The Red kiss - A Dark Mafia Romance

chapter six

"Wake up," I heard, the voice distant as if it were carried by the wind or muffled beneath water. My tongue felt like lead, my mouth parched and dry. Through my closed eyelids, I struggled to grasp my surroundings. The room's chill seemed to emanate from more than just the air conditioning. A sense of relief swept over me, as I realized I was in Russia, at least.

"Fucker, wake up!" The words were a venomous hiss, accompanied by a sharp jolt of pain coursing through the roots of my hair. My body ached, save for my wrists and ankles, bound to the chair. Gritting my teeth, I attempted to test the chair's limitations, using the force of the person's aggression against them. Alas, my efforts were in vain; the chair remained steadfastly anchored to the floor, as cold metal shackles held me captive.

Blayd! Blayd! Blayd!

I couldn't escape by severing these chains; the key was what I needed. Only if they were fools enough to leave keys near me...

"It appears he's still under vial," remarked an unfamiliar voice, leaving me puzzled by its owner.

"Give him another dose. I prefer him in slumber during our absence," retorted the unmistakable voice I knew all too well. I let out a groan, feigning a gradual return to awareness, my head jerking slightly. The man's fingers dug into my hair, a vice-like grip anchoring me.

"Look what we have here," Mathew sneered, hobbling toward me. His limp was a stark reminder of the gunshot that had torn through his knees. I couldn't help but let a satisfied smirk cross my lips, revelling in the sight of his pain. As I shifted my gaze from his wounded legs to his furious eyes, his anger seemed to intensify at the amusement dancing across my face. So, naturally, I did it again.

"Well, well, well, fancy seeing you alive, Mathew D'Souza," I taunted, my voice scraping against my dry throat. The passage of time had become a blur, and the parched agony in my throat only heightened the urgency. I'd guzzle a lake's worth of water in a heartbeat.

A low growl escaped Mathew's lips as his teeth ground together. "Tsk, tsk. Unfortunately, your flair won't save you from this place, you bastard," he spat out, a dangerous glint in his eyes. My glare bore into him, challenging his threat.

"What the fuck do you want?" I snapped, a mixture of anger and authority colouring my voice. The tension in the room was palpable, each heartbeat echoing with the weight of our confrontation.

His response was loaded with incredulity, as if my question had wounded his pride. "What do I want?" he scoffed. "After wiping out my entire team and tossing me, still breathing, into the freezing depths of that fucking lake, bullets lodged in my limbs no less, don't you figure I'd have an itch to return the favour? You know, a little payback?" he growled, his fury coursing through every syllable. I squared my stance, resolute. I wasn't about to cave to his schemes. Step one: don't let fear creep in when you are captured by the enemy in their web. Instead, let them believe their grip is feeble, stoking their anger until it devours them, pushing them to give a quicker death. Reveal fear, and they'll suck you dry until you're begging for your own end.

"Fair's fair, you stepped on my land, I simply did what anyone would," I scoffed with a chuckle and a smirk playing on my lips as my gaze dipped to his knees, my smirk stretching wider. "I'd say it left quite the impression on you."

"Cherish a few more moments of your normal life, because after tonight, you won't be the same," he vowed. A sharp sting punctured my neck, and I realized he'd slipped me another vial. As darkness closed in, I knew he'd ensure his promise was kept once I woke. Damn it, I hope Anton would locate me, and fast.

As I awoke from my slumber, I found myself stripped of clothing, my wrists bound and suspended from an overhead rod, and my legs confined by a chain. The sensation of being chained, like a animal, ignited a furious fire within me. Anger surged through my veins, my body electrified with adrenaline. The dimly lit room revealed itself through the light glow of an orange bulb, casting eerie shadows in the confined space that seemed designed for torment. Across the room, an ominous assortment of torture instruments lay upon a table. Just as my fury reached its peak, the door creaked open, and there stood Matthew, his presence both menacing and satisfyingly weakened. Gripping crutches, he hobbled in, his pain bringing me a twisted sense of contentment. I yearned to draw out the moments, so I began to speak.