindness in this hell. My eyes met Santos’ again, nothing but sadness staring back at me. But I had no tears left; I’d cried them all out during our journey.
Guillermo’s henchmen left us without another word, the heavy sound of their boots marching up the stairs and the slam of the door confirmed we were alone. It was dark, only a single, dim lightbulb hung from its electrical cord and it was somewhere out in the distance, inside another room with its door wide open. It was too far away to make any difference for us, though it wasn’t a very large basement.
Then again, it didn’t need to be.
It held the two of us just fine.
A large metal table was positioned to our right, and a small sink was pushed against a wall, years of debris and dirt staining what must have once been white porcelain.
Between the two poles that kept Santos and I apart was a drain.
I fuckinghatedthe rooms with a drain.
Nothing good happened inside these rooms.
The chances of me coming out of this basement alive significantly reduced the minute I realized its presence.
“Morena,” Santos grumbled, lifting his head up from his chest.
Fuck.
He looked like shit, reminding me that I probably looked no better.
His face was bruised and cut up to hell, but the pain he wore wasn’t physical.
“I’m sorry Morena,” he mumbled. The dry well inside of me somehow found a way to pull from the reservoirs, my weakness cascaded down my cheeks once more.
Was he sorry that we were in this mess?
Or was he sorry that they were both dead, and we were now alone in this world?
Did I even want to survive this if there was no one waiting for us out there?
“We’re gonna get out of here, okay? We’ll kill him together,” I lied, already deciding then and there I would do whatever it took to guarantee Santos’ life.
2
Santos
My bullshit karma had finally caught up to me, except the trifling bitch didn’t care who she hurt in the process as long as I got what was mine too. I practically killed our men, murdered my brothers, and there was a good chance Celia was only here so that Guillermo could force me to watch him kill her.
As a punishment.
Or maybe this was how I’d go too.
We weren’t left alone long. Soon the basement door opened again, and the sound of high heels clicking delicately down the stairs followed heavy boots.
“Carajo, you weren’t lying,” a female voice spoke, and Celia’s head jerked up, her eyes went wide like she recognized the speaker.
She yanked at her chains violently, turning abruptly with eyes jarred open and nostrils flared while she searched around the room for the voice.
