𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝚩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 | 18+

3 || TAKEN BY THE WIND

CHAPTER THREE | TAKEN BY THE WIND
𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪

The sharp sting across the skin of Natalia's cheek woke her abruptly. Her skull throbbed dully as a shiver ran across her skin, the hairs on the back of her neck standing in terror. Natalia's instincts knew that something was wrong, that everything was wrong before she even opened her eyes.

A strange man stood before her, his presence illuminated by the subtle lighting behind him. If it weren't for that faint light, Natalia wouldn't have noticed him at all. Even so, it was hard for her to make out his features.

With a low chuckle, he bent down to Natalia's form, his breath wafting across her face and into her nostrils, nearly making her gag aloud. She pulled at the zip ties that held her limbs hostage, making them dig further into her skin as she tried to bolt away from his breath. It was as if he didn't know what dental hygiene was, how disgusting his breath was. It smelled like rotten eggs, raw sewage, and faeces.

The strange man smiled, showcasing his rotten teeth as if they were something to be proud of. He leaned down closer to her, chuckling, as if he was proud of himself, as if he was proud of being so unhygienic. Even animals knew how important hygiene was, yet this man, who Natalia doubted was older than fifty, had forgotten its existence.

Unable to hide her intense disgust, Natalia gagged at him, making his smile drop. Offended at her, he slapped her other cheek, making her face sting all the more. Natalia could feel her skin swell, feel it change in colour as it throbbed with a stabbing pain.

He gripped her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her eyes to meet his directly. "Puta americana," he spat before punching her square in the face.

Her ears rang, blood trailing down her nose and gathering on her upper lip.

It didn't hurt all that much, however. Natalia was sure he hadn't broken her nose.

He continued cursing her under his breath, spitting at her feet and shaking her head like she was a rag doll.

Natalia just stared at him as she wondered if he was aware of the fact that she spoke Spanish and most likely better than he did. She understood perfectly fine that he'd called her an American whore.

As if an American whore was any different than a Colombian prostitute. The sentence simply made no sense to her.

In some sense, he reminded her of her stepbrother. Her brother always called women whores if they rejected him, calling them whores if they fucked him, calling them whores for wearing clothes, calling them whores for not being heterosexual, calling them whores for standing up for themselves.

He always called her a whore, even for the way that she walked.

Natalia would always respond to her stepbrother and say that if she was a whore, then the devil had a special place for scum like him.

Given the circumstances, she knew she probably shouldn't call the guy before her a scumbag. It would do her good to keep her mouth shut and assess the situation before doing anything rash.

The strange man suddenly grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a swig before grinning at her suddenly. "Ellos solían quemar putas como tu, ¿sabías?" They used to burn whores like you, did you know?