Page 11 of Cole: Bloodlines
“How about we get your mind off your boyfriend, hm?” He squatted next to her, his weathered knuckles grazing her kneethrough the damp denim. His male scent filled her nostrils as he leaned closer. Savannah whimpered, her leg muscles contracting as she tried to shrink away, the metal chair cold against her spine. His eyes crinkled at the corners as his lips stretched into a smile that never reached those cold irises. “The more you get to know me, the more you will like me.” He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and yanked her upward, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arm.
Savannah's breath caught in her throat when he reached behind him and extracted a hunting knife, its notched edge catching the dim light.“No…”
“Calm down, sweetheart.” His voice was a low, soothing murmur as he gently lifted her trembling hands. “Just getting rid of these.” With a swift, precise motion, he sliced through the ropes binding her wrists, the fibers snapping with a quiet twang. His gaze lingered on the red, raw abrasions marking her delicate skin, angry and swollen. “Bet that smarts,” he remarked with a hint of rueful sympathy. He brought her hands closer, pressing his lips tenderly against her bloodied wrists, leaving a trail of warmth. Then, with deliberate slowness, he let his tongue glide over the wounds, a shiver of sensation following in its wake. “Mm,” he whispered, almost to himself, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “You taste... lovely.”
Savannah recoiled inwardly, her body tense and rigid. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the unsettling intimacy, her chest rising and falling in uneven, stuttering breaths.
The man let out a dreamy sigh, his eyes half-lidded with an almost ethereal calm, as he gently lifted her chin. His thumb traced softly across her trembling lips, leaving a lingering warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill his gaze sent down her spine. Savannah's sharp whimper sliced through the tense air as the cold tip of the blade made contact with her stomach,pressing insistently against the fabric of her pink T-shirt. The man, lost in some private reverie, closed his eyes and tilted his face skyward, savoring the moment as he slowly drew the knife upward along the curve of her belly. The blade snagged and tugged at her shirt, a whisper of metal against fabric, yet mercifully it did not pierce through to her skin. Her stomach instinctively drew inward, muscles taut and recoiling from the threat of the keen-edged weapon.
“Things are about to get… interesting,” he whispered, seemingly to himself, then lowered his head and opened his eyes, gazing at Savannah with a slightly insane look. His eyes pinched—and the blade pressed against her stomach with added persistence.
Savannah choked on a quiet cry when the tip severed the thin fabric of her T-shirt, pierced the skin at her diaphragm, and a droplet of blood trickled down her quivering abdomen into her belly button.
The man pushed his face into her neck, inhaling deeply as a notable shudder coursed through him, causing a sexual tremor to quake his voice, “So.Very.Interesting.”
Abel flinched violently, his body convulsing as if struck by an unseen force, when the heavy metal door groaned open with a piercing screech. His mind had drifted away to an unknown place—for how long, he couldn't tell—and was jolted back to the present by the rhythmic echo of footsteps approaching across the cold, hard concrete floor, each step resonating with a dull, ominous thud. Abel’s head drooped to the side as he turned to face the man, his neck seemingly too feeble to support its weight, like a wilting flower.
“How you doing, kid?” The man squatted down in front of the rusty cage, his eyes scanning Abel's disheveled form with a sigh. “You look like shit, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Abel felt as though his body was a prisoner, every muscle frozen in place. He fixed his gaze on his captor, the man’s face drifting in and out of clarity as if seen through a veil. His voice, raspy and strained, barely escaped his lips.“Where… is she?”Abel croaked, desperation threading through his words.“Where is… Savannah?”
“Don’t worry about her,” the man said. “I’m keeping her busy.” He winked. “You don’t want to know how.”
Abel's muscles screamed as he finally broke free from the invisible bonds holding him in place. He dragged himself forward on raw elbows, each centimeter of concrete scraping his skin like sandpaper. His vision blurred with tears and sweat that stung his eyes as he reached the bars.“What... What did you... do to her?”The words tore from his parched throat like jagged glass. His bloodied fingers curled around the cold, rust-flecked metal, knuckles blanching white against the bars. His lungs seized between each syllable, chest heaving in spasms that sent lightning bolts of pain through his cracked ribs.“Where is she?”
“Calm down, boy. She’s helping me with something… um… important.”
“Why are you doing this?” Abel wilted to the floor of the cage, his raw fingertips still gripping the rusted bars. His head drooped forward between his trembling arms, violent tremors rippling through his fragile body. Tears carved clean paths down his dirt-smudged cheeks as he whispered, “Please... let her go... keep me... but let her go... please...”
The man sighed, his breath reeking of stale coffee and cigarettes. He crouched lower, the leather of his boots creaking as he balanced on the balls of his feet. “If I did that,” he murmured, his voice like gravel underfoot, “what kind of lessonwould that teach my boy?” His eyes—flat and gray as river stones—narrowed slightly. “He has to learn. I believe there is still hope for him. With the right... motivation...” His tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips. “I am sure he can still become the man he was meant to be.”
His boy?Abel lifted his head, tears streaming down his flushed, dirty face. “What does that have to do with us?” he whispered.
The man chuckled. “Kid, this haseverythingto do with you.” He leaned in. “He has some...things... that need to be taken out of his life—barriers—that stop him from becoming who he's meant to be. Once these obstacles are removed and the noise is silenced... he will recognize his path and listen to the right voice leading him to his true destiny.”
What the hell is he talking about?Whowas he talking about?
“Who is… your boy?” Abel mumbled as his head sagged against the bars. “I don’t understand…”
“Of course, you don’t,” the man said. “But you will… before all of this is over.”
Abel feebly lifted his head again, his eyes full of desperation. “Please don't hurt her…” he begged, his voice trembling as a sob caught in his throat. “Please… let me see her.” His words lingered in the damp, musty air of the dimly lit cell, filled with a sense of urgency and despair.
“You will, soon enough. But for now…” The man's voice was cold and unyielding as he extended his arm through the iron bars. A coarse, damp cloth was suddenly clamped over Abel's mouth and nose. The pungent, chemical odor invaded his senses, and he struggled weakly, limbs flailing in a futile attempt to resist. The world around him spun, the shadows in the room twisting into a dark vortex, until finally, his body went limp, and he slipped into the suffocating darkness.
When he regained consciousness, however long later—he had no sense of time—he was outside, sitting on dew-covered grass that prickled his bare legs. His wrists were tightly bound to a gnarled oak, the coarse rope digging into his flesh. The cloth gag tasted of motor oil and sweat, making his panicked breath whistle through his nostrils. His eyes darted frantically across the pitch-black landscape, where moonlight carved silver edges around the silhouettes of trees. The earthy scent of the soil and the distant whisper of water tugged at his memory, but his concussed mind couldn't quite piece together why it all felt so hauntingly familiar.
A bitter breeze sliced across his exposed torso, raising goosebumps on skin marked with plum-colored bruises and rust-red abrasions. The wind caused leaves to whisper overhead, followed by a groan from the branches above. Then came the first drop—viscous and warm—landing with a sickening pat on his thigh. He looked down at the droplet: thick as syrup and black in the darkness, it crawled across his leg like a living creature before another splattered beside it. The smell hit him in waves—initially just a hint, then suddenly overwhelming his senses: raw, metallic, coppery—the unmistakable stench ofblood.
Abel's lungs seized in his chest, each desperate breath through pinched nostrils like inhaling fire. His throat convulsed against the cloth gag, saliva and bile backing up as his jaw strained to breaking. When he finally forced his gaze upward, the image seared into his retinas like a branding iron. His scream started somewhere deeper than his gut—it erupted from some ancient place where language dissolves into pure animal terror. The sound never reached the air, strangled behind the cloth, but it shredded his vocal cords and fractured something vital inside him that would never properly heal.
PART TWO: LIVING NIGHTMARES
“There are many who don’t wish to sleep
For fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who
Don’t wish to wake for the same fear.”
