Farfalla

3.) Ferite Sanguinanti

My eyelids weigh heavy with fatigue and sleep. As I regain consciousness I notice the soreness throughout my entire body.

Where the fùck am I?

I fully jolt awake and my highly trained skills kick in as I assess my surroundings.

Cream colored walls and gray curtains accent the ocean blue bed sheets- which are not mine- that I'm currently sprawled across. Judging from how the light is coming in from the window, I estimate that I have been unconscious for sixteen hours.

The soreness in my arm is from a pair of handcuffs around my left wrist attached to the wooden headboard.

How original.

As I reach for a bobby pin in my hair to pick the lock on the handcuffs, everything from the previous evening comes back to me.

The confusion. The adrenaline. The blood. Anndrei.

The only person in the world who meant something to me. Hot tears stain my cheeks and my throat begins to burn and close up.

No. Liliana Vasquez does not cry. I learned many years ago in basic training that an assassin never shows weakness.

I want to scream and avenge Drei's death swiftly, but that would go against everything that I have been taught.

With rage bubbling deep inside of my belly and spreading from there. I pick the lock with a finesse that only few can master and jump off the bed to my feet. My mind working double time to get me out of whatever the hell this place is.

I know who ever put me in here will be coming back for me soon. I reach for the dagger attached to my thigh to find that it's not there. I was wearing Anndrei's shirt when they attacked me and now I'm dressed in a loose tank top and yoga pants.

I swear if one of those men touched my body. A shiver runs down my spine and my throat fills with bile.

Using those thoughts to fuel my anger I search for a weapon.

Seems like they were smart enough to check me for weapons.

But they have no idea what I can do with a pair of handcuffs and a shítload of anger to back it up.

I rip the handcuffs from the wooden headboard and move behind the door. My heart rate is at 129 bpm so I breath slow and deep until I slow it down to 99 bpm then to 89 bpm.

As I press myself up against the wall I hear footsteps approaching. I grasp the pair of handcuffs in both hands, stretching the chain.

The door swings open and I make my move. A 6'5 man enters the room and all I see is the look of confusion on his face before I kick off of the door, closing it in the process, and jump onto his back.

I wrap the chain of the handcuffs around his neck and pull tight- strangling the bastard. His well-manicured hands fly up to the chain and a strangled groan escapes his lips.

He pulls on the chain hard. Jesus Christ this motherfùcker is strong. The muscles in his back tense and his sleek black hair stays in place. My legs come up to wrap around his waist from behind and that's when I feel it.

His gun tucked into his pants at the small of his back. I lean back with all of my weight, pulling tighter and at the last second I let go. As I land on my feet I grasp the pistol in my hand.

He drops the handcuffs and turns around to face me. His face is as red as my favorite thong and the veins in his forehead are protruding through his skin.

He has piercing coffee colored eyes and a 5 o'clock shadow on his defined jaw. I recognize him from last night as the leader of his little pack. This man looks like he was created by Adonis himself but he would look even better with a bullet through his skull.