Extraction
1. Bianca
CHAPTER ONE
bianca
C old. Everything feels…cold. The last thing I remember is playing pool with Dmitri at the Black Bear. Shit. I blink hard a few times before realizing that I didn’t just have my eyes closed, but I am in the absolute pitch dark. My heart jumps into my throat, pulsing hard and quick. Where the fuck am I?
I can feel the cold concrete beneath me, and I carefully reach my hands out to feel around. I have no idea what could be next to me, so I try not to move too quickly. I stand to my feet and nearly fall back down as my head swirls with a brutal, throbbing pain. I feel like the room is spinning, but I think that’s just a head contusion.
“Ow, fuck.” I whisper in a hiss as I reach up to feel a soft, wet, squishy cut on the back of my head. It stings with my touch and feels like it’s definitely going to need a few stitches.
Being in my family, you kind of get used to needing stitches. My childhood was spent mastering the art of power and survival. By the time I could walk, my father ensured I understood that power is not just inherited; it’s earned through a devotion to discipline. The walls of my home echoed with achievements in self-defense, fighting technique, and the grim but necessary mastering of the perfect assassination. My body had become a lethal weapon, and all of that training combined was supposed to keep me from being in situations like this.
I’m going to assume that one of our many enemies knocked me unconscious before I could have a chance to fight. Smart. They knew I would kick their fucking ass. I’d take them to the bone, no questions asked.
“Dmitri?” I whisper into the dark around me. I doubt they’d be dumb enough to put us in here together, but it was worth a try.
As my mouth moves around his name, the split in my lip drips blood down my chin. God damn, I must have hit the ground hard. I wait for a minute and hear nothing. I slowly slide my foot forward, testing the distance I have before taking my next step. I shuffle a few times until I hit a stopping point. I reach forward and slide the back of my hand across a slick surface. Cold. Just like everything else. I tap it with a knuckle, and I swear it sounds like glass. Maybe a two-way mirror? I try to speculate as if it’s going to do me any good in the blackness of this space.
“I bet you’re wondering where you are. Why are you in a dark room? Right, Kitten?”
A voice echoes into the room. He sounds close, but there’s no way he is in here with me…I think.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I’m going to make you regret calling me that. You hear me motherfucker?” I threaten as I spin in place, maintaining composure, but my blood is already boiling. I’ve been in plenty of rooms with men who thought they could control me, and it never ends well… for them.
“Mmm, put away those claws. Here, I thought we could be friends.”
“I don’t need any more friends,” I answer back with sass.
“Oooh, feisty, aren’t we? Well, now that your little cat nap is through, let’s get some light on the subject, shall we?”
I hear the click of a large switch being flipped on, followed by a crackling hum. The light flares to life with aggressive brightness that feels abrasive against the deep shadows I’ve adjusted to. I try hard to keep my eyes open and stay alert, but with my headache, I can’t help but squint as the light quite literally smacks me across the face.
After a second, my eyes start to register my surroundings. Holy. Shit. I was right; the walls are glass, maybe plexiglass, but I’m going to assume they’re bulletproof. This fucking asshole put me in a glass cage in the middle of a… what even is this place? A warehouse? The walls are sheet metal, and it’s a pretty massive, empty space. Bare though, as if it was abandoned for a long time before this Dahmer asshole built some sick torture room.
“Wow. Nice place you’ve got here. I just wish I could see who I’m talking to.” I say calmly. I’m not about to let this fucker get pleasure from trying to scare me. I don’t scare that easily.
“All things in time, Kitten.”
Fuck. I hate that.
“Well, can you at least tell me your name so I have something to call you other than the piece of shit that’s going to pay for keeping me here?”
“Well, Sweetheart, if you’d rather, you can always just call me… Master.” I scoff at his ridiculous response. What an asshole.
I take a few seconds to look around. Inside the walls of my glass cage lay a bed, a table and chair, a stack of blankets, and a room divider hiding a small toilet and sink. Quite a civilized prison cell he has here. At least my dignity might stay intact for a while. I notice a small shelf lined with books, and I recognize the titles. These are all books I have read and enjoyed; it’s a weird notion, but at least I knew I could pass the time with them. My family will notice I’m missing, and it won’t be long until they find me.
Okay Bianca, stay calm and don’t show this prick an ounce of concern. Maintain your power.
I walk over to the shelf, grab a book, and sit down on the bed. I make myself comfortable and start to read.
“I’m glad you’re making yourself right at home. I think you and I are going to be great friends. You just keep being a good girl, and I’ll make this as easy as possible.”
I don’t budge. I keep my nose in the pages and ignore his every word. At this point, I’m just pretending to read as my mind runs rampant, trying to devise a plan. If I can get under this guy’s skin, there may be hope for me yet. For now, I ‘read’, I plan, and I wait.