Chapter 34

 

Kalista

 

“Alors, que devons-nous faire avec elle?” a rough, husky voice says from behind me.

I think.

Thanks to the black blindfold ripping into my temples, I can’t see.

But I can feel and hear all too well.

With no sight, the rest of my senses are heightened, making me severely and frustratingly sensitive to my surroundings.

There is a chill in the air and a metallic smell that pinches my skin and leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

It’s unnerving, and it sends my mind racing.

Where in the hell am I?

Who took me?

Who is that guy?

What did he say?

So, what do we do with her?

My heart frantically pounds. It’s heavier and harder each passing second.

In seconds, my breathing becomes erratic.

The sudden spike of adrenaline and awareness leaves me feeling faint, dizzy, and scared as hell.

But after hearing that voice—whoever it is—I have the urge to ask questions. And to scream.

Not just from fear and in order to get help, but so that I can know more about my situation. It makes me very attune to my vulnerability and relative danger at this moment.

I could scream and cry out for help, but what would they do in response?

Do they want to kill me?

I know nothing of my situation.

So I stay quiet, until I know what I should do next.

And then it goes silent.

It’s an eerie silence that makes my stomach clench—and not in the fun way.

Only my heavy pants fill the space.

I turn my ear to each direction.

I’m hoping that I’ll be able to decipher something—anything—at this point that would help put me at some sort of ease.

I quickly become self-conscious and nervous about my breathing—and how they are reacting to it.

I hear some shuffling of shoes and hushed murmurs in the distance.

“Stronzo!” a man yells, and I jump unexpectedly.

I instinctively turn towards it.

Is that Italian?

They’re speaking Italian. But they weren’t before—that was French.

I hold on to that fact. It’s something I can recognize and understand.

And it’s information that begins to fill the gaps I’ve been anxiously falling into.

Though my body is overwhelmed with my frenzied senses, I feel oddly calm because of this small fact.

I silently thank my parents for sending me to the finest boarding schools.

I haven’t had to call upon my Italian or French in a while—at least not as much as I have with Griff.

With him, I was able to speak in any language I wanted to, and he’d understand.

He probably doesn’t even know I’m here, bound in the way he seemed to like and enjoy.

Though this is hardly as enjoyable

Even if he did know, I doubt he would care.

He was clear—he’s done with me.

And with me dead, or at least kidnapped and taken far away from him, it’s one of the easiest ways to get rid of me.

Albeit, it’s a bit dramatic.

But wait, what if this is Griff?

What if his friends are playing a ridiculously terrible game with me?

Maybe this is his way of teaching me how to be a thief, like him.

This is all just a test for me, and the gentlemen are forcing me to prove I’m worthy to be a part of the club.

Perhaps, everything he did was all a ruse to get me here, tied up to a chair, with nothing to fight with other than the lessons he taught me.

It sounds plausible, and definitely something they would do to newbies.

It’d be like the hazing phase of a pledge, except a lot more serious and frightening.

A phone rings, and I’m immediately pulled from my thoughts.

A man—possibly the same one from before—answers on the first ring.

“Ici,” he says eagerly.

Here—now we’re back to French.

I file that with the other information I’ve compiled so far, which admittedly isn’t much, but it’s still something.

It eases me a little bit more.

It makes me feel like I can beat this game—if that’s what this is.

I can finally steady my breath knowing I have a hidden card in my pocket, a game-changer of sorts—well, hopefully.

And with that sense of security, I refocus my attention.

I need to take advantage of the senses I do have and put them to use—I can hear what they’re saying and feel their presence.

With that, I can assess their motives and plans.

This game is unlike any I’ve played before.

And it’s not quite as pleasurable as Griff’s past ones.

Maybe this isn’t Griff.

“Combien de temps doit-on attendre pour?” The man screams into the phone, effectively directing my attention towards it.

I translate quickly—how long should we wait for?

Shit, what are they waiting for?

Fear and anxiety begin to rise, and my stomach churns.

This is not Griff.

This is not a gentleman’s test.

Something about this is dangerously wrong.

And that realization paralyzes me.

But despite the fear and anxiety taking over me, I try to settle and prepare myself.

Though I don’t really know what to prepare for.

I run my fingers over the binding and wiggle my feet that are tied to each of the legs of the chair, hoping to get a stronger sense of my body.

It’s like what Griff said: it’s all about control.

I need to be able to control my body.

And step one in doing that is knowing where it is, how it feels, how it’s placed, and how that can be used to my advantage.

I might not have any mobility at this point, but it’s always good to know as much as I can.

Again, just like what Griff taught me.

I hate knowing that I have been listening to him, taking his advice and using it.

Why does he always have to be so damn good?

Ugh, I hate how he can still get under my skin.

“Oui, nous sommes ici dans la region de Safi, comme vous l’a dmande,” the man on the phone said, with exhaustion straining his voice.

It rolls off his tongue so fast that it takes me a minute to catch up.

Yes, we’re here in Safi, as you instructed.

We’re in Safi? Isn’t that near Marrakesh?

I visualize a map of Morocco and its surroundings, hoping to place myself somewhere in it.

Ah, yes!

I see it.

It’s near the water—and not far from Marrakesh!

Again, I thank Daddy for his rigorous demands on my education.

Wait, Daddy!

Does he know what happened? He has to know by now that I haven’t boarded the plane!

And he must have people looking for me already. He’s probably devastated to know that—yet again—I’m not on my way back to him. Safe and sound.

It’ll only be a matter of time before he’ll come looking for me.

I hope.

But wait, who instructed this?

These men aren’t doing it alone. There’s surely someone higher who is giving them orders.

My stomach drops, and I feel more nauseous than before.

This just got so much worse than I imagined.

I hear footsteps—maybe one or two—coming towards me.

My body tenses, and my senses are sent into overdrive, uncomfortably so.

It’s as if my body is trying to prepare for something, but doesn’t know what it is or what to do, so it’s preparing for everything.

It’s overwhelming.

They reach me, and I can feel them hover over on either side of my body.

“Che cosa un bel po’ di coas,” one says in an amused, higher pitch voice.

I swallow hard, distracting myself from wanting to vomit.

His words—what a pretty little thing—allude to more than just using me for money.

“Il boss, potremmo avere un po' di divertimento mentre aspettiamo?” the other man says in a serious, yet mischievous tone.

They both laugh, roughly and deeply, sending cold, harsh shivers down my spine.

I mull over his words—boss, could we have some fun while we wait?

No.

Please, no, I silently beg.

“Non toccare il suo solo ancora. Abbiamo bisogno di lei in un pezzo unico per papa,” the man on the phone responds.

Don’t touch her just yet. We have to have her in one piece for Daddy.

Wait, they plan on returning me? A glimmer of hope builds in my chest, and the tension in my muscles release a little bit.

But it quickly comes back ten-fold when one of the two men beside me touches my cheek.

I pull away instinctively.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I yell out.

I immediately regret it as a hand stings the side of my face, sending tears to my eyes and releasing a whimper from my mouth.

“Guarda la tua bocca, cagna!” he yells at me less than an inch away from my face.

I feel the heat of his breath on my lips, and my skin crawls.

The other man near him laughs like some kind of movie villain.

“Stop! Avez-vous entendu?” the boss—I’m assuming—yells at the man as he runs up to us.

Stop! Did you guys hear that?

They become still, and I hold my breath.

Is someone here for me?

Against my better judgment, the hope I once had returns more so.

My Dad’s here to save me!