bound by chaos

3. Brandon

Everything hurts.

It is the first thought that flitters into my head as consciousness slowly returns, dragging me from the depths of a dark, a dreamless void. My eyelids are heavy, weighed down by fatigue, but I force them open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light that stings my eyes.

The room comes into focus-gray concrete walls, high ceilings, and the distant hum of machinery. I'm in a warehouse. My kidnappers are certainly not original.

Try to move my arms, my brain feeling sluggish. My heart skips a beat as I realize my arms are bound behind my back, wrists chafing against the rough rope. My legs are tied too, ankles secured to the legs of the chair I'm sitting in. I struggle a bit, clearing my head, wincing as the rough rope chafes my skin deeper.

Panic rises in my throat, but I swallow it down, trying to think clearly despite the pain. I do not like the feeling of being tied up. The darkness around me keeps seeping into my legs, my clothes, rising higher and higher, trying to swallow me whole.

Memories start to trickle back-fragments of getting attacked, face of my assailant blurring, Nikolai then a sudden, sharp pain in the back of my head.

Oh, Nikolai.

Even thinking about him makes tears threatens to fill my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. Does Nikolai even know I'm here? Does he know that I have not abandoned him? And even if he does know, does he care? Care enough to come and find me?

The thoughts are like a stabbing pain in my heart, piercing it so deep that it becomes beyond repair. Nikolai likes me. And I, I have somehow grown fond of him too. Nikolai cares about me. He does. And Landon cares for me. He is my twin brother. At least for appearance's sake he would help me out of this, right? If not out of love and affection. Someone will be here.

I try to douse the raging pity in my chest with that hope.

Control. I need to be in control.

I twist my wrists, testing the strength of the rope. It does not budge. Whoever tied me up knew what they were doing. I scan the room again, looking for anything that might help me escape. There is nothing within reach-just stacks of wooden crates and metal shelves lined with tools I cannot get to.

I try to focus on breathing, counting each inhale and exhale to keep the panic at bay. But the silence is oppressive, pressing in on me from all sides. I strain my ears, hoping to hear something-footsteps, voices, anything that might tell me I'm not alone.

And then I hear it-a door creaking open somewhere behind me. I freeze, every muscle tensing as footsteps echo through the warehouse, growing louder with each step. They are coming closer. My heart pounds in my chest, fear clawing at my insides.

A shadow falls over me as someone steps into view. I look up, squinting against the light, and see a man standing in front of me. He is tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothes that blend into the dim surroundings. His face is obscured by the shadow, but there is something about his stance, the way he carries himself, that sends a chill down my spine.

I have seen my fair share of people involved in this business. I come from of those families. I have friends who are parts of family like these. But there is something sinister in this one's eyes.

"Good, you're awake," he says, his voice calm, almost casual. He pulls a chair from behind one of the crates and sits down in front of me, studying me with cold, calculating eyes.

I try to speak, but my throat is dry, the words sticking in my mouth. He waits patiently, like he has all the time in the world, until I finally manage to croak out, "Who are you? What do you want?"