Little Miss Mischief- A Damian Wayne x OC Fanfic- DISCONTINUED

8

WARNING: Possible triggers, Hazel being a sassy little brat

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HAZEL POV:

"Is this the b*tch that shot 'im? Dayum, she's a good pick, y'all. Eh, wake up. Wake your ass up!"

A hard smack to my face jolts me awake, the fuzziness of chloroform ebbing away from my veins as consciousness replaces it.

Immediately I come face to face with the most hideous man I've ever seen, and wish that I'd never been woken up.

"G'morning, sleepin' beauty. You a feisty one, ain'tcha? Can't tell right now, though, you pretty floppy right now, ain'tcha?" The man's thick Gotham accent comes clear as day as he grabs my face with his huge, gorilla sized hands. Inspecting me, he moves back, and that's when my senses all return.

It's a rather large room in what seems like a warehouse, old, grimy, abandoned, with rusty rafters criss crossing over one another above our heads. I'm sitting in a metal chair, my hands tightly tied to the back of it and my feet tied to the front two legs of it. My jacket was in shreds by my left side, and they clearly attempted to wrangle my skates off- the laces all messed up. 

Immediately my extra sense buzzes in the pit of my stomach as the man comes closer.

"Do ya know why you're here? You did this to yourself, sweetums." He grinned, his gross yellowed teeth  shining in the dim light. 

"Can ya stop smiling? You lookin' like Bugs Bunny with yo ugly ass." I spat, wriggling in my ties.

 "Aren't ya scared, sweetums? You a little lamb, alone, all tied up, weak- while we're the big bad wolves!"  He chuckles darkly. "And we gonna eat you up." His two buddies step out into the light, one of them with a bandage attached to his shoulder. 

Ah, the ugly one that snatched me, the one whose trunk I unfortunately memorized. I remember him. 

He had tried to wrangle me out of the trunk without drugging me (what an idiot), and I'd grabbed his holstered gun and tried to shoot him.

I had grazed his shoulder, because I'm not the best shot when I'm being wrestled out of a trunk by a man that had more chins than brain cells.

Analyzing the three idiots, I decide on the best way to settle this, staring through possible outcomes of this whole mumbo-jumbo.

Damian's sending Red Robin and his buddies here, I know it, all I need to do is stay unharmed till then.  One part of me starts reasoning, while the other part continues questioning everything else.

What about Ma? A part of me freaks out, and I calm it down.  She'll be fine, I just gotta worry bout me and how awesome my escape from this place'll be. Should I go super James Bond, or John Wick, or should I bedazzle these bastards by going Houdini?

I silently analyze the best way out of this alive, and my eyes flash over with blue for a millisecond as I call the tingly sensation to my hands, pressing my fingertips against the tight knot that bound my wrists together. Soft, invisible thrums of energy slowly seep into the rope with the same pattern as my heartbeat, destroying the fibers of the thick rope one by one. More thrums of energy slowly seep through my skin into the chair, weakening it bit by bit.

 They don't notice, too preoccupied with the prospect of having a new kid to traffick. Or enslave. I don't know, nor do I wanna know.

"Whatcha thinkin' bout, pretty girl?" The man-hippo I shot crouches in front of me, hatred painted all over his face. "Thinkin' bout how much it hurts to 'ave a bullet rippin' through ya should'r? Cause that's what I'm thinkin' bout-"