Hostage

Hostage - Chapter 3

Stefan's POV

"You're a bastard!" I let out a groan as a wave of pain floods my body. I slowly lift my head, a wave of pain washes over me. I immediately feel lightheaded and I begin to regret my decision. Through the pain, I stare at the person in front of me, trying to make out his features. Unfortunately, I can only see the shadow that hangs over his face like a mask. He reaches out and tugs back the hair that had fallen over my face, using a steel grip on it. I lean my head back obediently in the direction he's tugging. I stare at him, watching as he leans into the light.

The brightness of the light burned my eyes, but I will myself to keep it open. With the closeness, a small stream of light begins to descend over his face, making it easier to make out his features. He has gray-dyed hair that was slicked back. It perhaps would've been neatly if he hadn't spent the last few minutes using me as a punching bag. His eyes contrasted his hair, they're darker than the shadows that linger in the edges of the room, but they hold an intensity that doesn't fit well with the amusement they hold. While most of his features looked undamaged, the bridge of his nose was a different story.

He stares at me, his eyes survey my face. "Has anyone told you that you've been a bad boy? You need to learn a lesson." With that, he swings again, hitting me in the face repeatedly.

I let out a coughing fit, accompanied by tears, "P-Please," I began, tears flowing freely down my face, "S-Stop!" Deep down, I know it won't do me any good, it never has and possibly never will.

He lets out a loud booming laugh, "You think you can tell me what to do?" Unexpectedly, he releases his steel grip on my hair and he grabs my shoulder harshly, "You don't tell me what to do, ever, got it?" He smirks at me and shoves me backwards. I watch as he begins to fade from my limited view point and I hold my breath. Crashing onto the ground, I let out the breath and breathe heavily. My back ached from the fall but I keep my mouth shut.

I let out a groan of pain and let my head roll to the side of the chair. He steps over me, towering over me as if he were a God. He smirks, a delighted look filled his eyes. "Set him back up, we're not done yet." I lean back, willing myself not to cry. He grabs a paper towel and begin to wipe down his bloody, bruised knuckles. His dark eyes stare straight through me, willing me to try to make a remark.

I cower, trying to avoid his attention. He gives me a satisfied look and looks over his shoulders, "That's how it's done."

Subconsciously, I turn my gaze to him. He meets my gaze and gave me a disgusted sneer. "What? Haven't had enough for a day? What are you? A masochist?"

Someone laughs, drawing himself attention, "Please. As if he knows what mas-uh-chist even means."

"It doesn't seem like you know either." He fixes him a steely gaze, and turns around to face the others. "Do you know when that girl is supposed to come in?"

"No, Minx and Philips are suppose to bring her in. Who even is the girl?"

I look around at the shadows, and slowly, I begin, "W-What girl?"

The guy in front of me turns around, shocked, "He knows how to speak!" He grins mischievously, "Don't worry. You won't be the only one that receives the fun anymore." I stare at him, unable to comprehend what he means. I lean back on the chair and try to settle in it as best as I can. Despite the beating had stopped, the pain still lingers.

"Should we take him to his room?"

As if on cue, loud and heavy footsteps echo throughout the room. "Yes, take him to his room. Get this room ready for the girl." A man says, his voice deep and commanding. Unlike the others, his voice rings with an accent, perhaps British. The room is silent at his voice, no one dares to speak. He clears his throat, "Make sure he can't see any of the other rooms, got it?"

"Yes, Mr. Rem." Someone says, their voice scared and stern.

"Don't call me by my name." The man, Mr. Rem, immediately says.

"Yes, sir."

I watch as a familiar figure approaches me, holding a piece of cloth in his hands. I lean back on my chair and wait patiently as he works to put the cloth over my eyes. The guy works diligently to tie on the cloth. After he's done, he begins to untie the rope that stings my hand, the rope that binds my hands. I let out a sigh of relief as I feel the rope falling from my wrist.

Rough hands grip my shoulders and hoist me to my feet. The unexpected motion makes me fall, causing the others to snicker. "He's a little weakling," Someone mutters humorously.

"It's not funny," I say to myself, forcing myself to get to my feet. I begin leaning in the guidance of the guards, swaying.

I hear various clicking noises and try to brace myself as they shove me forward. I put my hands in front of me and it hits a hard surface, making me collapse. I let out a pained noise and turn on my back. I slowly reach up and pull the cloth off. My eyes take a few minutes to adjust to the lighting of the room. I look around, surveying the room.

The room was mostly empty, it had brick walls, what seemed like concrete floors, a prison-like bed, and a wooden bedside table. Fortunately, there was a meal tray that sat patiently on the bedside table, waiting for me to devour. I force myself to get up and make my way over to it. The tray consisted of a water bottle, a few pieces of potato chips, and half of a sandwich with bacon, lettuce, and tomato.

I begin to devour the sandwich, thankful that I received a meal. I take one last bite of the sandwich and fight back the tears and begin to eat the trifle amount of potato chips that had been provided. I slowly and carefully bring the water bottle to my lips and begin to drink it slowly, savoring ever moment. I know I will regret this later but I continue.

I slowly and carefully put down the bottle, saving half for later. I lean back against the stiff bed, as thankful as I can be. I close my eyes, trying to get any amount of sleep I can.

A shrill scream pierces the air, forcing me to open my eyes. I get up, leaning against the wall, using it as support. I watch as they drag a girl in. She seemed to be shorter than me. Though most of her features were covered, I was able to notice her cinnamon brown hair, and delicate angelic features. It almost seemed impossible that the scream belonged to her.

A man appears before me, glaring at me, "Nothin' to see here, kid. If you want your meals and comfort then you best stop starin' got it?" I stare at his intimidating gaze but he reaches out and shoves me back. I stumble back and fall, landing on the hard ground. He snickers and turns away.

I continue to watch curiously as they shove the girl into the cell. "Stop! Let me go! You don't know who you're messing with!" She screams repeatedly.

A man laughs, "Oh, Darlin' we know who we're messing with. The only one that ain't have a clue is you. You best shut your pretty mouth if you want your meals. We don't have to give it to you."

The girl gives him a sneer but doesn't remark. I watch as they give her one last shove before slamming her cell door shut.

"She's a tough one, ain't she?"

"Sure is, we're going to have plenty of fun. Lets go report this to the boss."

I stare at the girls cell, waiting for her to say anything. The girl stares at me curiously, she begins inching closer to the cell door. I watch as her eyes widen, confusion at first, and then horror.

She opens her mouth, gaping, she says in a low whisper voice, "Stefan."