Demons of Abyss - Retribution

Chapter 14

ELEA

I have no idea how much time has passed. All I know is, that I'm almost going crazy. I am a prisoner in ten square meters. Some of the bruises have faded. Levi, I guess, was here every day and brought me something to eat. At first, I didn't touch any of it because I was sure, they would drug me. When I didn't touch the plate for the third time in a row, Levi sat down smiling at me, grabbed the plate and ate half of it right in front of me. Then he put it in front of me and said, that he wouldn't be so stupid after all, give me the chain with an antidote and then drug me. I resisted for the first few seconds, but eventually the feeling of hunger was so enormous that I hesitantly reached for the plate. I don't know, who cooks the food and if someone doesn't leave his spit in it, but to my surprise it is really edible. Since that day, Levi always takes a bite before shoving the food under my nose. He also tends to my injuries every time. But he does not speak much. His smile hides sadness. Something is bothering him. I think I already have Stockholm Syndrome, because I kind of like Levi. I want to hate him, but every time he brings me food and takes care of my injuries, my hate fades.

Right now he is pulling the stitches on my ribs and on my eyebrow. It stings a little, but It's nowhere near as bad as the stitching itself. As usual the last few days, he's not very talkative. However, I am still freaking out here. If I hadn't been working out a little again for, I suspect, two days, I'd already be beating my head against the wall. Being locked up here is torture. Every tiny thought develops into the spawn of a hellish fantasy in this silence. The small worries become bigger and the sadness, which I could always repress, slowly penetrates to the surface. Here I clearly have too much time to think. I have to get out of here as quickly as possible. I've even tried to pick the lock with a barrette from my pocket, but other than the laughter of a man outside the door, it's done nothing. I was able to open the lock, but there must be some additional security in front of the door. A deadbolt or another lock on the outside. Anyway, I got really frustrated and let out an angry snort, which cost the guy in front of the door another laugh.

"I know you won't listen to me, but I'm going to say it anyway: you should take it easy for a little while longer."

He doesn't look at me at the words, instead focusing on the wound on my ribs. I eye him and notice that the rings around his eyes are even darker and his beard has grown even longer. His hair is tied behind his head as usual and his hands are in blue gloves as he uses small tweezers and scissors to remove the stitches. I shake my head.

"You know it doesn't matter. I'm going to die anyway."

Now I'm upset. I'm angry. Why don't they just kill me now, or do something? Anything. Anything is better than enduring the torture that any day now could be, and then it's not. Being locked in a room not knowing if it's day or night is torture enough. Every time, I dream of West leaving a wound in my face with a knife. Every time, he smiles this cold smile. And I really want to hate Levi, I could fight him, maybe I'd be able to throw a few punches, but my injuries still limit me. The way I see Levi, he's in good shape and I would fail. But the real reason I don't fight Levi is, because I like him.

"If you want it so bad, I'll tell West you're ready."

He angrily throws his things into the suitcase and takes off his gloves, which immediately follow the other things. Then he stands up and looks at me with a worry line between his eyebrows.

"Ready for what?"

I want to know what's coming, and I want to know it even though I can already guess what it is. They're going to denounce me. They'll either torture and execute me in front of the whole club, have me r***d like West threatened, or do something much worse to me. But whatever it is, I don't want to think about it too much. It limits my mind and that's bad. Because, I don't intend to go without a fight. I'll fight to the bitter end.

Levi shakes his head and reaches for his suitcase.

Without a word, he makes his way to the door. With his hand already on the door handle, he pauses and utters an "I'm sorry," without looking at me. Then he leaves the room, and I am left in silence. My palms move over my face and I close my eyes. After what feels like an eternity, I move on to the only tasks possible for me in this confined space. I work out and then squeeze myself into the tiny shower and wash the sweat from my skin. As I dry off, I venture a glance into the tiny mirror above the sink. Until now, I have avoided looking at my reflection, but now I feel ready. Slowly, I wipe the fogged glass with the towel. I have to swallow briefly at my counterpart. I can see my eye again, but a yellowish green spot stretches across my eyelids to my cheek. Of the scar on my forehead, only a narrow dark red line is still visible, thanks to Levi, I admit to myself. A small vein has burst in my eye and therefore a red spot can be seen under my pupil. The blond hair hangs lifelessly from my head. This is not me. So before I think about, who I am or am not, I turn away. I put on my black underwear, which I always take turns washing with the soap and then drying in the bathroom.

Then, still limping, I make my way back to the bedroom, where I store the rest of my clothes by now. But when I open the door, I stand rooted to the spot. Startled, I pull the air into my lungs and stare at the giant who has made himself comfortable on the bed. West's forearms rest on his thighs. He wears a skin-tight gray shirt and worn black jeans. His feet are in leather boots. My gaze travels over his ornate, muscular forearms until I come back to his face. Looking into his eyes, I involuntarily hold my breath. It's the first time I don't recognize any coldness in them. But then, do I think about the fact that I'm wearing only my underwear again. But I don't want to show any weakness. Besides, he has already seen me like this. So I walk with limping steps, yet as proudly as I can, to the small table and reach for my black jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt. I hold the items up and stare at him.

"Is there any point in me putting on something, or does it not matter what I wear, when I die?"

West eyes my body from top to bottom and he frowns before the cold returns. He nods and points his head at the bundle of clothes in my hand. I take that as an okay and pull my pants on first. Normally I would be uncomfortable with someone watching me get dressed, but there is no value in it anymore. Why should I be embarrassed, when I'm about to die? And yet, West makes me nervous, because he watches all my movements closely, and I am still limited by my injuries. That's why I can't suppress the pained gasp as I pull the shirt over my head. The stitches have been removed, but still the scar and my ribs hurt. By the time my head comes through the collar and my eyes fall back on West, he's up. He is taller than me, by at least two heads, and his appearance looks even more intimidating because of the tattoos that only end at his neck. He would be a serious opponent. Furthermore, he bears a certain resemblance to Kilian, but unlike Kilian, I feel intimidated by him. Something that doesn't suit me. Something I don't like at all. I reach for my sneakers, which have at least six different blood types on them. I straighten up and eye West as much as he eyes me. As I do so, I think about the fact that I'm going to die soon, and not without more pain and agony. But I will not go without a fight. I will wait, to see what West has in mind and I will fight as long as I can.

He comes closer and with every step he takes, my body gets ready for an attack. I tense my muscles and concentrate on his movements. What is he going to do? But he is getting much too close for a real attack. Maybe, he will snap my neck or s***h me with a knife? I would like to take a step back, but that would mean I'm showing weakness and I can't let that happen. His breath hits my lips and his eyes, framed by thick long lashes, fix mine. I try to withstand the coldness he radiates. The fine line interrupted by his dark eyes looks even more terrifying from this close up.

"Are you going to fight back?"

His question snaps me out of my thoughts and immediately sets my alarm bells ringing. Of course, I'm not going to give up without a fight. Before I can react, West turns me around and grabs my wrists with both hands. My chest hurts because I was not caught. I resist, but his grip is ironclad, and he presses me against the table with his body. I feel cold metal pressing against my wrists. Handcuffs. How could he conjure them out of his pocket so quickly? But I don't give up. I squirm and try to turn. I thread my leg behind his and lunge with my head. I hit him and immediately feel the pain in the back of my head.

"You little beast."

Now he's definitely upset. He lets go of me, turns me around, and grabs my throat right after. His fingers tighten around my neck like a vice. I try to fight him with my feet, clutching him and squeezing as hard as I can. But it only costs him a smile as blood flows from a gash on his lip. I caught him and he smiles? Everything on my body hurts and yet giving up is not an option. Not even then, as his fingers dig even harder into my flesh.

"Damn it. Stop struggling and we'd both be helped. It'll only get you into more trouble. You're going to need your strength."

I can barely breathe, so I let his words sink in. I nod, realizing I don't stand a chance. My body is too broken and he's too strong. What good will it do me, if he kills me already? I was going to take some of the Demons with me after all. He lets me go and I gasp for breath. My hands are now cuffed behind my back. All my injuries feel like I just got them again. West pulls me up by my upper arms so that I am standing in front of him again. I breathe heavily as my chest hurts. But what he does next makes me forget everything. He comes closer and whispers in my ear.

"Play my game and you might survive."

Before I can ask a question, he turns me around and grabs my wrists. Then he pushes me through the door I've only seen from the inside for days. He leads me down a long corridor, past a few other doors. Finally, we stop in front of a gray steel door. West knocks on it twice with his fist, while holding me with his other hand. Right after that, it opens, and we're standing in the garage I've been here before when they brought at first. A guy has opened the door and is glaring angrily at me. I recognize him. It's one of the prospects, who drove me here. Fortunately for me, it's not the one I've given a beating. West leads me on to a black SUV. The prospect opens the back door, whereupon West throws me into the back seat. He follows me and slides in next to me, while I straighten up. Which turns out to be not so easy with the handcuffs. The leather creaks under my movements. The prospect gets in the front and starts the engine. Then I see him press a button on a remote control in the center console. Then one of the gates opens and we slowly roll out into the night. Darkness awaits us and I look out the window. The question of what's in store for me now haunts me the entire ride. As does the smell of sandalwood.