Fury

3

3

The room they led her to was converted into what looked like the set of a movie, something she imagined a porn set would look like, not that she’d spent a lot of time imagining one. Angela couldn’t see any other furniture in the room other than the bed, the camera and a lot of high-powered lights in the otherwise empty room. She assumed this had once been the lounge.

Men were waiting around the room. One wore a balaclava and a leather outfit that belonged in a bad sadomasochism porno, the sort she’d caught her father watching once. He’d been incredibly embarrassed, and she’d never been able to look at him quite the same way. Knowing her father was into bondage was a little weird, and provoked some unwelcome questions about her parents’ s*x life.

Then she saw the knives next to the bed and realised what they had planned for her. It wasn’t going to be a simple r**e and murder. She’d heard about snuff films but had always thought they were just an urban legend. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream for them to let her go as they pushed her into the room, but she bit her tongue and walked toward the bed on her own, in silence.

Handcuffs dangled from the brass headboard as well as from the base. Her worst nightmare was becoming a reality. She fought the fear growing inside her. She had to keep her wits about her. The only thing she had control over was how she reacted to the situation.

One of the men held her wrists behind her back. She tried to pull away and twisted around to face him. Saliva exploded out of her mouth before she knew what she was doing, and hit him squarely in his eye.

“f**k you,” she said in a low voice.

He smiled, and the man in the suit laughed.

“Well done Andre,” he said. “You actually did something right for a change. She’s perfect.”

She regretted spitting. It wasn’t ladylike, and not the way she’d been raised. It also wasn’t the way she wanted to spend her last few moments on earth. She wanted to die with some semblance of dignity, and spitting was not dignified. At least she’d expressed her defiance in a way they could understand. It was a small consolation but did nothing to change her fate.

Andre stood in the corner of the room. He seemed smaller than he had a few moments earlier.

As she stared at him, he tried to slink out of the room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man in the suit asked without taking his eyes off Angela.

“I did what you wanted,” Andre said examining his shoes. “My debt is paid.”

“Your debt is paid when I say it is,” the man said, turned around and faced Andre. “You’re not going anywhere.” He nodded at one of the other men standing in the room. A chair appeared next to Andre, and he was pushed down onto the seat. One of the men took up a position beside him.

“And I say your debt is not paid,” the man in the expensive suit said.

“But David,” Andre whined. “We had a deal.” His voice sounded as though it was about to crack. “I brought you a girl, and you promised to clear my debt. That was the deal. Her life for mine.”

“That’s Mister Moore to you, and I don’t make deals with junkies,” David Moore said and turned his attention back to Angela.

He nodded.

“Action,” the man behind the camera shouted.

The man in the balaclava slapped her hard. It made her teeth rattle in her jaw. She hadn’t expected it to hurt that much. Blooded trickled down her lip into her mouth. It tasted salty and metallic. It was only the beginning. She would taste a lot more of her own blood before the end.

After the blow to her jaw, everything seemed to be happening to someone else.

It didn’t feel as though it was her they were throwing onto the bed.

Angela watched herself from a distance as they handcuffed her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. She heard the tearing of the material as they ripped her new dress off. She’d spent all her waitressing tips for the week on it. The room was cold. Goosebumps peppered her skin.

Andre sat in the corner of the room looking sorry for himself. David stood next to him and played with his pistol. She could see tears running down Andre’s face, but she doubted they were for her. She didn’t really care. He would one day get what he deserved. They all would. It was just a pity she wouldn’t live to see it happen.

The man in the balaclava fondled the selection of knives on the tray next to her. There were all sorts of painful looking instruments, which were there for her benefit. With the realisation of the pain that was ahead of her came a sudden and welcome blackness as she fainted.