Nemesis
1407 Words
Breanne is swimming in darkness and when she slowly opens her eyes, she sees more darkness.
She grapples around for something, anything, so she can feel safe.
The darkness is chilly. It's as if she's in the midst of people, all plotting to kill her.
She can hear her heartbeat thudding.
“Help!” She screams. “Somebody, please help me. I have been kidn*pped!”
She hears the deep groan of a rusty iron door opening.
She shoots back, afraid and unwilling to see him again.
“You slept for a really long time. I thought you had died.” Someone says.
The voice of a different man.
She hears a click and the lights come on.
The man carries a tray of food and assorted drinks. He is tall and lanky and has viking locs. If not for the modern clothes, he can pass off as a viking ancestor.
Breanne takes a look around. The room is empty, save the air mattress that is close to the wall where the hook of a chain sits. She follows the metal until she sees it's strapped on her ankle.
How did he… When did he….
“The Boss said you must eat something. You're too thin. I feel pity for you even.”
She grabs the chain, “get me out of here.”
He shrugs. “That won't be easy. You're already a property of Asher Thorne. Don't cause a scene.”
Breanne grits her teeth. “Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.”
He ignores her and gently drops the tray of food before her scrutiny. His auburn hair is tied to a messy bun. He has soft features, almost too feminine but his deep voice betrays his gender. He purses his lips and says quietly. “Lady. You're not getting out of Asher’s grasp that easy. That he bought you meant he actually took a liking at you. You're not his first woman, though. You are just a temporary replacement to satisfy his need. You'll soon be done. You'll soon be free from him. You'll just have to endure whatever's coming.”
“I’ll never be his plaything,” Breanne swears.
He laughs. “Do you have a choice? Your father who sold you to him, had his finger severed. Asher Thorne really outdid himself.” He laughs again, throwing his head back.
“Is it funny? Is causing people suffering funny to you? Why don't you take places with those people you've trampled on? Maybe, you'd be straight.”
“You’re quite feisty, aren't ya? You're so his type.” He pushed the tray until it pokes her leg. “Eat something, would you? At least, when he looks at you, he'd know he chose well. Be done with this so you—”
She flings the tray off of her sight. The food spills and the iron tray whizzes past him, the sharp air fluttering with his hair. The tray smacks against the wall opposite, close to the door, spilling food all the way.
He lets out a shaky breath and looks at the mess she's caused with wide eyes. He looks back at Breanne as if to ask:
Girl, what the f**k did you just do?
“I’m not interested in food prepared by gangsters.”
“Okay then.” He stands, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. His face is cold and devoid of any leftover warmth because she is starting to get on his nerves now. “Be ready to starve.”
“I want Asher Thorne here. I want to know what's so special about me that he f*****g kidn*pped me.”
“He’s too busy to worry about you or your tantrums.” He says. “With that attitude of yours, if you're not careful enough, you might just end up as his punching bag. Asher Thorne is not a patient man.” He leaves, shutting the door behind him. The iron door sighs again. He must have forgotten about the light.
Breanne screams on top of her lungs. “Help!” Then she breaks down and cries, muttering. “I don't care about him. I don't care if he wasn't loved by Mommy or daddy. Just… just let me go. Please.”
………………………
Outside the casino building, Badmon and his colleague toss an unconscious Casper out in the streets, his right forefinger severed and leaking blood. He had passed out from the pain and fright, sleeping soundly on the pavement they left him on.
The two henchmen leave him there to his fate.
Badmon and Sam Lee return to Asher who is cleaning Casper's deformed finger with a tissue. The severed finger still leaks blood. Asher cleans it with a smile like he is tending his work of art.
The woman who had been with him in his office watches him with excitement as if the gory part doesn't matter.
“Lee.”
“Some things in the business are blocking it from running smoothly. There is too much competition lately. Everyone wants to be a mobster and they create random groups with laughable names…” Asher keeps the clean finger in a small transparent box and goes to his drawer, tossing it in and locking it close. “And expect to be feared and respected. Like this gang. Should I even call them one? Young, vulnerable, irrational and unpredictable. They're poking into my plans, trying to swipe in and grab the bigger pie.”
“Yes. Has any gang been giving you any trouble lately?” Badmon asks.
“I give trouble. No one troubles me. They'll die trying.”
Badmon shuts his mouth.
“For example, I get calls that they are bothering my crew in the dark mountains mine?”
Sam Lee replies. “Noah is there. He should be able to solve this problem by now, sir.”
“Call the bastard in charge of the crew.”
“Of course, Boss.” Sam Lee takes out his phone and places it on his ear, the dial tone resounding.
Asher sits behind his desk, flipping through paperwork.
The one he is currently on has the name of a gang in bold print.
Red Eagles.
His nemesis.
With the leader only about 22 years of age. On another page, a grainy photograph of him, selling hard substances to awkward, unsuspecting people before he became the boss of Red Eagle's gang.
A laughable name.
Those gangs are the small-time gangs.
Not mine.
“Don’t worry about those ants, Asher. You'll crush them like you've crushed others. They are way beneath you.” The woman he's been with flatters him, her hand finding his broad shoulders, trailing his neck.
Asher ignores her and she bites her lower lip, feeling wronged.
“Badmon. Check on the little girl, would you?”
“Yes, Boss.”
Badmon heads down to the basement where Asher had turned to his little prison ground for people who deserved it.
The occasional wails of the people begging for mercy fills his ears.
The smell of rotting flesh fills his nose.
Badmon finds comfort in the looming darkness.
At the hallway, he meets the feminine guy who was ordered to watch Breanne.
He is sitting by the bench, close to her confinement and is on his phone. He raises his head from his phone as soon as Badmon arrives. “Are you checking on the girl?
“Mmh.”
“Be careful,” he says when Badmon reaches for the doorjamb. “She’s quite feisty. Threw the food to the wall. Called the Boss a lowlife gangster. She looks down on us.”
Badmon chuckles. “Is that all?”
“If she continues staying here, isn't that enough to make her…” He makes a circular motion to his head with his forefinger.
“That b***h doesn't know her place here.”
“Help me keep her company. I'll be in the toilet for a while. Saw a hot lady up in the casino today and she's been checking me out. I'm going to shoot my shot.”
He leaves.
Badmon eyes the door. He pushes through and enters the room.
Acting on instinct, he dodges the attack. The tray whizzes past him and crashes to the wall outside behind him.
He blinks twice. Thrice. Then his teeth grind together, a murderous intent emanating from him.
“You stupid bitch.”
- Writer
