Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Savina
WHEN I FINALLY come to, the first thing I notice is the cold. It somehow crawls along the concrete floor like a living thing, seeping through the thin fabric of my dress and settling deep inside of my bones.
My teeth chatter as I try to move, but I quickly come to the realization that I’m tied to the metal chair I’m currently sitting in.
My wrists ache where the rope bites into my skin, but I test my restraints anyway.
They do not budge, which is completely disheartening.
And when I look down and see the chair I’m sitting in is bolted to the floor, my despair grows exponentially.
I am definitely not getting out of here easily.
My heavy eyes roll to the side, and that’s when I see my best friend tied to a chair a few feet away from me.
“Darby,” I croak, my throat feeling raw and dry.
I don’t know what they gave us, but it’s taking a long time to wear off.
Darby is clearly still under the influence of it.
I can hear her breathing softly, and I watch as her chest rises and falls, which gives me some semblance of relief.
Maybe it’s better that she’s sleeping through some of this.
I sort of regret waking up at this point.
Suddenly, a door opens, creaking loudly with a long sigh from the rusted hinges.
A blast of air, which reeks of mildew, metal and something sharper that smells like blood, hits my face as several burly men barrel into the room.
The echo of their heavy boots on the concrete floor sounds deliberate, unhurried.
Two of the men stay by the door while the other three walk towards us.
Their eyes lock on to me, clearly surprised that I’m awake already.
“You didn’t give her enough,” one comments, and I hear that distinct Irish accent again just like when we were in the back of that van.
“Didn’t wanna kill her,” another one says with a scoff before adding, “Yet.”
“What d-d-do you want?” I ask them, struggling to speak through the last of the effects of the drug they gave me.
“Money,” one offers. “But also to prove a point. You don’t fuck with the Gallaghers and get away with it,” he sneers.
Dimitri’s words from the night of my birthday party come rushing back to me. He’d said my father was trying to start a war with the Irish. I guess this is the consequence of said war.
One of the men comes up to me and grabs my face roughly, turning it from side to side. “How much do you think Daddy will pay for you, lass?” he asks.
His breath smells like onions and beer, and I almost gag from the rancid smell.
Rearing back, I spit in his face. He looks shocked at first, but then his expression morphs into a murderous glare.
Before I can even brace for the impact, he punches me in the side of my face.
My entire body rocks against the chair as I desperately try to contain the cry that’s begging to climb its way out of my throat.
I bite down on my lip. Hard. Until the metallic taste of my own blood is coating my tongue.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing my screams. That’s exactly what the bastard wants.
“You feckin’ eejit!” someone yells. “We haven’t even asked for the ransom yet, and you’re already harming the Cipriano bitch.”
“So?” he counters.
“So? We have to send them proof that she’s safe. They’re gonna see the bruises that are popping up on her face already,” the other hisses.
“Then take the picture now before it gets worse,” Mr. Talks With His Fists and Not His Words offers with a smug grin.
“For fuck’s sake,” the taller guy grumbles before walking away and coming back a few minutes later with a camera.
“Smile pretty for me, lass,” he instructs before the flash goes off on the Polaroid camera, blinding me temporarily.
He waits for the camera to print the picture, and then he grabs the bottom, waving it in the air as it develops.
“We’re gonna have this delivered to your father’s house,” he explains.
“Let’s just see how much Daddy thinks his little princess is worth. And for your sake, it better be a lot.”