★★Mariella's POV★★



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When I came to, the first thing I noticed was the crushing pain in my head—like someone had used my skull as a drum. I groaned, forcing my eyes open to the dim flicker of light overhead. It cast erratic shadows across the damp, cracked concrete walls, making the room feel even more claustrophobic.

It took a moment for everything to settle. The biting cold of metal cuffs around my wrists, digging into my skin, and the soreness in my shoulders from being slumped in some half-assed position.

Where the hell am I?

I blinked a few times, trying to clear my vision. The haze slowly lifted, but the pounding in my head wouldn't let up. I tugged at the cuffs, testing their strength, but it was pointless. I wasn't getting out of these on my own.

This isn't good.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I scanned the room again. The walls, stained and cracked, looked like they hadn't seen any real care in years. The air was thick—stale and suffocating, like it hadn't moved in a long time. The smell of decay hung in the air, clinging to everything. My mind raced as I pieced it together. This place—this wasn't just some random hideout. This was somewhere deep, hidden. Somewhere the cartel would take someone they didn't want found.

Are they going to kill me here?

I bit down on the thought, refusing to let it settle, but the uncertainty only made the situation worse. I wasn't stupid—I knew what they did to people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had to think. I had to stay sharp. The longer I stayed here, the more dangerous it got.

I blinked toward the small window on the door, just enough for me to make out two guards standing outside. The shapes of their bodies were blurred by the dim light, but I could feel the tension in the air—their presence, a constant reminder of how isolated I was.

"Hey!" My voice was hoarse, but there was a raw edge to it that cut through the silence. "You want me to stay quiet, fine, but you better get me out of these cuffs." The words felt foreign, like I wasn't supposed to be speaking them, but I needed them to know I wasn't weak.

Silence. Nothing. Not even a shuffle of boots.

I could feel my pulse in my throat, the silence in the room amplifying the pounding in my head. I wasn't sure how long I'd been out, but if the cartel really took me here—somewhere this far out of sight—then they were planning something. Something big. Something that made them think they could get away with it.

No one would find me here. No one would come looking.

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a slow, steadying breath. I couldn't let fear take over. They'd already taken control of my body, but they wouldn't take control of my mind.

"Where the hell am I?" I muttered under my breath, my thoughts a little too loud in the stillness. "I need to get out of here." But I couldn't escape until I figured out how. I wasn't going to let them make a victim out of me. Not today.

"Is this how you welcome people? No pleasantries, no small talk—just straight to the point? Pathetic." I yell out, glaring at him.

Still nothing.

Beyond the door, I could hear faint voices, but they were clearly ignoring me.

Great.

"Oh, I see how it is," I muttered, half to myself. "Tough guys playing the silent treatment. Guess it's true what they say—brains aren't required for this job."

A few moments later, footsteps echoed outside the room, and the door creaked open. A massive guy stepped in—broad shoulders, smug smirk, and all the charm of a wet sock. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, like he was sizing me up.

"Hai una bocca larga per qualcuno nella tua posizione (You've got a loud mouth for someone in your position,)" he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Tu devrais la fermer avant que je te le fasse, salope. (You should shut it before I make you, bitch)."

I raised an eyebrow, feigning total confusion. "Sorry, no comprendo... Wait, that's Spanish," I said, struggling to put on a serious face. "I... don't... understand," I emphasized slowly, pretending like I was trying to translate for him.

His smirk widened, and his eyes dropped—straight to my chest. I rolled my eyes.

Of course. What can I say...men.

"Eyes up here, shitface," I snapped. "Didn't your mother teach you manners?"

He chuckled, the sound low and grating, as if he was enjoying my discomfort. "Manners? I'm more curious about how a pretty little thing like you ends up in a mess like this."

Oh, so he does speak english?

I raised an eyebrow, letting my grin turn sharp as I leaned back slightly, sizing him up. "You think I'm pretty? Aww, stop it—you're gonna make me blush."

His amusement flickered, a shadow of something darker crossing his face. But I wasn't done yet.

"Honey, this is a walk in the park compared to my usual Friday nights."

His smirk vanished, and he took a step closer. Before I could react, his hand shot out, gripping my chin and forcing me to look up at him. His fingers dug in just enough to hurt, but I refused to flinch.

"You think this is a joke?" he hissed, his breath hot against my face. "Let's see how funny you are when you're begging me to stop, bête (animal)"

I stared back at him, my voice steady despite the pressure on my jaw. "Careful, big guy. Keep touching me, and you might lose that hand. Wouldn't want to ruin your day job as a professional asshole."

For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but he quickly shook it off. With a scoff, he let go and stepped back, straightening his shoulders like he was too good to deal with me.

"You're lucky I've got better things to do than deal with your smart mouth," he muttered, turning toward the door.

I raised an eyebrow.

Oh, like what? Polish your ego? Or maybe practice looking tough in the mirror?

As he's about to step out, I couldn't resist. "Wait, wait—don't go!" I called after him, my voice teasing. "What's your name? Big and Dumb? Or just Dumb? You look like the kind of guy who gets lost in revolving doors."

This is exactly why I end up in positions like this. I just don't know when to shut up, I thought to myself, but hey, at least I'm keeping myself entertained.

That did it.

He froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned back to me, his face twisted with rage.

Before I could blink, he was back in front of me, grabbing my jaw again, harder this time. His fingers dug into my skin, and for a moment, I actually wondered if he might break something.

I swear, if he breaks my beautiful, perfectly working jaw—the one that keeps me yapping—I'll crash out right here. No one messes with my gift of gab.

"You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" he growled.

Nope.

I grinned through the pain, my voice muffled but still sharp. "Oh, big tough guy, aren't you? What's next? Gonna tell me to be quiet again? Real original."

The slap came out of nowhere, snapping my head to the side. My cheek stung like hell, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of staying quiet.

Weakly, I chuckled, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Guess... I hit a nerve, huh?"

That was the last straw. He didn't hesitate—his fist connected with my face, and the world went dark again.

Well, I guess you can say karma's a bitch.

I was drifting in and out of a restless sleep, my mind plagued with fractured images and muffled echoes of a dream I couldn't fully grasp. In the dream, there were voices—low, indistinct whispers—but they seemed far away, like they belonged to another world. Yet, as I stirred, something felt off. The murmurs didn't fade with the dream. No, these voices weren't in my head.

They were real.

I froze, my breath catching as I realized the sound was unnervingly close, far too close—like someone was breathing right down my neck. My heart raced, a cold chill creeping over my skin as the faint murmurs continued, their presence impossibly near.

"She's kinda hot," one voice mutters, casual and quiet, but just loud enough to make my skin crawl.

"Shut the fuck up, she's waking up," another voice snaps, harsher and filled with urgency.

Slowly, I blink my eyes open, trying to clear the fog in my vision. Then it hits me.

Fuck, that little bastard hit me.

"God, that little fuc—" I mutter, loud enough for anyone to hear, but before I can finish, I glance up and lock eyes with two tall guys in training gear.

One has dark brown hair, a sharp jawline, and a solid build. His hands are in his pockets as he stares at me, unblinking. The other guy's blonde, with piercing dark blue eyes that look like they could freeze you in place. Both of them are in black long-sleeve shirts tucked into dark green cargo pants, boots, and guns holstered at their sides. They look like they've seen it all, like they're ready for anything.

I glance from one to the other, my eyes darting back and forth between them, as I try to figure out how much trouble I'm really in. I straighten my back, forcing my body into some semblance of calm. No need to show weakness, even if everything in me is screaming.

"So..." I say, my voice coming out more casual than I feel. They just narrow their eyes at me, like I'm some kind of rare creature they can't quite place.

"How's your day going?" I throw out with a tight smile. The tension in the air thickens, and I can feel it pulling at my insides.

Just smile and wave, Mariella.

Without missing a beat, the brown-haired guy smirks, his voice oozing with amusement as he takes a slow step closer. "So, you're the one who turned everything upside down, huh?" he says, the words dripping with mocking amusement, his eyes scanning me like I'm some kind of puzzle to be solved.

I lean back instinctively, like I'm about to step away, but then I remember—I'm chained down.

Fuck.

The blonde guy, who's been watching the exchange with quiet intensity, steps forward as well. His voice is smooth, but there's a sharp edge to it, the kind of suspicion that doesn't let up. "No way you pulled that off alone," he says, his gaze narrowing as he studies me closely, as if trying to figure out if I'm hiding something—or someone.

I look at both of them, their direct questions telling me they're not just some random goons. They're higher-ups, probably in charge. I give them both a once-over, weighing the situation.

"Well?" the brown-haired guy asks impatiently, eyes narrowing as he waits for an answer.

I flash a wide grin, trying to keep things light, like I'm not in the middle of a damn storm. "So, I'm guessing you're both talking about the drug cartel, right? Hmm?" My smile grows a little more, eyes glinting with a mix of defiance and amusement.

"Yep. That was me," I chuckle, keeping my voice casual, like this is just another day, just another mess to clean up—no big deal.

They exchange confused looks, their brows furrowing. Both of them seem thrown off by my response, like they were expecting something else.

The blonde guy repeats, his voice tightening with a flicker of frustration. "So you're telling me you didn't have help?" His eyes narrow, scanning me like he's trying to catch me in a lie, the tension thickening in the air..

I glance at him and tilt my head to the side, like I'm trying to process his question—like a confused golden retriever.

"Uh-huh," I say with a grin, letting the tension stretch a little longer. "I'm more of a loner when it comes to stuff like that." I nod to myself, as if I'm agreeing with some personal motto, then shoot them both a wink, savoring the uncertainty in the air.

The blonde guy, completely disbelieving, turns away, shaking his head as if he can't quite process what just happened. Meanwhile, the brown-haired guy leans in close—way too close—until we're barely two feet apart. I lean back, but I hold his stare, challenging him, my gaze never wavering. His eyes are nearly black, but in the light, they're a deep brown. I swear I've seen those eyes before, but I can't quite place where.

"Alright, buddy. Six feet apart," I mutter, annoyed, but he doesn't move. His breath steadies, his focus still locked on me. Then, he leans back and lets out a chuckle to himself. The other guy, clearly confused, steps forward, furrowing his brow.

"W-what?" he stammers, looking between the two of us.

I raise an eyebrow, utterly confused myself.

What the hell is going on?

The brown-haired guy turns to his friend, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Damn, I don't know if I should be insulted or intrigued.

"It's you," he says, still grinning.

"Uh... what?" I ask, genuinely perplexed. My brain feels like it's about to short-circuit from all the confusion.

"You're that girl from that night," he continues, his chuckle low and knowing.

My eyes widen. Oh shit. Did I...? I try to recall anything that could've happened, but my mind just goes blank.

Without thinking, I blurt out, "Please tell me we didn't sleep together because if we did, I swear I was either drunk as fuck or on something."

The brown-haired guy looks at me with pure disgust, and his friend's mouth drops open. He hits the guy on the chest, laughing.

"You slept with her?!" he exclaims, his voice almost a mockingly innocent surprise.

The brown-haired guy quickly turns to him, eyes wide, and shouts, "No! What?!" His voice is filled with disbelief.

I let out a huge sigh of relief, placing my head down. "Oh, thank god. Whew," I say, letting out a nervous laugh. I look back at the brown-haired guy, noticing the confusion still on his face. "No offense, though," I add quickly, trying to reassure him.

He stares at me for a beat, clearly still unsure of what to make of this entire situation. The tension between us is palpable, but I can't help but feel a little relieved. At least I didn't accidentally hook up with him.

That wouldn't be very good.

"Alright," I say with a mocking chuckle, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "As much as I'd love to play '70 Questions with Vogue,' how about we cut the crap? Who the fuck are you people?" My voice is sharp, cutting through the tense air like a blade. My eyes narrow as I glare at them, refusing to back down.

The brown-haired guy leans in closer, his expression hard to read, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory tone. "You'll find out soon enough when he gets here," he says, drawing each word out like a knife edge. He pauses, a sinister smile creeping across his lips. "And trust me," he adds, letting the words hang in the air, "Now that he knows what you've done, you're gonna wish you hadn't."

Before I can even process his words, he grabs the blonde guy's arm, and the two of them walk out of the room without another word.

"Who's he?" I shout after them, the disbelief and frustration rising in my chest. I try to stand, but the cold, unforgiving shackles around my wrists and ankles yank me back down. The door slams shut with a finality that makes my stomach twist.

"Who's he?!" I scream again, my voice echoing in the empty room. My chest heaves as anger courses through me like wildfire. I yank at the chains, pulling with everything I have, but they only dig into my raw wrists, sending sharp, painful jolts through my body.

The frustration builds, bubbling over until I lose control. I pull again and again, ignoring the burning in my muscles and the stinging in my wrists, until my strength gives out. My head drops forward, and for a moment, I feel the weight of helplessness pressing down on me like a heavy blanket.

Then the rage comes back, hotter and brighter than before. I scream, a guttural, soul-wrenching sound that shakes me to my core. It's not just anger—it's fury, frustration, and a deep, burning hatred for this place and the people who think they can hold me down.

They stripped me of my knives, my weapons, my freedom.

But they'll regret leaving me alive.

I swear, I'll burn this place to the ground, even if it's the last thing I do.

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oh-ohhh!!

Someone pass the popcorn.

*Dream vacation?*

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡