Before the Storm
Prologue
“Come on, even I can hit harder than that,” I say as I spit in my captor’s face. Blood runs down my chin, dripping steadily to the floor while I laugh. Taunting the man currently who is beating me with his fists may not be my best idea, but I’ve never been one to make intelligent decisions, hence why I am tied up right now, hanging from a hook. Man, this hurts like a bitch, but I refuse to say that out loud to the dickhead punching me. I do not recommend getting kidnapped. I would rate this experience a one out of ten; do not recommend. I may have a few broken ribs, but at least I am still enough of a smartass to piss off this asshole.
“Tell me what your boyfriends are up to Meadow, and I will make this much less painful for you,” the asshole says. I bet he has a stupid name like Kyle or Tanner, but until I find out, I’ll keep calling him asshole or dickhead.
“You’re never going to get that information out of me. I don’t know why you’re trying,” I tell the asshole. Like I would give up the men I love. Yeah, I am crazy. I fell for three dickheads, not one, you know, because I’m an overachiever. But having three boyfriends does have its benefits, like unlimited, fantastic sex and mind-blowing orgasms. It also has its downsides because sometimes a girl just wants to be left alone, but they can tell when I need alone time; I have known them since I was six. I am wrenched from my daydream about my men when the asshole throws another punch at my stomach, making me grunt; how rude.
“Listen, bitch, tell me now, or I will be forced to get creative and ruin your pretty face with my knife,” Baldy says.
“As I told you before, do what you want because I will not tell you anything, you stupid fuck. Do you not understand? I know you’re a bit slow, but Jesus Christ, how many times do I have to repeat myself? I may as well get a parrot at this point.”
The bald fuck walks away, cursing me under his breath until I hear the basement door slam shut behind him. The same basement I am currently tied up in. I let out a painful sigh of relief. Every time I breathe my chest rattles, and a slight wheezing noise follows, which makes me question if something is wrong with my lungs or if it’s because of my ribs. I can’t take a full breath without wanting to cry out from the pain. My arms are killing me; I think I’ve lost all circulation in them, and it feels like my shoulder is dislocated from being tied up in this position for so long. A burn is shooting down my arm like a rocket, and the pins and needles sensations also lead me to believe my shoulder needs to pop back into place. The rope tied tightly around my hands feels as if it’s rubbing me raw; there are angry red marks around my cracked and bleeding wrists.
I can barely touch the floor, and if I stand on my tiptoes, I can reach enough to relieve some of the pressure on my arms, but I can’t hold that position for long. I could try to find something to help me get loose, but it’s not like I can see much; one of my eyes is swollen shut, and I know the other isn’t far off since all I can see is a dull light, barely bright enough to make anything out, so I feel as if I am in the dark. I think they need to change the bulb, or maybe they just keep it that way to be mysterious. My left eye is throbbing, and it feels like I am staring into a dark abyss with how swollen it is.
There is a salty, metallic taste in my mouth from when the bastard punched me earlier, and when I spit on the ground, I see blood mixed with my saliva. The asshole also broke a few bones in my hand, getting me here. I might have broken them on his face, but it was his fault. I will never be one of those girls who doesn’t fight back because the man is bigger. I punched him in the face, but then I felt a crunch, and instant pain shot up my right arm. It was worth it, though. It caught him by surprise, and I almost got away. Well, I would have if it wasn’t for his friend’s help. Cataloging my injuries, I find I have a broken hand, raw wrists, a dislocated shoulder, swollen eyes, broken ribs, and possibly a lung issue. I could be worse off right now. I just need to hold out until Knox, Phoenix, and Aidan get here. I am not sure how long I have been down here, but it feels like at least two days; I only say that because they come in and interrogate me for a few hours at a time. They lower me to the ground but not gently. When they lift me off the hook, it’s both a blessing and a curse because all the blood starts to flow through my limbs again.
The pain grows unbearable to the point where I crawl to the corner of the musky-smelling basement and throw up bile because I haven’t been fed since getting dragged here, only a few sips of water here and there so I don’t die. Lucky me. So now, among the dirt and mildew smell, there is vomit, piss, and the lovely metallic smell of blood, which all happen to be coming from me. Over the past two days, I have been beaten, stripped of my clothes, so I am naked for everyone to see, and had photos taken photos of me; I hope they got my good side. Thankfully, the only one who beats me is the bald asshole. I don’t know how long I would have lasted if it was the other guy; he looks like Mike Tyson and Shaq had a baby. That begs the question of why the little, bad guy is beating me when one punch from Mike Jr. would send me to see the devil in all his forms.
When the bald fuck walked away this last time, he left me hanging, which generally doesn’t happen. If he gets pissed enough, he usually drops me on my ass, which is also bruised, storms out, and slams the door. Since I’m still dangling on this fucking hook, I know nothing good can be coming. If only I could get the loop off the hook above me. Then I could strangle Baldy. I don’t know where Mike Jr. is, though, so that could be an issue if I ever do manage to get out. I hear the familiar sound of the metal door creaking open; it sounds like it needs WD-40 or maybe an exorcism. You know, like those damn scary movies that advertise, ‘Hey, bad guy, I am in here’ because the door isn’t quiet. Yeah, that’s what it sounds like. I peer over with my one semi-good eye and find Baldy is back, but this time, he is holding something shiny and small. Well, this can’t be good.