Chapter 4: Masked
1173 Words
Luka.
The smell of blood woke me up.
I fluttered my eyes open and assessed my situation.
I was in a room, with iron bars for doors.
It was dimly lit by a headlamp flickering, barely holding out and my hands were chained securely above my head while my legs were chained to the ground.
Okay.
I took a deep breath of air mixed with the stench of stale blood, trying to clear my head and figure out a plan.
The earpiece in my ear was gone, my coat was gone, and I was only in my shirt and pants.
I wondered if the teargas cufflinks were still intact. I doubt.
Great. Just great.
How do I get out of here now?
The events of before now, came flooding to my head.
I gritted my teeth.
To think I would become the victim so easily…
A set of footsteps made me snap my head towards the direction.
Tap tap tap.
With narrowed eyes, I waited until the gates were pulled open and the masked man stepped in.
Of course, he still had his mask on. He must feel like a god right now.
He made himself comfortable on a chair, crossing his legs, staring at me with a small smile.
“Is this how you planned on killing me?” He asked.
I scoffed and pulled at the chains on my wrists.
“If I wanted you dead, you would be,” I told him.
“I see. Yet you are the one in chains.” I rolled my eyes at his witty remark.
“Ever heard of the word ‘blindsided’?”
“People like us don't get blindsided, or rather me, since you are basically bad at what you do.”
I sucked in a breath and yanked at the chains.
“Get it over with.” I forced through gritted teeth.
“Get what?”
“Why am I here?” I threw a question back at him.
“Because I want you to,” he shrugged, arms crossed.
Why was I conversing with this nincompoop?
I regretted following orders.
I should have sent a blade down his throat when I tackled him at the parking lot.
“Aren't you afraid?” he asked, “I can…” he made a click sound, tongue and teeth, thumb drawn across his neck “...you and no one will do s**t about it.”
Ooh, I'm scared.
“Go ahead,” I said with a small smile. Finally some action.
Fear was an emotion I couldn't fully process. I thought I feared the impersonator; meanwhile, I just hated him. So there was no way I was going to fear someone who wouldn't even show his face to me.
Someone whose lineage I would eradicate no matter what.
He slowly stood up from his chair and took calculated steps towards me.
I observed his movements like a hawk, until he was a few inches away from me.
Yes! Inches. Fucker didn't know anything about personal space.
“Get off my face,” I breathed out.
“I make the rules,” he said, his hands on my wrist, feeling for other weapons.
I wished he were closer, so I could bite his ear off.
Then he locked eyes with me. For the first time, the near darkness didn't stop me from seeing his eyes. He had intriguing heterochromia.
One was a dull shade of blue with gold splatters around the pupil and the other reminded me of a desert, then he looked away.
He tugged at the wiring connected to my back, yanking it off.
What in heaven's name is this fool doing?
I wriggled away from his touch but he forced me still.
He ripped my shirt open, took out the firearm tucked face down in my pants.
He unbuckled my belt and dropped it on the ground.
Then slowly bent down, looking at me with a glint in his overly coloured eyes.
Something I wished wasn't there.
He pulled up the hem of my pants and took out the knives tucked in there, tossing them away.
Seeing his position, I do what I have always wanted to, since I opened my eyes a few minutes ago.
I kicked him.
Square in the jaw.
Satisfied with the sound it made, and the way the mask flew out of his face.
From the way his face was, I could only see his sharp jawline before he picked up the mask, wearing it again.
I offered a smug smirk.
He didn't like that.
He flexed his jaw and calmly stood up from his kneeling position, tilted his head to the side, and spat a mouthful of blood.
I smirked.
Before I could rub it in his face, he landed a hard punch on my nose, forcing my head to tip backwards.
“You were the one touching,” I said in a mocking tone.
He snatched my jaw in his large hand and forced me to look him in the eyes.
“Do that again and I'll have your head guillotined,” he said with a low firm voice.
“Guillotined? What is this? The 18th century?” I teased further.
“We'll see about that,” he said, regaining his composure.
“For someone who's about to get killed, you are quite wordy.”
I stayed quiet at that. I couldn't die yet.
His father was still alive.
Clark should be typing away to rescue me. I should just stall my death a bit.
“How do you intend to do it?” I asked, “ I would like to know the method used for my death.”
He didn't reply; instead, his eyes landed on my hands that were no longer bandaged.
It seemed my wound healed quickly this time.
“ I see why you get hurt. It's a surprise you aren't dead yet.”
I didn't break eye contact.
“So, what's your reason for trying to abduct me? Because I'm well aware you weren't planning to kill me yet. ” He asked.
“Figure it out, dickhead.”
“Oh…the Morecant Fleet”
I raised a brow at him, watching him stroke his chin.
“That was a week ago,” he smirked and crossed his arms as he took a step back.
My eyes widened.
A week ago?
How long had I been here?
Three days?
What about Clark? Aaron?
Also, the lightness in my eyes made me realizehad has already taken off my contacts. Why then did he leave me geared until now?
To see my expression when he stripped me of my protection?
“I see you finally understand your situation,” he nodded like his experiment was finally showing progress.
“It would have been a real pain in the ass if you were more daft than I thought.”
“Let me go,” I said calmly.
“Your release is basically in your hands.” he started, “If you survive the game.”
- Writer
