Page 75 of Wicked Deceit
I cough harder, sloshing more water. My thoughts move at snail's speed, unable to process what’s happening around me. My brain aches from the lack of oxygen, and a hammer hacks away at my brain matter.
The water drains from the tank, scattering shivers through my exhausted body. Every muscle in my body strains and refuses to move when I want them to. All I can do is suck more oxygen into my burning lungs. I’m a fucking blob—a useless lump, sitting and waiting for her execution.
Two black-hooded figures float through the room, like the figures who keyed my car and painted my apartment door with red slashes. Now they stand before me. Black masks cover their faces, concealing their true identity from me. Their hands tuck into the enormous sleeves, hiding their skin tones and any identifying factors that could lead me to their identities.
A hiss releases a side of the tank, opening like a glass door on hinges. Their black-gloved hands paw at me, gripping my hair in their grasp. Someone unlocks my handcuffs, leaving them attached to the pipe and off my aching wrists. Dragging my weak body out of the tank, I can barely stand on my own two feet. One figure throws a dark hood over my head, silently leading me out of the disgusting room as the carpet squishes beneath my bare feet. Their hands rest on my waist, fingers wrapping around my side. I soak in the warmth of their body glued to my side, wishing I could keep their heat with me. Even their leather gloves on my skin feel warm and cozy.
A cry of pain tears from down the hall, jerking my body to a halt. I stiffen, listening to her wails of anguish. She doesn’t have to utter a word to tell her story. Her pain is evident with every agonizing scream. The faint murmur of the distorted speaker's voice flitters through the air in a deep tone, mocking the poor soul, begging the psychopaths to save her.
The fingers on my waist gently squeeze my side three times and continue to drag me forward. I patiently wait for my dragging feet to catch up. The darkened hood on my head drowns out the world. Only the screams and the scuff of my feet break through the darkness. But my sight? It’s broken, for now, lost in the darkness they submerged me in.
The person grabbing my waist turns me around and forces my back to an icy surface. It feels like a large metal pole against my back with the hood on. Stripper pole? A metal water pipe? Nothing can be as bad as the damn fish tank.
No one speaks. The tension and silence in the room are deafening to my ringing ears, only broken up by the shuffle of their feet. Static surrounds me. Silent and deadly.
My muscles tighten as one of the cloaked figures wraps tough ropes around my wrists. Starting with the right one, they tighten it with a rough yank, rubbing it against the wounds on my wrist. An involuntary whimper leaves my throat as they tie the other wrist off, yanking and pulling the rope. My breath rapidly pours in and out of my nose when the realization hits me. They didn’t tie it as tight on my left wrist. With caution, I move my left wrist around, testing the bounds of the rope–like I did with the right one, finding less resistance—almost no resistance. It doesn’t burn into my wrist with every movement. It’s barely hanging on, and for that, I’m thankful as fuck.
A gloved hand squeezes my left elbow, stopping my movements. It almost feels like they're warning me. But why? Why would any of these people warn me? Is someone other than Carter on my side? Or is it… No. He wouldn’t sit back and watch me die, would he? It wouldn’t be him, would it? But he’d have to if he were here, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t be able to march out of here with me in his arms. Comfort settles over me, thinking about his presence beside me, and I relax my muscles. If it is him, I have to trust in him. If he’s leaving me a free hand to get loose, he’s giving me an advantage in whatever is about to come.
All thoughts evaporate as the hood is torn from my head, and I wince from the lights blaring down on me once again. Three hooded figures stand before me with their arms crossed over their chests. Not giving me any clue as to who these people are. I study them for longer than necessary when two more figures walk into the room with their masked faces held high. The door clicks behind them, locking us together. They march forward, instead of standing in the straight line of the others, and stand before me.
“Heya, Stupid.” The one says with a distorted voice, bringing a finger to the side of my face. “Remember me?” They ask in a deep voice, sending my mind reeling back to the night of the car crash where their distorted words ring through my mind on repeat. And then again in my bedroom right before they drugged me again and brought me here.
It was him.
“Trent,” I grunt, trying to pull from his grasp. “You were there? You wrecked into us?” I grind my teeth when he pulls up his mask and grins at me with pride bleeding into his eyes.
“Ah, I never thought you’d remember. You were blitzed out of your mind, Slut,” he says, leaning in to brush his lips against my cheek, leaving a wet mark on my flesh. “I could have taken you then, and I could take you now.” I swallow hard at what he’s implying and follow his gaze when he looks at one of the hooded figures standing rigid in the line watching with rapt attention as Trent’s hand creeps over my breast and squeezes hard. “Perfect,” Trent mumbles, trailing unwanted kisses down my jaw. I stiffen with every groan and squeeze he gives my tit, and float to another universe, hoping to block this whole experience from my mind.
“You fucking dick,” The other masked figure hisses, punching Trent square in the jaw and knocking him back. “If anyone gets a piece, it’s fucking me!” He roars, whipping off his mask, and throws it to the floor.
I lick my lips, trying to move out of Oscar’s sleazy glaze, but he only latches on more. “I’ve had my eyes on you from the moment you walked on campus. It’s a shame you aren’t mine to bring to heel.” His eyes dip to my chest, and I swear he’s about to grope me, too, but his gaze dips to my right arm secured behind my back. A devilish grin takes over his face. “You gave quite a fight, though,” he says, nodding to my arm. “It took me a few kicks.” I stiffen again, and the color drains from my face as the memories of the pain exploding through my arm resurface.
“It was you? You broke my arm?” I ask in a small voice, shaking my head. “You two were there?” Trent snorts and rolls his eyes.
“What did you expect? Your lover boy?” He scoffs but keeps his gaze on the same figure as before, who stands stock still, watching the exchange.
“Delta and Panty Licker.” A figure steps forward with a growl in their distorted voice and cocks their head. “You’re interrupting a broadcasting bid with your assaults.” They wave their hands around in irritation, earning nothing but huffs from the other two.
“You’ll get yours,” Oscar murmurs so low, it barely registers what he’s saying while plucking his mask off the floor.
“It was sanctioned by the real bosses anyway, Alpha,” Trent hisses, setting his mask back onto his face. “We’ll be on our way. Enjoy your stay,” he sing-songs, waving a hand in the air.
I finally let out a breath when they leave the room and close the door behind them. The ghost of his disgusting touch lingers on my chest, but I have a feeling his wandering hands are the least of my worries now. I was drowned, groped, and now I’m loosely tied to a pole. What more could they do to me now?
I take a quick scan of the similar-looking room and wrinkle my nose at its appearance. The disgusting wallpaper from the previous room fills this room, too. It’s peeling, moldy, and downright awful. Orange carpet, from what looks like the seventies, sits under my feet with mushrooms growing tall in the damp, dark corners. The musky air is tinted with iron and sulfur, giving the room a fantastic atmosphere.
Bile brews in the back of my throat, burning its way up. My legs wobble beneath me, but I’m forced to stand before three black-hooded figures. Their blackened masks give me nothing to go on, which is a shame. I wish I could read their faces to know what I’m up against this time now.
They stand and stare as I catch my wheezing breath. My skin tightens under their unwavering glare. It wraps around me, nearly choking the air from my lungs again. I avert my eyes, refusing to look at them, and take stock of my fucked up situation.
Construction tools lie discarded around the room. Some near me and some far away. Hammers. Pipes. Saws and screwdrivers. It’s almost as if they were redoing the house and decided not to finish. It would explain the peeling paper and missing pieces.
“Welcome back to lot two hundred and twenty-six! What a fighter she's turned out to be," the distorted voice chuckles through the menacing speakers again. "Boy, do we have a treat for you! It was a long and drawn-out bidding war between Battling Babes and Tantalizing Toenails.” My back stiffens at the words ‘tantalizing toenails’. Dear God. What in the hell would they do with toenails? And what makes them tantalizing? Oh, God. Pull them off? Eat them? Crush my feet? Watch me suffer? I cringe, hoping that's not the direction we're going in.
“But you asked for battling babes fight and battling babes fight you will get!” The distorted voice sounds way too giddy again, clapping in the microphone. “The bidding is open for the winner of this high ticket show. Place your bids now and see who wins this showdown! Let the game begin!”
I sigh, leaning my head back on the pole. “A fight, huh?” I ask the three unmoved figures in a raspy voice.
