BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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I DUST MY hands on my trousers, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips as I survey the chaos I've wrought. "Patética," I mutter under my breath, the word dripping with disdain.
(Pathetic)
The creak of the door behind me draws my attention. I turn slowly, my eyes narrowing as I take in the sight of Pandora standing there, her face twisted in annoyance. But as her gaze shifts past me to the scene behind, her expression morphs into one of gleeful excitement.
"Well, well, well, look who decided to join the fun," I say, my voice laced with mockery. "Enjoying the view, Andie?"
Her eyes gleam with a twisted kind of joy as she takes in the unconscious forms of Elijah and Charlie. "What happened to those two?" she smirks, clearly amused by the sight.
I glance back at their unconscious and bloodied bodies, sprawled across the floor like discarded puppets. "A little reminder of who's in charge," I say coldly, my voice dripping with satisfaction. "They needed to learn their place, and I was more than happy to teach them."
I take in the sight of their badly beaten forms—broken bones, deep cuts, and a lot of harsh reminders not to doubt me. The room is filled with the metallic scent of blood, and the silence is broken only by their laboured breathing.
I shrug nonchalantly. "The fools passed out within 10 minutes, and gave up after 5. They crossed a line. Had to make sure they understood the consequences."
Pandora huffs playfully before pulling out a chair and sitting on it. "I can't believe you didn't wait for me," she says, throwing a mock tantrum, her voice dripping with exaggerated disappointment.
I chuckle, shaking my head. "Trust me, you didn't miss much. They folded like cheap suits." I gesture to the unconscious forms of Elijah and Charlie, their faces bruised and bloodied, sprawled across the floor like discarded rag dolls. A few bones stick out at odd angles, and their clothes are torn from the struggle. Blood pools beneath them, seeping into the cracks of the cold concrete floor.
Pandora pouts, crossing her arms, her playful demeanor at odds with the grim scene. "Still, I wanted to see their faces when they realized they messed with the wrong person." Her eyes glint with a sadistic excitement, the twisted joy of seeing others in pain.
I raise an eyebrow, leaning against the wall, my eyes never leaving her. "There'll be plenty more opportunities, Pandora. This was just a warm-up."
She smirks, her eyes dancing with anticipation. "I certainly hope so. Next time, save some for me." She taps her fingers on the chair's armrest, a slow, deliberate rhythm that matches the intensity of the moment.
I nod, a cold smile creeping onto my face. "You'll get your chance. And when you do, make sure they remember it."
Pandora laughs, a dark and melodic sound that echoes off the walls. "Oh, I intend to. I've got a few ideas of my own." Her smile is wide, almost predatory, as if she's already imagining the next victim in her grasp.
