Fated To The Enemy

Chapter 4

Every second dragged, and every second screamed at me that I was trapped. My arms ached. My wrists throbbed from the silver burning into my skin. The pain never dulled, not even for a second. But I was okay with that. I could feel it under my skin, in my veins; it was a reminder that I was still alive.

I’d stopped testing the restraints hours ago. They were solid silver and unyielding. Whoever made these knew exactly what they were doing; they’d planned ahead. But what they didn’t know was that I was strong, stubborn, and dangerous. This would not break me. It would just piss me off.

A guard came around; he was younger than the rest. His eyes were sharp, his face was filled with disdain. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t fumble. Just looked upon me, as if disgusted. He stopped in front of me and looked me over like something he’d scraped off his boot.

I lifted my head anyway, and met his gaze. I refused to shrink.

I met his glare with one of my own, a smirk plastered on my face, because fear wasn’t on my menu.

He spat at me. I let it fall where it landed. He waited for a reaction. Any reaction.

I gave him nothing.

As the thick mucus slid down my cheek, I didn’t flinch.

He was gonna pay for that. Not now. Not here. But one day, when he least expected it, when he felt safe enough to be careless. I would remember this moment, and I would make him regret ever drawing breath in my presence.

“Vile creature,” he sneered. “You should be dead already. I should kill you right now.”

I smirked at him, staring right through him, already imagining all the ways I’d make him pay for this.

“If I wasn’t tied down,” I said, tilting my head, “you’d be crying like a little b***h right now.”

His expression twisted, rage consumed him. Before I could blink, his fist slammed into my mouth. Hard. My teeth clashed, and my head snapped back against the wall. Pain exploded across my jaw. I tasted blood instantly, as it flooded my mouth.

He leaned in closer. “Say it again.”

I didn’t.

Instead, I spat the blood out from my mouth and it splattered across his cheek, his lips, and his clothes.

For a second, he looked stunned, and then he was furious.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he hissed, as his baton came down. He struck my ribs first. The white-hot searing pain ripped the breath from my lungs. Then again, he struck my thigh, then my shoulder, and my back.

I bit down hard, refusing to make a sound. Every strike burned, every nerve on fire, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Cry,” he demanded, voice shaking now. “Beg me to stop.”

I started to laugh. I was breathless and broken, but I would never cry or beg.

My defiance appeared to enrage him further, as he raised the baton again. I braced myself for impact.

But he never brought it down. I heard a sharp crack, then I watched in satisfaction as he collapsed at my feet.

I let out a shaky breath, my vision was blurred, and I was feeling barely conscious at this point.

He stood there staring at me, with one hand hanging loose at his side, as if snapping a man’s neck was nothing to him.

His gaze flickered to the body before him, and then to me. His face was void of emotion.

“Remove him,” he said calmly. Then two figures appeared immediately, dragging the corpse away.

He crouched near me, assessing me. “From this moment on,” he called out, “no one touches her.”

His eyes traced the damage, my split lip, the swelling along my cheekbone, the blood smeared down my chin, my wrists trembling under silver.

“Our objective,” he continued, “is to deliver the package intact. Undamaged.”

Package. Not a girl. Not a person. But a f*****g package.

He reached up and pressed lightly against my lip. Pain flared at the touch, but something felt strange about his touch.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” he said.

“I haven’t even got started,” I shot back, gritting my teeth.

He didn’t reply; he just watched me. Something flickered in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher, but I was too sore to linger on it.

“Prep her for transport,” he said, as two of his men walked towards me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

He didn’t look at me. “Somewhere,” he said, “Somewhere, you’ll be worth a great deal.”

Two sets of rough hands yanked at me, one man freeing my legs from the bindings that secured me to the floor. The silver cuffs dug in even more this time. I wouldn’t let them see the pain.

They walked me down a narrow corridor that smelled like petrol and dust, the floor seeming to vibrate faintly under my bare feet. When they stopped, I saw it.

A shipping container. It was empty, made of steel, the industrial type, the kind used for freight. For cargo.

I let out a defiant laugh. “Oh, hell no,” I said. “I’m not getting in that.”

One of the guards shoved my shoulder. “Move.”

I twisted just enough to glare at him. “Touch me again, and I swear—”

I didn’t even finish the threat, as a sharp sting hit the side of my neck.

Fuck.

My hand flew up too late, my fingers brushing plastic before my strength drained out of me. The world tilted violently. My knees buckled.

“No—” I tried to say, but my tongue felt numb.

Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground. My vision blurred. I tried to fight it, desperately clawing for consciousness.

As they lifted me, the last thing I registered was cold metal beneath my body and the sickening certainty that I was in trouble.

Then everything went black.