Chapter 41
Lily
“Why the fuck isn’t she better yet?” Johnathan. A voice I hoped never to hear.
“He lashed her pretty hard, multiple times. Look around, this room isn't exactly made for recovery. The sores are infected. If you want better than this, take her to a fucking hospital,” Doctor Maserow says, his voice calm despite the clear agitation in Johnathan’s tone.
Doctor Maserow is the only doctor here at ‘the pharmacy.’ This is likely why he can speak to Johnathan that way.
However, I doubt he is actually licensed.
During my conscious moments yesterday, I witnessed him remove a liver from a girl no older than twenty.
She screamed as they restrained her, her bruised and battered body attesting to what she had endured before arriving here.
And then there was silence. They at least gave her anesthesia before they started cutting into her.
Apparently, these bastards were expanding their operations to include black-market organ sales.
It was sickening, and the hurling I had done split some of the stitches.
Yet, again. The slap to my face from him indicated his irritation that he had to waste time stitching me up while he could be harvesting innocent women's internal parts.
“I do not understand why we need her. I have seen better. A new one came in just yesterday. She has the same features. Why don’t you take her instead, and I’ll cut this one up? She looks like she might have a good heart.”
Damn. He spoke about me as if I weren’t an actual human being.
But this is what happened in this place I call hell.
Doctor Maserow viewed all the women here as currency, either sold at auction to the uber-rich highest bidder or pimped out until they were used up and broken.
When they no longer added value, they were cut up and their parts sold off to those with enough money to bypass any organ donor list by buying what they needed illegally.
No matter how it was attained. It was vile, and so far, I've witnessed four such operations, due to my hospital bed being positioned opposite the makeshift operating table.
This medium-sized room is the only one designed for both operations and treatment.
I suppose because treatment usually never occurred.
I was an exception, thanks to Johnathan.
Initially, when the fever set in, I thought I was hallucinating these atrocities.
However, as bouts of awareness became more frequent, thanks to the antibiotic drip I was finally put on yesterday, I realized this was indeed reality.
While I hated Johnathan, and his presence nearby made me want to hurl again, it was only at his insistence that I was given such a luxury.
Had he not walked in on Rocco whipping me, I might have met my end that same day.
Since then, I have not seen Rocco. But I’m not deluded.
His motives are self-serving. He wanted the USB, and he wanted to restore me to the position I held before.
Weak. Small. Before I met Dominico. Before I discovered myself.
“She has something of mine. I need it back.” I can hear that Johnathan is irritated by having to explain himself .
The smell of cigar smoke becomes stronger, telling me he has leaned forward, and the feel of his gaze on the side of my face sends my heart into overdrive.
The last thing I need is for him to think I am awake.
But then the smell fades and I recognize the sound of the heel of a shoe grinding into concrete, indicating he has snuffed his cigar out.
It was no wonder this place was so unhygienic if people were smoking in here.
“Besides, she tolerates pain better than anyone I have ever met. She is unique like that, and I have very particular preferences when it comes to fucking. This one can handle it.”
Now, that was no lie. Johnathan was into knife play and had a selection of jeweled carving knives specifically for it.
One of them even had my name engraved on the blade.
He carried it in his inner suit pocket, occasionally taking it out to twirl in his hand like a sick reminder.
He wanted me back because he was obsessed with my lack of emotion regarding what he did to me.
No matter how far he went, I never made a sound or screamed—a behavior sculpted by my childhood and the man I called father.
His abuse shaped it. That made him angry, and I knew that was why he wanted me.
He wanted to see me break under his inflictions.
But I just couldn’t submit to him like that.
It felt like if I did, I would truly be dead. The fight in me would be truly gone.
The doctor tuts, and then I hear them walk away. When I am sure I am alone, I peel my eyes open. It is easy to fool them since I am on my stomach. They are so confident in either their security or in the belief that I wouldn’t be foolish enough to move that they never bothered restraining me.
I look up at the wall, the time nearing six. It must be night since I can’t hear the birds.
I carefully feel around under my dirty hospital mattress for the scalpel I managed to swipe from one of his assistants' trays yesterday.
She had parked it close to my bed, assuming I was unconscious.
My hand touches the cool metal, and I carefully feel for the handle before circling it and pulling it out.
I close my eyes, willing myself to be strong as I slowly roll onto my side. It is so painful that by the time I complete that small action, I have broken out in a sweat, and my heart is pounding in my chest.
But there is no time to recover. I need to find Holly and get out of here.
It has been days already. I’m not sure how many, but I heard the doctor talking about how Rocco has been missing for four days now.
Thankfully, I was afraid when I woke up that he would have had his way with me while I was unconscious.
So far, I have managed to avoid that fate. I just hope Holly has, too.
A terrible thought plagues me. What if she were sold? What if she wasn’t even here anymore?
I shake my head slightly, praying to a god who doesn’t exist that those concerns are unfounded.
With a deep breath, I prepare myself for another feat: sitting up.
To take my mind off it, I think of the man with silver-grey eyes who haunts my every unconscious moment.
My husband. Surely, I would know if he were dead?
I would feel it, wouldn’t I? But I don’t feel it.
However, I also know that he would have come for me by now if he could.
A sob escapes me when the thought of him no longer being around comes front and center once again.
I am nearly upright when everything goes black. For a heartbeat, I wonder if I have passed out, but the commotion in the distance and the red emergency light flickering on in the passage tell me I am not.
This is my chance. Whatever is happening, this is exactly the distraction I need.
I pull on the rope of my dirty white hospital gown and clench it between my teeth as I hop off the bed.
The impact sends a shockwave of pain through my body, and I stumble forward as dizziness threatens to knock me out.
I spit out the material that has helped stifle my scream and hold onto the bloody operating table within reach.
Hunched over, I focus on the floor and the cigar end that was snubbed out minutes ago.
If I stayed, I would be used as the ashtray, as I had been on so many occasions.
I would rather die than go back to that life.
When my vision becomes blurred, I close my eyes and wait for the worst to pass before hobbling out of the room.
The commotion that was once in the distance is now closer.
People are screaming, and gunshots can be heard.
I look left and right, trying to decide which way to go.
A sign near the stairwell on my left draws my attention. It is a floor plan. I locate my position on the map and trace a path to level one. A large room called the ‘pain dispenser’ captures my attention. A fitting pun for the name of a room where you are strung up and whipped. Bastards.
I open the stairwell door and head down one flight before turning right as I exit the passage.
Shit. I press myself against the wall, hearing voices from the room at the end, the one I am heading to, which makes me hesitate. Approaching slowly, I can finally make out what they are saying.
“Get her out of there. And you better pray it's not her brothers here to get her. Those fuckers do not forgive easily.” It’s the man who was shocking Holly, I recognize his voice. I hear the clattering of a cage door as the lock opens and then the swing of the door as it hits the one beside it.
So there are two men. Could I handle two?
I doubt it, but I have to try. When I peek through the gap in the door, I see that both men have their backs to me.
They are quite big. The one whose voice I recognize is dragging a tiny woman from the cage, her body bloodied and bruised.
They had been torturing her as well. The cage beside her, where Holly was, is empty.
My heart drops, and the little bit of hope I had shatters.
Perhaps the woman beside her, the one with whom they are currently occupied, will know. Violet, I think her name was.
When I glance to the side, I can hardly believe my eyes. The black object he used to shock Holly is resting on the table.
“Is she still alive?” the other man asks, hunching down as he grasps her limp wrist, searching for a pulse. I seize this momentary shift in their focus and close the distance to the table, gripping the scalpel in one hand and my new weapon in the other.
Slowly, I tiptoe toward the men, deciding which one I should shock first. The bigger one, who is hunched down, would be better, but the one standing has the advantage of being quicker to react. So, without further ado, I extend my hand and push the button.
“What the h—” He falls to the floor, his words turning into a groan as the sound of the taser blends with the sounds of pain.
I aim the object at the other man, but I am too slow.
He grabs the middle of it and pulls it hard, shifting my finger off the button.
I almost lose my grip but swing the scalpel toward his hand.
He lets go, but because I am still pulling, I stumble backwards, tripping over the woman and falling on my back.
Blinding, sharp pain engulfs me, consumes me, and for the first time in my life, I scream.
Spots swim in my vision, and then the next thing I know, he is on top of me, the weight of his body on my chest forcing the air out of me as his hands circle my neck.
He squeezes tightly, and the dots swimming in my vision multiply as I jerk against his hold.
No air comes in, and panic consumes me. This is it. This is how I die.
It's not my entire life that flashes through my mind during my final moments.
No. Most of it was shit. It is the man who gave me the most beautiful moments of my life in the short time we were together.
A dangerous man who fixed me in the darkness, who put my broken pieces back together and made me feel whole again.
The darkness to my light. Dominico. What I would give to see him one last time. To touch him. To hear him say my name.
I must be conjuring him up because before I black out, I hear it. I hear him.
“ Il mio fiorellino , I found you.”
But it's too late.