Prepared for worst
1048 Words
Zavi Covillie
As I sat in the dimly lit office, my gaze locked on the surveillance feed of Vanora.
My thoughts swirled like smoke from the cigar I hadn’t yet lit. She was nothing short of a storm.
A blend of defiance, fire, and a mouth that ran faster than reason. Fearless, as if she didn’t care about anything except clinging to her life.
And maybe, just maybe, she hated her father enough to find solace in the idea of his death.
Her eyes were green, sharp, and wild. Unnervingly familiar. They belonged to a memory I’d buried. To someone I had spent years trying to forget. The way she stared back at me on that screen, her boldness tinged with anger and desperation, was infuriating. Intoxicating.
Vanora wasn't like the women who typically orbited my world. Poised. Practiced. Obedient. She was raw and untamed. A puzzle that seemed far too much trouble to solve. Yet, here I was, considering her worth. She shouldn’t have mattered. And still, I couldn’t look away.
“Boss, why her?” Wallace’s voice cut through my thoughts. He stood by the desk, arms crossed, his skepticism evident.
I leaned back in my chair, keeping my expression neutral. “If she dies, she dies.”
He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then she’s worth it.” My words were deliberate. Weighted with finality.
Wallace gave a reluctant nod and turned to leave, but his doubt lingered in the air. I dismissed it, shifting my attention back to the screen. There she was, tied to a chair, fury etched into every line of her face.
She had no idea the battle she was fighting was already lost.
---
Vanora Campbell
Cold. Dark.
My wrists throbbed from the cuffs that was far from removed, but the ache in my pride was far worse.
That bastard had left me chained like a dog for hours. Without a shred of humanity. Sympathy? I hadn’t expected any from someone like him. A mob boss doesn’t operate with compassion. He deals in power. In control. And now, I was just another pawn on his board.
The fairy-tale dreams of my childhood felt like cruel jokes. My mother’s stories of princes and magic had been nothing but lies. Fantasies meant to shield me from the harsh truth of the world. Reality had come crashing down when she died, leaving me to fend for myself in a world that didn’t care whether I sank or swam.
And now, I was facing a nightmare. Stripped of any control over my life. About to be handed over to God knows what kind of monster. A small, bitter part of me wondered how I’d gotten here. Another part was too angry to care.
The door creaked open, and Wallace strode in. His smirk grated on my last nerve. “Told you, you’d screw up one day,” he sneered.
I glared at him. “If you’re not here to help, feel free to leave.”
To my surprise, the usual venom in his tone was absent. Instead, he uncuffed me without a word. Relief flooded my sore wrists, but it was short-lived. Without warning, he grabbed my shirt, yanking me to my feet.
“You won’t survive tonight,” he growled. His voice was low. Menacing.
My stomach dropped, but I didn’t let him see the fear clawing at my insides. I kept my mouth shut as he dragged me out of the room and into a gilded cage. A room so luxurious it felt like an insult to the circumstances.
“Get her ready,” Wallace barked, shoving me toward Jezebel.
I’d decided that was her name. Her caked-on makeup made her look worse than she already did. I wasn’t in the mood for her nonsense.
She was everything I hated. Overly made-up. Overly confident. Radiating disdain.
“Strip,” she snapped, already moving toward the bathroom.
I hesitated but knew there was no point in fighting. The towel she handed me offered little comfort as I stepped into the bath. The warm water did nothing to wash away the chill in my bones.
When I got out, Jezebel handed me lingerie. Black. Lacy. Humiliatingly transparent.
My fingers trembled as I slipped it on. Vulnerability seeped into every pore. Then came the niqab. A shroud that left only my eyes exposed. Turning me into a faceless figure.
“Sit down,” Jezebel demanded, holding up a brush. “I’ll do your makeup.”
“No.” The word left my lips before I could stop it.
She glared, unimpressed. “You think your attitude will get you anywhere? Sit. Now.”
I bit back my pride and sat, enduring her ministrations in silence.
As I sat in the room, surrounded by the mob boss's men, I knew that escape was impossible. They were huge. Intimidating. Their eyes fixed on me with an unnerving intensity. It was as if the mob boss had directed everyone's attention on me, and I couldn't understand why.
I'm just a simple girl. Not important enough to warrant such focus.
But as I looked at my reflection in the mirror after Jezebel finished her work, I gasped in surprise. Despite her own heavy-handed approach to makeup, she had done a surprisingly good job on me. The varied colors she had applied to my face had transformed me into a vision of loveliness.
For a moment, I felt like a delicate daisy. But the feeling was fleeting.
The mirror reflected a stranger. Someone striking. Haunting. Yet entirely detached from who I was.
This wasn’t me. It was an image crafted to please someone else.
When Wallace returned, he took one look at me before ordering, “Cover her.”
The veil went on, hiding everything but my eyes. As I followed him out, my heart pounded. The weight of the unknown pressed down on me.
All I wanted was one glimpse of him. The mob boss. I didn’t even know his name, but I needed to see him. Needed to remember the man who was about to seal my fate.
The car door slammed shut, and Wallace’s voice broke through the suffocating silence. “Brace yourself. What’s coming… you won’t forget.”
Neither would he.
- Writer
