Killer Kisses

Chapter 6 • Don't Speak French

The low swinging bulb attached to wire on the ceiling was her only source of light.

She couldn't recollect how long she'd been there, sitting on a wooden chair with hungry rats at her boots.

Maybe days— even weeks, perhaps. Definitely not months, she knew that thanks to the rats that kept her company. They were trapped in here with her and had not yet tried to eat each other, only willing to munch on her scraps and boot buckles.

Everyday somebody would come into the poorly lit room to give her a meal for the day, most days a male, face covered in a black mask like that of a robber, concealing all features from her view. She knew whether they were man or woman from their height and the broadness of their shoulders, the robe hide everything else.

No one talked to her, no surprises there. She hadn't been very cooperative, to say the least. At first when they did come with just enough food to keep her conscious and alive, she spat at them and swore, but they never appeared angered or amused. Preferring to stay silent and recluse. So, she did the same, she sat quiet and unaffected, unlike her neighbour, who she had yet to come face-to-face with. Oh was he a screamer, a very loud screamer who seemed only able to scream and it drove her absolutely insane.

She knew what her kidnappers were doing, waiting her out, waiting till she hit breaking point and started to scream for help like her neighbour, who she had humourlessly named Bagpipe from his high pitched squealing.

But she wouldn't. One day she would be free and leave this wretched place, go back to Japan and reunite with her family. She wasn't stupid, she knew she was nowhere near Japan and it would be pointless to hope for anything else. But she would wait, bide her time until she came up with something so diabolical that it would leave her kidnappers on there knees, begging for the mercy she would not give. This was a vow Lynn Senshi would not break.

Just as her hatred and anger rose to new heights, she heard—only because of her highly sensitive hearing—the light pitter patter of footsteps running down the hallway outside her heavily locked room.

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Immobilising the five guards carrying knives, instructed to detain her, was easy.

Rendering the sixth and seventh guards  holding loaded guns outside her room incapable, was simple.

Finding a way out of this hell hole was seeming to be an increasingly difficult task, Mystique noted, as she ran down yet another hall with a moss infestation on the walls and no windows or doors down the end.

She didn't bother with the doors lining the sides. She had already assumed what was behind them. Really, she didn't need to assume, she'd been in one for the past two months after all.

Silently creeping down the narrow pathway that lead to the next passage, she heard a distinct sound she had heard many times throughout her life. Blood curtailing screams for freedom and whips cracking against said screamer.

Pausing for a moment she also began to hear the sound of boots tapping against the dirty cement, heading straight in her direction.

Quickly becoming more aware of her surroundings, Mystique picked a door, one with no screaming occupant behind it. Tightening her grip on the sharp metal that had been part of a fake tooth in her mouth, she urgently picked the lock on the door.

When it finally opened a crack, Mystique could definitely hear the sound of feet slapping against the ground as men yelled obscenities in Italian. Something along the lines of: "dove é quella cagna?" and "quella puttana ha rotto il mio naso!"