Dark roots

Chapter 2

A pounding ache echoed behind my eyes — deep, dull, and unrelenting. The air was heavy with dust and something metallic like the smell of blood. I forced my eyes open, squinting against the dim light flickering from a single bulb dangling right above my head.

My whole body was aching and stiff against the hard wooden chair. The ropes around my wrists and ankles were cutting into my flesh. I tried moving but it only made the ropes tighten. 

I turned my head to the side to look around the room I was being held in. My gaze landed on three tall men who were standing around a large round table, made entirely of oak. They hadn't noticed me yet, their backs turned, focused on whatever plan was unfolding between them.

My ears were still ringing but even after their words reached me, I couldn't understand what they were saying since they spoke in a foreign language I didn't understand. The smell of smoke curled from a cigarette propped in an ashtray. Somewhere a fan rattled. My heart thudded loud in my ears.

Since their attention wasn't on me, I tried getting free again. When my attempts were in vain, I scanned my surroundings again, hunting for anything useful that would get me out of here. That's when I saw a knife stuck point-first into the wood of a side table to my right. The handle glinted in the bulb's weak light. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot.

Carefully, I leaned back on the legs of my chair so I would close the distance between the knife and my bound hands. My gaze shifted from the table to the men and back again while I tried to remain as silent as possible. 

Every second that passed felt more intense. The slightest sound or the smallest movement could alarm them, and my chances of getting out of here would be lost. My fingertips brushed against the leather handle of the knife. I was about to pull on it when suddenly the door slammed open. 

I dropped back onto all four legs of the chair with a jolt, fear shooting through me. My heart raced, that I feared it would burst. My eyes landed on the woman that stepped into the room. Her presence immediately demanded attention and the other men turned around to look at her. 

She looked to be in her late twenties, with sharp features and brown eyes. Her short black hair framed her face in uneven layers. I took in the tactical vest that she wore underneath her black longsleeved shirt, making her look ready for a fight instead of a conversation. 

The woman turned to look at me with a dangerous smirk. In one swift movement, she stood in front of me. The man from earlier yanked my chair closer to the table while the latina woman placed a laptop on the table in front of me. I immediately recognized my laptop from the worn keys that hardly showed any letters anymore. 

"I'm glad you're finally here," she said with a smug smile. "I look forward to working with you."

"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice tight with confusion and a hint of fear that I tried my best to mask. "And what makes you think I'll help you?"

Her face showed no emotion. She simply nodded towards the guy on her left. She didn't need to speak for the man to know what he had to do. Before I could even react, the man slammed his fist in my stomach. I groaned from the pain that went through my body. 

The woman grabbed a fist full of my hair and pulled my gaze up to look at her. She didn't show any emotions, except for maybe boredom. She made it perfectly clear that she wasn't asking.

From the corner of my eye, a shorter latino man raised a pistol and aimed it towards me to give an extra threat to their words.

Meanwhile — 3rd POV

The cargo ramp slammed down, and the blistering Las Almas heat hit Ghost and Soap the second they stepped out. A man in a dark green tactical uniform was already waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Broad-shouldered, steady, and watching them with the kind of focus only a soldier carried.