Vengeance (Updating Weekly)

Part 5

Hi everyone, thank you all so much for reading this story. I hope you're all enjoying it, and I'm excited to read all your comments and feedback! 

I'm going away for the next 4 weeks so I won't be around to respond to all of you, but I'll do my best to catch up when I'm back. 

Vengeance will continue to update weekly!!

Love you! See you all soon ❤️

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The sun peeks in through the window, filling the room with light. I nuzzle into my pillow. I slept like a baby. I must've been asleep for days. This bed is so comfortable and the sheets are so soft, I could stay in here forever.

My room is on the third floor, with two men guarding the entrance. There's a bed in the centre, decorated with silky blue sheets. A buffet of fruits and snacks is spread over the mahogany table in the back corner. Glass double doors lead out to a balcony, looking out over the beach below. The wardrobe is separated only by an archway, and the ensuite comes fitted with a bathtub the size of a spa. They've supplied me with everything I could possibly need — food, drinks, clothes, underwear, shoes, soap...

I finally got to shower the past few days off me. I washed my hair, shaved my legs and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. A doctor came to see me afterwards. She re-bandaged the cut on my ankle and checked me for any further injuries. Besides a sprained wrist, a mild concussion, and a couple of grazes, I'm totally fine. She left me with a box of Panadol to ease the pain.

My body aches as I slide out from between the sheets. As much as I would like to rest longer, I have work to do. There are plenty of things in this room I could use as a weapon. I could try to break a leg off a dining chair, or if I can't manage that, snap a coat hanger in half. They're wooden, so all I'd have to do is smash it against a doorframe. I'd have to sharpen it, but they've given me a razor, so it wouldn't be too hard. The real problem is an escape plan. The balcony is the most obvious. I step out onto it, peeking down to check my chances. They're slim. Two guards stand beneath it, dressed in the same SWAT-like gear worn by the men who took me out of the basement. Even if they weren't there, I'd be jumping down 3 stories just to hit the concrete. Inside, there's one air vent by the entry door, but it's far too small for me to fit through. I turn the doorknob, figuring I'd take my chances, but sure enough, the door is locked. I keep trying, just in case I'm just not strong enough to open it.

"Miss Michaelson?" a voice speaks. They must've heard me struggling. "Would you like the door opened?"

"I want to speak with Atticus," I say. I don't know what I'll face on the other side of the door, and I don't have a weapon prepared yet. If I'm going to be stuck here, I might as well get some answers.

"He will be here shortly."

I'm still pacing back and forth by the time he arrives. He knocks politely, not entering the room until I let him in. He looks just like he did the last time I saw him, except this time, he's not surrounded by men aiming their guns at me. He strolls into the room and takes a seat at the dining table, his hands neatly resting in his lap.

"I see you've finally woken up," he says.

"How long was I out for?"

"A good 18 hours, I believe," he motions to the seat beside him. "You should sit down. Your ankle must be hurting."

"My ankle is fine," I tell him. "You need to explain to me what's going on. You're holding me hostage here, but in a fancy hotel room?"

"You're not a hostage here."