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After a beat he gestures to the door with anafter youmotion, and I decide I’d rather walk out of here on my own than risk being hit and dragged like my ex.
The second captor falls into step behind me, and we make a procession along the hallway to the stairs I was taken up before. This time there’s two chairs in the room, facing each other but a good twelve feet apart. Jamie is dragged to one and tied down, and I quickly take the other without being asked.
No one straps me down and the two masked men leave.
Across from me, Jamie sits slumped in a chair, his face battered and bruised. Even in this dim light, I can see the pain etched into the lines of his features. The man I once shared my home with, now a broken shell of himself. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, but he’s the first to look away. Does he regret what he said downstairs? The way he treated me before? Does he know why we’re both here? Who has he pissed off now?
The door creaks open, and three new figures step into the room. Their footsteps echo ominously, punctuating the silence that hangs between us. They’re wearing smart shoes and suits.Somehow their attire is even more terrifying than the bulk of the men who brought us up here.
My ex-boyfriend’s gaze drops to the floor, his shoulders slumping further. I want to call out to him, but my voice catches in my throat. What would I even say? No words of comfort, that’s for sure. But Jamie clearly knows these guys, and he knows that he’s fucked up.
One of the shadowy figures emerges from the darkness, revealing a handsome face that’s been hardened by cruelty. He wears a twisted smile that sends a shiver down my spine. From my time on the streets, I recognise him as the leader of this ruthless operation, the orchestrator of my current nightmare. He’s clearly the boss.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he sneers, his voice a venomous hiss. His eyes lock onto mine, and the weight of his gaze intensifies the sense of vulnerability that clings to me. “Little miss, you’re going to want to pay attention. Watch closely. Did you know that your boyfriend here owes us an awful lot of money?”
“Ex,” I mutter.
“Excuse me?” It’s a threat, not a question.
I clench my jaw, trying to summon the courage to meet his gaze defiantly. I refuse to let him see the fear that courses through my veins.
“I said he’s my ex. I have – and want – nothing to do with him.”
One of the other figures, silent and foreboding, steps forward, brandishing an array of ominous tools. My heart quickens as he methodically lays them out on a metal table nearby.
The room seems to close in with the threat of impending brutality as my breath comes in snatches.
“My apologies, Miss Candy Grace Canse.” He dips his head to me in a terrifying show of gentlemanly behaviour, and I hate that he knows my full name. It makes me wonder what else he knows – a lot, obviously, judging by the way I was snatched at work. “You see, sweetheart,” the leader continues, circling us both like a vulture preparing to feast, “We’re not unreasonable people. We’re just looking for what we’re owed.”
Jamie remains silent, and I clench my fists, my helplessness echoing in the silence but also fuelling my anger. Why won’t he speak up? Insist I have nothing to do with whatever this is? He should be demanding or pleading for my freedom, and yet he says nothing.
“What does he owe?”
“Money. A lot of money. The sort of money a girl like you could make in a month or two at that little club of yours.”
“I’m a holiday temp,” I grind out, not liking where this is going.
“Oh, we know. Don’t you worry, Miss Gracie. We won’t be taking your money from you.”
His words do not fill me with relief. If anything, I’m more terrified. I don’t want them to hurt me, and Jamie clearly doesn’t give a shit if they do – so long as they’re leaving him alone.
The shadowy figure picks up a tool, its glint catching the harsh light. He approaches my ex-boyfriend, the air thick with the threat of impending violence.
He strikes and I scream, causing the three men to laugh. Jamie groans, but otherwise doesn’t react. Again and again they beat, stab and burn him – the acrid stench of cooking flesh traumatising me. Every lash makes me jump and jolt and flinch. Terrified whimpers slip from my lips, but I harden my resolve when Jamie starts begging them to leave him alone – and hurt me instead.
I’m half tempted to get up out of my chair and finish him myself for that – though of course I do no such thing.
The room becomes a macabre theatre, and I, an unwilling spectator, am forced to watch the painful unravelling of someone I once cared about. Someone who I thought once cared about me. But no. Apparently, it’s every man and woman for themselves.
I’ll remember that the next time I share what little water they give me with a broken and beaten down man.
As the next scream pierces the air, a surge of nausea rises within me. I close my eyes briefly, attempting to shield myself from the brutality unfolding before me. But the sounds, the guttural pleas for mercy, infiltrate my senses, etching themselves into the recesses of my consciousness. Until all I can do is pray for the end.
I’m not sure if I mean his end or mine…
FROST
Fuck this waiting game shit. I need to get out of here again. The sterile walls of the hospital room are closing in, the antiseptic scent making my head spin. Dash is still in recovery, Candy is still missing, and I can’t stand the feeling of helplessness.
