Everything hurts.

I don’t say that lightly.

It’s been one day, which, in the scheme of things isn’t a long time at all, but to me, it feels like an eternity. One whole day of sitting down here, chained up, in agony, unable to stop the pain and wondering when the next blow is going to come. No food. No water. I’m tired, but there is no way I’d dare shut my eyes. The moment I do, I’m scared of what will happen. So, I sit here, trying to think away the pain, and praying someone finds me soon.

They have to know by now.

They have to.

Chantelle would have figured it out, and she would have gone to them, right?

She’d be smart enough to do that, wouldn’t she? God, I pray that she would, but I couldn’t blame her if she didn’t. I mean, I did sit there and tell her I never wanted to see Mason or that club again. But surely, in times like this, she would think they’re the only people who might know where I am.

Maybe she went to Enzo.

I hope not, because that would get me in more trouble if he decided to cause a scene.

I wonder if the club still has Yolanda, and I wonder what they’re doing to her.

Whatever it is, I hope it hurts.

I hate to say that about my own sister, but the fact of it all is, she doesn’t care about me, not even a little. We might be two halves of one egg, but we’re nothing alike. She’s missing something. Maybe I got the emotional part of the egg, the one that cares and is kind to others, and she got the empty shell, the emotionless pit, the broken part. Because why else could someone be so cruel to someone? Especially when that someone is family.

Her twin sister.

I might dislike her, but I would have never gone out of my way to hurt her or get her into trouble.

Not ever.

My heart aches. It aches because outside of Chantelle, I suddenly feel like there isn’t a single person out there who truly cares for me anymore, and that’s an empty, rather lonely feeling.

I’m here, chained up, hurt, and so incredibly alone.

So, so alone.

That hurts the most.

The door opens, and I jerk my head up, my heart racing, my body going on instant alert. Blondie walks in, alone this time. He stares at me on the ground and narrows his eyes. “Your little boyfriend has said he’ll have the cash, and more, to me in twelve hours, so I’m going to keep you alive until then. Usually, I wouldn’t allow this, but I need the cash so he gets to stay alive, and you, for twelve hours more. When I get what’s owed to me, I’m going to put a bullet in his skull when he’s let out of prison, but he doesn’t know that, and you’re never going to get the chance to tell him, because once the cash is in my hands, a bullet is going into your brain, too.”

I didn’t know what I’d expect the day I was told I’m going to die.

You hear it in the movies—people have cancer, or an illness, and they get told that heart wrenching news—but I never thought I would hear the words.

Never.

Not me.

But that’s always the way, isn’t it? You never think it’s going to be something you hear.

It’s always something you think will never happen to you.

But it is happening to me. Twelve hours. I even got a time frame.

I’d like to go into denial and think it isn’t going to happen to me, that someone will rush in and save the day, but the fact of the matter is that twelve hours is not long, not really, and if they don’t find me in time. I know, I can one hundred percent guarantee, that I’ll die at the end of it.

These kinds of men, they don’t mess around. You’re crazy if you think they do.

I swallow the thick lump in my throat and try not to show any sort of fear or reaction, but I’m certain he can see it on my face.

“I might even enjoy you a little bit, first,” he murmurs, running his eyes up and down my body. “Really send a message.”

Vomit rises up in my throat. That thought probably scares me more than dying. Dying is quick, it’s over when it’s over and that’s the end. But torture like that when you have no control, when you can’t stop it, that’s terrifying. Having someone take control of my body and me being unable to stop them makes me physically ill.

And more scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

What if nobody finds me in time?

That reality is harsh and scarily the more likely scenario. Even if they have been made aware that I’m gone, I could be anywhere, anywhere at all, and they wouldn’t find me. Or, if they did find me, it could take them days. Even if they got a name, they’d still have to track these men down. I know how this all works, and it isn’t a process that comes quickly or easily.

My fingers are trembling, and even though they’re completely numb, I can feel it to my very core.

I’m so afraid.

And I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do about it.

I’ve always been a fighter, but how do you fight when you’re given such a short amount of time to do so?

“Scared, little girl?” Blondie laughs. “You should be. I won’t make it quick, I’ll make sure everyone knows never to mess with me. Should have thought twice before involving yourself with a piece of crap like that.”

He’s right.

I certainly should have.

But that’s neither here nor there.

“I bet you’d have a sweet little pussy, too.”

I cringe and my skin prickles.

I might not be able to escape death, but I will fight as hard as my weak body will allow when it comes to him trying to take something that is absolutely not his to take. If he even tries to remove my clothes or put his filthy hands on my body, I will do everything I can to stop him. I don’t care how much it hurts. Hell, I don’t even care if it kills me, because god knows they’re going to try and kill me anyway. I won’t go down letting their greasy hands touch me.

Never.

Not fucking ever.

“I bet,” I croak, my voice hoarse from lack of water, “that if you even try and put your filthy hands on me, I will make it burn, one way or another, I’ll make it burn.”

He snorts and crosses his arms. “How do you suppose you’ll do that when I’m holding you down?”

“I don’t know, but I assure you, I will.”

“You’re getting a bullet in” —he glances at his watch— “eleven hours and forty two minutes. Does it really matter what happens before that?”

I glare at him, and my eyes don’t waver when I say, “Kill me, suck the life out of me, but I won’t go down without a fight, I promise you that. If you put your hands on me, I will do everything I can to stop you.”

He grins, evil and sick. “I like a good challenge. I like it even better when they fight, it turns me on. So, fight away, little lady. We’re going to have some fun with you.”

I will fight. God dammit. I’m so scared I can’t feel my own body, my heart is racing, and the fear is clutching my heart like a damned pair of angry hands, but I will fight.

If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it knowing I gave it my all.

Because that’s what I do. I give everything my all.

I’m Saskia.

And I do not back down.

Ever.

~*~*~*~