no turning back

• forty five •

elijah

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

A groan eased passed my lips as the consistent sound of leaking water roused me. My mouth and throat were dry, and my instinctive efforts to lick them did nothing except make me realize there was something on my face. I felt weak while I attempted to pry my eyes open.

My eyelids fluttered, the world beyond mostly darkness with a few splotches of fuzzy light. After a few moments of continuous blinking, I realized my vision wasn't snapping into focus because I couldn't fucking see. The fabric on my face was blocking my view.

Panic kicked in, and I reached to remove the covering only to discover my hands were bound behind my back. My fingers tingled numbly in protest, but I felt enough to know it was metal handcuffs manacling my hands together. If I could still feel my fingers, I hadn't been tied up for too long.

Think. Come on. What the hell happened?

I didn't have enough time to piece together where I was or who bound me up before the creak of rusted hinges echoed around me. I was in a contained room. Between that fact and the handcuffs, someone was prepared to handle me.

"Finally, you're awake," spoke a familiar, raspy voice. Ammu.

Out of instinct, I said nothing, though I was inevitably surprised. He kidnapped me. My uncle fucking abducted me off the street like a teenage thug. What the fuck.

"Don't act mute now, pesar." (Son)

The fabric was roughly torn from my head, jerking my head forward. I blinked against the harsh fluorescent beam beaming down from the ceiling until my vision gradually adjusted. The dark gray canvas material of his pants and tunic filled my view.

Despite the abundant anger pumping through me, dread twisted in my gut. The moment I had been dreading for months had arrived. Since the day he called my office, declaring his awareness of my location and war on my position, I knew this day would come. A reckoning, one could say. It wasn't going to be pretty.

"Look at me."

I clench my jaw, anger and defiance coursing through me. "Why the fuck am I here, Ammu?"

"LOOK AT ME!" he demanded like a petulant child.

When I still refused, pain erupted on the left side of my face, my head cocking to the side from the force of his slap. The taste of copper coated my tongue. I spit out a wad of blood onto the bland concrete floor. He grabbed my face on either side of my mouth, forcing my face upward.

Shrewd, empty black eyes glowered down at me. That glare of terror might work on some, but I wasn't fazed. There was nothing this man could do to me that my own father hadn't or that I hadn't done to someone else.

"You are even more despicable than when you were a child," he grumbled. "Never been obedient a day in your life."

I held his gaze unwaveringly. "Why am I here? Do not make me repeat myself, Uncle."

One dark, wiry brow arched before he released me and stepped backward, bellowing out a laugh. "Making demands! You must be stupider than I thought. You are the one tied up, last I checked."

"Control is an illusion. You are on my ground, don't forget."

He smirked, the wrinkles in his leathery tan flesh deepening. "So arrogant. Just like your father."

Fury sparked in my chest. The way his dead eyes lit up, he knew he struck gold. Curses pulsed in my breath but I fought to control my head. We were supposed to be family, allies, but he was nothing more to me now than any other enemy. For that, he would never get what he wanted from me, not even in death.