5. Bianca
CHAPTER FIVE
bianca
I carefully picked the lock on my cuffs using the small piece of metal from the mattress spring. This is it. As soon as he reaches down to unlock them, I pounce. The fact that we are both trained assassins means he is going to be expecting my fight.
He reaches down, and I shift forward. He deflects my first shot, but I land a blow to his chin with my other fist. We punch, block, spin, and push; this fight won’t be easy. I’m quicker than him, more able to dodge his attacks. He turns and lands a lucky elbow shot right to my mouth. I reach up instinctively and in seconds I feel my back and head slam off the floor. I blink hard and the throb from my freshly stitched wound makes it hard for me to keep fighting. He throws my hands to the floor in a goal post like pose, pinning my wrists to the floor. His body is straddling me and with his full weight on me, I know I can’t get free unless I start bucking my hips. He has his legs intertwining and locking down my legs so bucking would be difficult.
He huffs to catch his breath and gets out, “What, the fuck, Bianca?! We had a fucking deal!”. As his breathing returns to normal, his words turn to yells.
I taste the blood from my lip and know it’s busted open pretty bad now. All I can think is, I hope his stitches are still intact . My head hit the floor pretty hard.
“Fuck.” I groan, stopping all movement and accepting my temporary defeat.
He throws my wrists over my head, wrapping one massive hand around both wrists against the floor. With the other hand, he reaches toward the table and picks up my little metal friend.
“Crafty. See what happens when I try to be nice. Trust me, you don’t want the usual treatment I provide here, baby. I fucking promise you that.”
“I’m not your fucking baby,” I grunt back to him between my teeth. I turn and spit blood onto the floor next to me.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with you now?” he asks, putting the scrap metal into his pocket.
“Give me a time out?” I ask, sounding as much like a smartass as I can.
He sighs hard, and shakes his head.
“I told you I didn’t want to hurt you, and I meant it. But I can hurt you. I can’t kill you but I can make you wish you were fucking dead.” He threatens.
“Do your worst asshole,” I say, lifting my head as high as I can, to get as close to his has I can get.
“I’m actually sorry for this.”
I furrow my brow. “Sorry for wha…”
Fuck. I have to stop waking up like this. God damn, this headache is never going to go away. I swear if I have brain damage from this Ogre…
I’m lying on the floor in the same spot I last remember. That fucking bastard knocked me out. I blink until my vision clears, and I start to sit up. I reach up and rub my forehead. I touch my lip, wincing as my finger touches my cuts.
“Fucker.” I whisper as I position myself upright.
I turn and notice my mattress, books, and table are gone, and the chair is no longer accompanying them. I feel like a teenager who was out past curfew. I’m being punished for my bad behavior. I laugh and look around at the bare cell.
“ Uggghhhh ” I groan as I lay back down on the floor and close my eyes. I’m going to get out of here, but for now, I need to rest my head, which has been used as a punching bag for the last 48 hours. He’s not going to hurt me while I’m sleeping or he would have done it already. I need to conserve my energy. I feel myself starting to drift. Further… and further… and further into a slumber.
“Hey! Bianca!”
“Bianca can you hear me, fuck?!”
I squint one eye open, then both. Blinking again as the fucking lights blast my eyeballs, again.
“Will you stop fucking shouting, Jesus, fuck?!” I sit up, seeing Dante on the other side of the glass, banging a fist on it like a goddamn fishbowl.
“I’m fine. And like you actually give a shit. Don’t worry; you didn’t kill me. I won’t go out that easily.” I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them as I sit and stare at him.
I stare into his deep blue eyes, surrounded by thick, long eyelashes. Below them is a nose that has been broken but is still nearly perfect-looking. Below that is a set of plump lips and a surrounding stubble. For a quick second, I think about when he was sitting on top of me with my hands pinned above my head. Boy do I have a fucked up taste in men. Even so, he’s strong as hell, and I would venture to assume he has a whopping 1% body fat. He’s all muscle, and a part of me craved having him straddle me on the floor again. This just became a lot more fun and probably a lot more idiotic.
“I told you I was sorry for having to do that, but let’s be real, this was your fault.”
“Oh, right. I forgot it’s my fault that I was kidnapped and thrown into a prison cell by some fucking creep that won’t even tell me why I’m here.” I respond.
“Well, I just… I’m glad you aren’t dead. So.” He says, heading back to the stairs.
“Wait. Dante.” I stop him in his retreat.
“What?” he says, sounding like an annoyed teenager.
“I’m sorry I made you have to do that. I really was appreciative of the..” I point to the back of my head.
“Will you sit with me for a while? Maybe just make sure I don’t pass out with a concussion or something? I won’t be difficult, I swear.” I plead and hold my hand up with three fingers in the air. “Scouts honor.”
He walks back, slides the chair closer to the glass, and spins it before sitting on it backward, facing me.
“Thank you,” I say, walking to meet him and sitting cross-legged on the floor against the glass.
“So, you know who I am, and I know you’re Dante. If I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before, will you tell me who you work for?” I ask.
“I guess it depends on how juicy your secret it.” He responds.
Okay, he’s interested.
I lift up my shirt and show him a large scar that goes from my hip to my ribs.
“I’ve always told people this scar was from a car accident.”
I stop, putting my shirt back down.
“I want to tell you the real story, if you want to hear it.” I continue.
He nods, and I start to tell him the honest-to-god truth. I wasn’t lying when I told him I had never told anyone this before. I figured, what does it matter if he knows the truth? It couldn’t hurt to try and gain his trust back.
“Well, I was fifteen, and my dad sent me on a job…”