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Opening my heavy eyes, I look around the unfamiliar room as my vision focuses. The room is cleaned, probably not a spec of dirt lies on the white tile. The walls are painted a tan with white wall trim. Bright lights make the room glow, looking around there is not a window in sight.
My hands are tied to a wooden chair, aswell as my ankles to the front two legs of the chair. I try to yank my hands upwards but the rope keeps my wrists down, burning my skin.
I look down at myself, seeing me still in my black dress. My thights touch together, making me realize my knives aren't there anymore.
The door opens without a creak, a tall man with light brown hair enters. His eyes are a brown shade, matching his hair color. A white scar is visible above his lip.
"Who are you?" his russian accent is thick as he speaks.
"Right to it, huh?" I don't bother hiding my italian accent.
I tilt my head to the side with a lazy grin on my lips.
"Who do you work for?" he takes a couple steps closer to me.
He isn't to bright, is he?
"Can you loosen these? They're a little tight," I nod down to the ropes.
"No."
I roll my eyes at him, a sigh comes from me.
"Who do you work for?" he repeats his last question.
I shrug my shoulder and I can see his jaw twitch. He takes the final steps closer to me, grabbing my hair, pulling my head back in a hard jerk.
I grin up at him and his fist meets my mouth. The metalic taste rises in my mouth, I spit the blood in my mouth on his face.
He wipes the blood off with the back of his hand. He reaches into his waistband, grabbing a small, black gun. He holds it to my temple and I just stare at him unamused. He clicks off the safety and I yawn, staring into his eyes.
The door opens again, light footsteps against the tiles. The gun stays to my head even as the man turns to look at who walked in.
"Boss," he greets the man.
I finally get a look at the man who walked in, Damien. I give him a toothy smile, blood still in my teeth. His grey eyes glance over to the man with the gun to my head.
Damien pokes his tongue through his cheek, his eyebrows raise slightly at the man.
"What part of 'don't lay a finger on her' did you not understand, Ivan?" his russian accent is deep.
"Boss, I-" he doesn't get a chance to finish.
Damien raises his gun, aiming it at Ivan's head and he pulls the trigger. His body falls back, smacking against the tile. He rolls his eyes at the body, blood surrounds the head of the body.
