Hold On (Ghost x reader)

11 - tormentum

{Warning—this is a pretty dark chapter which includes physical and mental torture, read at your own risk.}

"Does it hurt? Hm?" Makarov whispers into my ear, the cold metal of the knife scraping against my shoulder.

He had stripped me down to my cami top and underpants. My body is probably littered with wounds that vary in depth and length. 'Probably' because he had tied a cloth around my eyes so I never anticipate where and when he hurts me.
It feels like it had been days of this torture.

I don't answer, keeping my mouth shut.

"Come on, you were so loud before. What happened?" He tugs my head back by my hair, making me let out a pained wince. "That's more like it."

I take deep breaths. The only good thing about him constantly inflicting pain is that I've become more numb to it. Of course it hurts, but not as much as when he first started. The mental pain, however, is much harder to cope with.

"Your little military friends aren't coming. They threw you away like the trash you are. They probably found someone more capable," I hear him walk around me, slow, menacing steps sounding throughout the echoing space. "To think that they believed you to be anything more than some dirty whore who would sell her body for money." He laughs. I did sell my body in a way, didn't I? Agreeing to this job at the cost of my own safety.

I painfully laugh at the irony, making Makarov upset, which is proven by how he slaps me across the face.

"It's funny, huh? You think this is funny?"

I try to tune him out, but like many times before when he saw me not paying attention to what he was saying, he stabs into my thigh slowly. I bite my lip, salty tears pouring into my mouth. He takes out the knife.

"Pathetic. You're pathetic. For ever trusting them, for ever going along with their stupid little plans against me. Look where that got you. Right here, with me. The devil himself."

Man, the ego of this guy.

"Do you know what's actually funny?" I hear him kneel in front of me, his hands caressing my thighs, fingers tracing every single bleeding wound. "You trusted them, and they betrayed you."

He's bluffing as always, speaking nonsense to pit me against them.

"Two of them knew your little secret, Y/N L/N, or should I call you... Y/N Caine?" He whispers.

Blood rushes to my ears at the name. How did he find out? And did he say two?

"Oh, you look so surprised. Honey, you didn't know?"

"I did," I voice out hoarsely. About Price, that's one.

"She speaks! Wonderful. Tell me, then, what do you think about the fact that Simon Riley went behind your back and tattled to your dear old daddy?"

"You're lying," I whisper. All this piece of shit does is lie.

"Okay. Doesn't this sound like his voice?"

Suddenly, Simon's grainy voice echoes through the room. Must be a recording.

"I found her, you were right. She works at a bar in Miami. Remember our deal, or I'll personally make sure you never see her again."

"Uh oh," Makarov mocks. "Seems like he wasn't too keen about you."

His words come in one ear and right out the other as I try to process what I had just heard. My mind begins to think of excuses, that this was a fabricated message with a voice filter that just sounds like Simon. It was a misunderstanding. He wasn't talking to my father, but someone else, about someone else who works at a bar in Miami.