3. Bianca
CHAPTER THREE
bianca
Y ou’ve got to be fucking kidding me. First, you bash my head; then you throw me in a cage with a throbbing headache; then you take away all my light so I can’t even fucking read?! This guy…
My mind is running wild with the ideas of how I want to make him suffer for fucking with me. I mean, hating him would be a bit easier if he wasn’t kinda sexy. I wasn’t expecting that. Usually, the types of thugs that work for families like mine are rough and never what you would consider ‘pretty.’ This guy, though. This guy was very pretty.
Jesus, Bianca. Keep it in your fucking pants.
My pussy’s been known to get me into trouble. I think growing up the way I have has led me to have some rather… interesting kinks. But this sick fuck has a glass cage in a warehouse; he’s probably worse off than I am in the ‘fucked up morals department’. Who is he, though? He isn’t a Moretti. I also have a sneaking suspicion he isn’t part of Li Jun’s gang, mainly due to the not being Chinese thing. They don’t accept outsiders, so that one checks out. I can’t place him among any of the gangs I know, which is scarier than anything else. Why did he capture me if it wasn’t due to my family and status? Shit, what if he really is a serial killer? I shake that thought and try to walk around my cell. I have to try to find a weapon. If I get any chance at this fuckhead, I want to be ready. I feel around the table and chairs, looking for splinters and weak spots. Looking for anything I can use to make something out of. Nothing.
I feel my way over to the bookshelf. Nothing here for me either. I make my way back to the bed and take the pillowcase off the single pillow lying here. Okay, that could come in handy. I tie it through my belt loops under my shirt. I dig my fingers into the seam of the mattress from underneath the wire frame. I break through the fabric and start to weave my fingers deeper and deeper. I grab onto one of the springs and rip at it gently so as not to make too sudden of movements. I can’t guarantee this guy doesn’t have some kind of night vision and is watching my every move in the dark.
Yes! I almost blurted out when I got a spring wiggled back and forth enough to break a small piece off. Okay, now I have a sharp object and a pillowcase. Not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.
Next step, play nice with this fucker until I can get him to trust me and open that fucking door. I slip the small piece of metal into my pocket. It should be long enough to do some damage to an artery, and that is all I need it to do.
I lay back on the bed, putting the book on my chest and letting myself relax. I close my eyes. Fuck my head is killing me. He really fucked me up and needs to clean this gash at least, before I get an infection. How great would that be… deadly mafia princess succumbs to infected head wound? What a way to go out. I figured it would be by way of guns or knives, not a lack of modern antibiotics.
I’m not going to fall asleep. I’m not going… to fall…
Fuck. I open my eyes and the harsh warehouse fluorescents blind my tired eyes. so much for staying awake. At least I can see again, for now. Goddamn how long was I out. It’s not like I have a window to tell what time of day it is.
“Okay, you motherfucker. I’ll take you up on dinner. You can’t starve me out, right?” I yell to the open space in the cell. He can obviously hear me and probably has mics wired in here somewhere. Creepy fuck.
I wait a minute or so and start to hear clanking from behind the door he came out last time. I tuck my hair behind my ears, flattening down the slept-in frizz. I need to look good for my survival, not because this guy is gorgeous. Or? Well, maybe both?
“I’m so glad you’ve reconsidered.” I hear his voice echo from the top of the platform. He’s holding two styrofoam boxes and a bottle of water as he comes back down the stairs.
“I, uh, hope you like Italian. It’s your only option, so I guess it doesn’t matter what you like.” He says as he reaches the bottom of the stairwell and approaches the glass.
“Buuuuut, if you behave, maybe next time I will take a request for cuisine.”
“Wow, you’re nothing if not accommodating. I’ll be sure to leave you a good ‘Yelp!’ review…” I smile, showing him my joke is playful.
He chuckles lightly. “I surely appreciate that.”
He opens a small pull-out door that reminds me of a deposit drop-off at a bank. Makes sense, though; it’s a way for him to give me things without the possibility of escape. He closes his side, locking it as it shuts. I pull open the door on my side, reaching in and grabbing the box and water. I walk them over to the table and set them down.
“And how I am supposed to trust you didn’t put something in this?” I ask genuinely.
“I already have you here. That’s all I need to do. If I needed you dead, I would have already done so, don’t you think?”
“Oh so you’re not in charge here then? Just… following orders?”
“I do what I need to. Just like you do.” He says, walking toward one of the metal walls. He grabs a metal chair and carries it over toward the glass. I recognize his body language so I slide the table and chair toward him in return. Operation ‘shmooze the asshole keeping me captive’ is in full swing. He’s lucky I really fucking love Italian food.