𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 | p. parker

xxv • the wringer

After being roughly tied up, your blindfold was ripped from your eyes.

You took in your surroundings as the men around you regrouped.

As far as you could figure, you were in a vast, abandoned warehouse. You looked down to see your hands had been tied to a length of rope that was strung across the back wall. About fifty other girls were spread out and tied to it as well, all of them looking exhausted and terrified.

Piles of garbage and broken machinery littered the workspace and about a dozen hulking men were moving around the warehouse, carrying boxes and talking in low tones.

Where was this? After being taken down from May's apartment to the trucks, someone had blindfolded you. At one point you'd tried to wiggle the blindfold off with your eyebrows, but that had only earned you a towel to the face. And unfortunately that towel must have been laced with chloroform because you had woken up in a dark room with no idea how long it had been. As soon as you were awake, another man blindfolded you once again and tied you up here.

You could be anywhere in the world for all you knew. Although the sound of bombs in the distance made you think you were at least near enough to Queens that you could find your way home if you managed to escape.

As you were contemplating your possible escape routes, the doors on the far left swung open and an oddly familiar face walked in.

"Gentlemen!" He called, his arms outstretched. "The government has fallen!"

A cry of victory rose up from the men. Most of the girls beside you flinched.

"You know what this means! After years of work, we are finally taking down the United States one city at a time!"

And then it came to you. This was Jackson Brody; The Wringer. The man who'd blinded Peter and escaped from prison. He was standing before you, bearing news of domination, and you were tied up in the back of his lair.

"Johnson, I need you on sky patrol. Who knows what could happen if they send Iron Man in. Livingston, organize a march on DC. And Arnold!"

A teenaged-looking kid with orange curly hair flinched and looked up from a computer he was typing at.

"Bring me a smoothie from downstairs, I'm quite parched."

Arnold nodded and practically sprinted towards the stairs.

"Now... where was I?" Brody's eyes swept the room. "Oh, that's right. I was on my way over to pick a lucky girl. It's not every day you get to be pleasured and handled by the new leader of this land." He smirked.

You wanted to throw up.

"Who wants to go first?" He said, walking lazily over to where you were tied.

You looked down at the ground, not wanting to draw attention to yourself.

After a moment of silence, you considered the possibility of him having left without delivering. But just as this thought crossed your mind, a strong pair of hands made contact with the back of your neck.

"Hello, my sweet thing." Brody said, his gloved fingers moving under your chin and tilting your head up to face him.

He was smiling vindictively down at you, as if he knew just how awful he was and still took pride in it.

"Uncuff this one." He said with a wink.

Someone ran forward and sliced your bonds. You gave a small yell as his knife skimmed your wrist and you felt blood seep out from the cut.

"Oh, you poor thing." Brody purred.

You sat there, petrified and yet trembling with dread. Should you run for it? How many of them had guns? How far could you get?