The door screeched on decayed hinges, and the giant figure of Marco pressed into the frame, his shadow consuming the small amount of light that dared to creep into the room. His hands were hard and coarse and were used to violence all his life, and as he took me to the cold metal chair, his hands were grabbing my wrists and bruising them.
“Do not make this worse on yourself,” he growled and tied the roughly woven rope round my wrists round my ankles. All the knots were intentional, so tight that they bit into my flesh but slightly enough that I would only feel discomfort and not be able to break. “He will decide what to do to you. Not me."
When he was done he walked off, and looked round a little with a nod then left. The door closed behind with a soft click that echoed in the silence an
