Belladonna (Tom Holland)

Twelve

The first thing I saw when I came to was the scar on my leg. It had been healed for a while now, but it was red and angry, as if it depicted my emotions. My hands were bound behind me and the feeling of familiarity rushed over. In a short amount of time I had been kidnapped twice, but I had a feeling this was the last time it was going to happen.

I gathered my surroundings and noticed I was in the motel I checked into after Wonderland. I was in a mahogany chair that had come with a matching desk, and I sat in front of the bed. Sitting on the bed was Lorenzo and Kieran; Lorenzo had stitches on his face and it looked grotesque. Kieran had a few bruises on his face, but overall he seemed to have been more fortunate. In his hand was a Bowie knife, and out of habit my breath quickened. I didn't want another scar on my leg, I could barely walk normally as is.

"Morning, sunshine," Lorenzo said, grimacing as he moved his mouth. The stitches must have affected his speech, or maybe he was displeased to have me in his sights, "It's been a while, hasn't it?" "Fuck off, Lorenzo," I mumbled, "It's the afternoon." Lorenzo said nothing, instead he unlocked his phone and showed me the date and time. It was morning; I had been unconscious for a whole day. "Now that we've got that settled, let's talk," Lorenzon composed himself, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a gun. It was like a tiny militia had kidnapped me. "What the fuck were you doing dancing with Tom Holland?" he took the safety off and aimed it at me.

He was still playing dumb. He wanted me to snitch myself out, he wanted everything out in the open. From behind the barrel of the gun, I could see the desperation in his eyes; he yearned to explain his murderous plans to me, how he longed to kill me for six years. Kieran had no idea of Lorenzo's plans, he was just here on business. It made me wonder why he was here rather than Jacob. I had more of an emotional tie toward Jacob if he wanted me to confess; Kieran just wanted to fuck me.

"Tom...Lorenzo what kind of drugs are you on?" I sputtered, "And what are we? In middle school? 'Did you dance with Tom Holland?'" I mocked him towards the end of my sentence. Lorenzo aimed the gun away from me and shot the mirror, the sound of barrel so close to my ear was deafening. My ears rang for what seemed like forever, and I wanted to curl up in a ball on my sofa and cry. "You're not careful," Lorenzo said calmly, "You two were practically fucking on dancefloor from what I can see." He was lying. Lorenzo was in the backroom when Tom snuck in and we danced. I glanced at Kieran and he was avoiding my eyes. It was subtle, he was looking at my hairline rather than me. It was obvious that he was the one who told Lorenzo, we spoke right before I went to dance.

"Lorenzo, it was dark," I laughed nervously, "I never know who I dance with. It's a nightclub, it's about you not who's trying to fuck you." I moved my wrists and felt the burning itch of the rope. Much to my dismay, my anxiety was overpowering my thought process and I forced myself to breathe deeply to prevent myself from hyperventilating. Lorenzo would that fear to his advantage and I couldn't let him have any more power over me. Suddenly, I wished that I had Tom's phone to call him, but even if I did call, would he answer? I burnt my bridges, quite aggressively might I say. If I had stayed under his control, would I have a guarantee of safety, or would I still have my hands tied behind my back? Was I ever safe to begin with? The more I analyzed the past few years of my life, I noticed that I was a pawn. Lorenzo used my family and I to initiate a war between mafias, and Tom did the very same thing. Neither of them really loved me, they loved controlling me.

"You know what's funny?" Lorenzo then grinned in a devious manner, "After your rendezvous with this 'stranger', Tom Holland and Harrison Osterfield both magically appeared out of nowhere and shot up the club. What do you think about that?" "I think it's tragic," I said, "But it doesn't have anything to do with me."

Lorenzo stood straight up and shot another bullet, this time into the ceiling. He then aimed the gun back at me, a vein popping from his forehead. "You know damn well it has everything to do about you!" he roared, "For the past six years it's been you! I should've just killed you when you got into my car! Would've made everything so much easier than this shit! Now half my men are dead and you're still fucking here!"