Addicted z.m

Chapter 35

Zayn's POV

"Well well well," his unpleasing grin slowly came into focus.

"Where the hell is she?!" I tried to say. "What did you do?!" But I'm pretty sure I didn't form any coherent sentences.

I could hear him chuckle as he gripped onto my hair and pulled my head up, banging my head against the wall behind me.

"God, you talk too much," he grumbled.

I was still really groggy and weak from the drugs. "How..." I panted, "how did you find us?"

"I had a little help from a friend."

The room was slowly spinning and my eyes refused to focus on a single thing so I shut them tight, waiting for the nausea and wooziness to subside.

I should've known better than to close my eyes for even a split second while Michael was around. Just then a strong and painful blow to my stomach came out of nowhere, causing the Italian pastries and pasta I had earlier to crawl up from where they were perched in my stomach and dump themselves on the concrete ground in front of Michael.

He backed up just in time, but the sight and smell was just as horrendous as if it had landed all over you. My throat stung and a displeasing taste was left behind in my mouth.

"You bloody tosser!" he screamed at me. "Isaac, get this cleaned up!"

The small familiar body scurried away and came back with multiple different cleaning utensils: a mop, a bucket, powder that you pour of the floor before you vacuum, three rolls of paper towels, and a cart to lug this all in.

I was beginning to feel more alert and aware of my surroundings. A warehouse; ceilings so high, every footstep echoed. The place was huge and filled with junk and relics that probably haven't been touched in years: Dressers with broken mirrors, an old pick-up truck with shattered windows, a bunch of other dust covered crap.

But there was equipment that was extremely out of place with the setting. I realised then that my arms were up above my head accessorised with cuffs that were attatched to the wall.

I began laughing an unamused, sarcastic laugh. "I didn't think kinky was your style, Mike," I joked, not understanding why I was in such a playful mood. The drugs, I remembered. "You could've at least bought me dinner first."

"Oh, but I did," he played along. "Every weekend before your little bitch got in the way of that." With those words I was snapped back into reality. "It's a good thing she's been taken care of, isn't it?"

All laughter and positive attitude left my body and Michael only found this more amusing, causing his yellow grin to widen.

"But I see you've found a replacement to...keep you company in - oh what's her name again? - Marisole's absence," he pushed.

"You lay a fucking hand on her, I swear-"

"She's a stubborn one, I must say," he taunted. "But she is a very attractive lass. It's kind of hard to keep your hands to yourself around her. I can see why you finally caved."

"Please, just let her go," I begged. "You got me. Leave her out of this. She didn't play any part in this."

"But she's with you now," he rose his arms in suggestion. "And I've had nothing to really torture you with."

"Except the lives of my family," I reminded.

"And yet here we are."

"'Cause you're an asshole who doesn't know what it means to hold up your end of a de-" I was cut off by the pounding of his fist against my jaw. He'd been working out, 'cause my face never hurt this much from his punches. I could taste the blood in my mouth and I spit it out at his feet when I turned my head back to look at him.