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“Ah, there she is,” I hear someone muffle. Disoriented, I try sitting up. I try bringing my hand up to wipe some of the wetness from my face, but I feel weight and a tug on my wrists.
“What the fuck?” I mumble, looking down at my hands. Rusted metal cuffs are locked around my wrists, keeping them bound.
“Something wrong flower?” I hear a mumble again. Blinking rapidly, I look around to take in my surroundings. Damp, cold concrete walls, and floors surrounded me along with what looks to be cells. It’s dim and the airs stale and heavy.
Finally, my eyes focus. And when they do, they land on three dark figures in front of me. Everything comes crashing into my mind at once.
Isaiah.
The clubhouse.
Doll.
I glare up at Isaiah through my lashes, then I looked down and realize I’m only in a black tank top and panties.
“Had to check and make sure you didn’t have anything that could poke me, stick me or stab me,” Isaiah said as he drew closer, kneeling down in front of me.
‘Why?” is all that slipped past my lips.
“Hm,” Isaiah hums, putting his hand under his chin. He then sighs and says, “Because it’s time for my little brother to know what it feels like to lose everything he loves. It’s time he feels the pain flower,”
Tears gather in my eyes and my anger rises. “Whatever you lost, Isaiah is on you, not Issac.”
He breaks out in laughter, then stands up tall. “You see, it is on Issac-”
“How?!” I scream, glaring at him. His eyes darken and suddenly he’s in front of me. His hands wrap around my throat and picks me up off the floor, slamming me into the wall behind me, chain jingling as it follows over the floor.
He sighs. “Well, if you’d let me finish, I would tell you how. But now I think I’ll wait,”
I can feel my lungs slowly beg for air. His hands squeeze tighter and tighter as he glares at me. Finally, he let’s go, letting me slide down the wall to the floor. I take a deep breath and clear my throat.
Isaiah turns on his heels and starts walking away towards a door.
“For what?” I ask, my voice wheezy. He stops and looks over his shoulder.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re waiting. For what?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a smirk, then walks away.
Issac
Dirt and grass crunch under my feet as I walk through the gate of the graveyard. I stop in my tracks once I see a silhouette at the very back of the row of headstones. Taking a deep breath, I make my way towards them.
“I see you got my message,” Isaiah says as I approach him. The raven. He’s smoking a cigarette, staring down at our mother and father’s headstones. He takes another drag off his cigarette and grins. “Ravens are always drawn to the dead.”
My fists clench, turning my knuckles white. My anger begins to boil.
“I gotta give it to ya. That girl of yours? She’s strong,” he speaks again.
I lose it. I catch him off guard, grabbing his coat collar, driving my fist into his jaw. He stumbles backwards. He loses his footing and falls back against our parents’ headstone. Blood seeps from his bottom lip.
“You actually fucking hit me,” he says, wiping the blood from his lip. “She must really mean something to you, huh?” he says with a grin.
“Take me to her,” I hiss.
“Sure thing,” I hear someone say, then I hear the click of a gun come from behind me.
