Toxic: A Dark Romance

Two of the men in suits yank me from the car, completely disregarding the body on the ground. Blood soaks my shoes, and I know there won’t be any amount of cleaning that will get the stain out. The two guys half carry, half drag me to the warehouse because there’s no way in hell I want to go wherever they’re taking me.

My labored thoughts cycle around how to escape and what horrible things they have planned for me.

Inside the warehouse, one lone naked bulb swings from a wire and two chairs are situated by a table. There’s a long rope dangling from the ceiling, and the men on either side of me bring me to it so they can bind my hands above my head. One splits off and pulls the rope taunt, forcing me to stand on the tips of my toes to avoid dangling.Têxt belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Who are you?” I ask them. The words are thick with fear. “Did Gracin send you?”

One of the men looks up from his murmured conversation with the other guy in a suit. He’s got the kind of face that induces nightmares, and I know that I’ll never forget it. He’s dressed in a suit like the others, and just by the close fit and expensive fabric, I can tell it’s tailored, maybe even specially designed for him. His gray-and-white hair is immaculately styled, combed back away from the encroaching baldness. Thick gold rings with sparkling diamonds decorate his fingers. He would look average if it weren’t for the dead, blankness in his eyes.

It’s the sort of gaze that, when it lands on you, makes your insides quake with fear. And mine do as soon as he turns his attention to me the second I say the magic word: Gracin.

He holds up a hand to his associate and sidles over to me, looking like he should belong in a boardroom instead of a back-alley place like this. My guess would be he’s the one in charge.

“So, you do know Gracin,” he says after a moment, “Gracin Kingsley. King? Have you spoken to him since you helped him escape?”

My gut tells me if I answer that question, I won’t be doing myself any favors, so I keep quiet.

He sucks his teeth, and his cheek tics. “Very well,” he murmurs. “Take care of her, Danny.” He directs this to a new arrival, who is out of breath as he shoves through the door.

My own catches in my throat as I recognize eyebrows from the diner and my apartment.

“Of course, Sal,” Danny says with an angry look in my direction. I want to tell him not to be pissed at me. I wasn’t the one who told him to try to kidnap me, so it wasn’t my fault he got maced, but that probably won’t work in my favor.

Sal leaves with two of the others, leaving Danny and one other man in the room with me. I try to breathe slowly and deeply to keep calm even though everything inside me wants to panic. Little muscle tremors sneak out, but I otherwise manage to stay in control. Show no fear.

What worries me the most though—more than Sal’s dead eyes and more than the potential pain I’m about to be dealt—is that I don’t know why. Why me? Who exactly is Gracin, and what the fuck have I gotten myself into?

I knew it was bad, but these guys . . . they’re one level up from completely fucking terrifying.

How did he know these men? How did they know I knew him before five minutes ago? What do they want with him? With me?

As Danny and the other man, who he calls Andrew, circle me, I consider all the things I truly did not know about Gracin. And I curse him for everything he’s done to get me into this situation. I swear that if I ever see him again, one of us won’t make it out of the confrontation alive.

I expect them to start in on the questioning, but they surprise me by sitting at the table for a smoke and a tug from a bottle of dark liquor. They’re trying to kill me with anticipation.

And it’s working.

It wouldn’t be so bad if my shoulders weren’t already burning with discomfort at the unnatural position. I glance up and find my hands are already discolored. I try to wiggle my fingers, but they barely move. My wrists are burning. My legs ache and quiver as they try to keep balanced.

They don’t touch, talk to, or even acknowledge me at all throughout the first night. I try crying, begging, pleading, screaming, but they may as well have put me on mute for all the good it does. I thought I’d been working past the abuse from Vic, but the moment they tied me up, the same fears and terror I experienced at his hands come flooding back. Each time I try to doze, my legs buckle, my arms scream in pain, and I jerk awake with a shriek, expecting blows to come from all sides.

By morning, tears are falling down my cheeks unchecked because I’m exhausted, frustrated, and numb with pain. I can’t feel my arms anymore, and I’ve long since given up trying to stay upright. Instead, I just dangle, circulation be damned. It doesn’t even hurt anymore because I can’t feel anything at all.

Light is streaming through the windows that line the top of the walls when they acknowledge me for the first time. Danny’s been glaring at me when he thinks I’m not looking, but I can’t find it in me to give a damn about his bruised ego.

Danny gets to his feet, his face impassive if a little tired based on the smudges beneath his eyes. If I could move, if my muscles weren’t frozen with exhaustion, I’d pull away from him.

I expect him to hit me, to hurt me, to torture me, but these men are much, much too sadistic to make it that easy. Instead, Danny releases the rope from the pulley and allows me to rest flat on my feet and my arms to flop down, limp and useless. I’d think there was something wrong with them if they didn’t hurt so damn much once feeling begins to return.

He doesn’t say a word, just watches as I shift from foot to foot, trying to improve circulation in my arms and legs. When I do, I want to cry out in pain. The pain is far worse than I thought it would be. Like thousands of bullet ants are sinking their pinchers into my flesh. I bite my cheek to contain the sound, and I do it so hard I draw blood. The taste makes me so sick to my stomach that I puke up bile and blood at my feet.

Danny shows emotion for the first time and takes a step back in barely masked disgust. It almost makes me want to smile. If I weren’t gagging, I probably would have. I haven’t had morning sickness since I found out I was pregnant, but what a time for it to show up.

Momma thinks you have a sense of humor, I tell the baby. I know it’s crazy, but spending the past however many hours strung up, unable to sleep and surviving on adrenaline, has me twisted up in all kinds of ways. Talking to the baby, small though it is, gives me a certain sense of comfort.

It was two weeks ago, just when I thought I was going to be okay with everything that had happened. I’d been so worried about getting an apartment and a job and keeping out of the police’s sights that I didn’t realize I’d skipped a period.

At first, I thought it was stress. I’d skipped a couple while I was married to Vic, so that wasn’t abnormal. But my body felt different. My boobs more sensitive, my emotions more volatile, my energy nonexistent.

And though it scared me right to my core . . . I just knew.

I also knew the baby was Gracin’s. Vic and I hadn’t had sex since before Gracin arrived, so there wasn’t a chance in hell that I was carrying his child. I was most grateful for that. If I were forced to chose between Vic and a convicted criminal, I would pick the criminal every time.

I spared some of my cash to take a blood test at the health care center, and they confirmed my suspicions. I was without a doubt pregnant. They set me up with an appointment with an OB and a bottle of prenatal vitamins and then sent me on my merry way.

At first, I didn’t know what to do. What to think. Melinda started asking if I was allergic to the sun because I was acting so weird. It took me a while to realize it didn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe, this was what was meant to happen. A baby, this baby, was the first good, positive thing to happen to me in a very long time, and I vowed I wouldn’t let what happened to me, happen to this child.

I’ll endure whatever they do to me to see that we both make it out of this hellhole alive.

When the pain is gone, and I can move my limbs freely, Danny strings me right back up. Only this time, he and Andrew pull the rope just a little bit tighter. My arms go numb much more quickly the second time around, and I’m only semi-conscious from lack of food and water. Not to mention, lack of sleep. Each sway of my body shoots me back to consciousness, and now there’s nausea and hunger pains on top of everything else.

This goes on for an endless amount of time. I can only tell it passes because of the light shining through the windows. I lose count of how many times they unhook me, allow the feeling back, and then string me right back up. Danny and the other guy are relieved from watch duty when another pair of men I don’t know shows up. Hours and hours later, Danny and his friend come back, looking refreshed and well fed.

I can barely keep my eyes open but manage to bare my teeth at them, which only causes them to laugh.

If I weren’t strung up like an animal for slaughter, I would have put bullets in every single one of them. Gracin included for getting me into this shit.

The next night, or at least I think it is, they bring out a jug of water. My mouth can’t work up the saliva at the sight, but something primal inside me aches at the sight of it.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, Danny plops the water on the table in front of me and pours himself a glass. The sound only reminds me of the intense pressure building in my bladder. I look away and up at my discolored hands, hoping it’ll take my mind off my body, but it doesn’t.

I fight the need to pee, knowing it’s what they want, the degradation and humiliation, but in the end, nature wins out. The relief is overwhelming, but at the same time relieving myself after so long shoots knife-like edges of pain throughout my middle. The pungent smell of urine wafts up around me, and warmth soaks my jeans, leaving them sticky against my legs.

That’s when they give me sips of tepid water from the jug. I’m so thirsty that I don’t even care. They only allow little sips, but it’s enough to wet my dry lips.

I sway on the rope trying to reach for the cup as they pull it away, and on the return swing, I spin around and meet a fist that connects right with my stomach.

The cramps are immediate and brutal.