Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Chapter Two

Magdalena

What in the actual fuck is happening to me? My eyes feel like they are glued shut, my head is pounding as if I've listened to an auto-tuned Smurf on a continuous loop for seven hours, the nausea pushing its way up through my throat is not a great feeling either at the moment and, whatever the fuck I'm lying on is cold and hard like concrete.

I pry my eyes open after several attempts, blinking multiple times to clear the fogginess in them. I'm in what I assume is a basement. Did somebody drug me?

It's cold and the sound of water dripping into a puddle confirms that this place is dank. I'm tied to a metal pipe in the middle of a wall, far from any corners, so I can't even cower away. I don't even know if it's night or day, since it's quite dark here. How long have I been here, and how long was I out for?

As my eyes finally adjust to the darker setting, I realize I'm not alone. There are four other people down here with me. One guy is shirtless, tied to the ceiling and bleeding from his shoulder and wrists and another is shackled to a radiator. The third guy is placed in a chair too small for him, with both his hands and feet tied to it, while the last guy is sitting on the floor tied up against a wooden pole in the middle of the room. My eyes glide over each of the men in this room. They're watching me as well.

Wait, hold up, they're awake! Except for the guy in the middle who is still knocked out. I quickly avert my eyes. I can't possibly be a part of whatever the hell is going on here. This must be some mistaken identity kind of thing. Those guys were the ones I was going to borrow a lighter from. They clearly know each other. What the hell did they do to piss someone off to the extent of being shot at, drugged and kidnapped? All right Lena, don't panic. Deep breaths, one, two, three, four - how many horses are in my store? Wait no, this is not the time for shits and giggles. Don't panic, don't make eye contact or speak to the men, give the kidnappers what they want, and of course... stay alive, hopefully.

Sleeping beauty in the middle has finally awoken. He looks a bit younger than the other three. He looks my age, whereas the others look like they might be in their mid-thirties. The men don't seem too nervous about the situation we are in at the moment, and don't seem to bother lowering their voices. I don't recognize the language they are speaking, so I can't get a hint as to why we are locked up in this basement. I wonder if they speak English. I mean, I know my English isn't the best, but hoping they speak Danish is a bit far-fetched. Or, maybe nothing is too far-fetched at the moment because, you know, I'm tied up in a basement. This has to be some sort of misunderstanding. I literally just got to the United States. I haven't done anything wrong yet, and I don't know who these people are. Maybe coming here was a huge mistake. I slump back against the wall with a light sigh, resulting in me banging my head into the metal pipe with a hiss. Four pairs of eyes immediately turn to me, as if they just now realize I'm here. Their brows furrow as they study me closely and I quickly avert my eyes. So much for avoiding eye contact.

"Who the hell are you?". I glance up to see who is asking the question. The man in the chair is looking straight at me with an intense gaze, though he wasn't the one who addressed me. Mr. Ceiling is glaring at me. His demeanor is scary as hell and if he wasn't as tied up as myself at this moment in time, I might not have needed to consider whether I should answer his question or not. Before I could open my mouth and give this rude man a piece of my mind, the door to the basement slammed open with great force, startling me and making dust fall from the ceiling. A weasel-looking man steps into the room with us, or is it called a donkey? You know the animal from the movie Shrek? I can't remember the little fellas' name, the one who has four legs and never shuts up? The small gray horse-looking animal? Yeah, he looks like the human version of him.

"Who the fuck is banging on the pipes?". Weasel man shouts, looking at each of us. Fuck, my stomach drops and I probably look fifty shades of white. I banged on the pipe with my head. I really don't want to turn myself in, he does not look like he cares whether it was an accident or not. Ceiling guy sneaks a glance my way, and for a second I think he'll snitch. I feel my eyes water and I try to blink away the wetness. He shows off a small smirk before spitting right on Weasels' shoe. Something tells me that action won't go unpunished. Another guy enters the room with a gun and hands it to Weasel.

"So that's how you want to play this game, huh?" He sends Mr. Ceiling a smirk of his own before punching him hard in the ribs. I'm pretty sure I heard something crack in there.

"I've been warned about you guys, you're tough nuts to crack. Luckily for you, I'm always up for a challenge. I almost couldn't believe my own ears when I heard about this job and I certainly can't wait until I can take full credit for taking you down."

Mr. Ceiling and the rest of my so-called roommates look amused even though this is the least amusing situation I've ever been in. A deep chuckle starts echoing around the room, making me freeze up even more. Mr. Small chair is fucking chuckling. Are we even in the same room right now? There is a raging lunatic with a gun who practices physical violence and wants to crack our nuts, and there Small Chair is, just enjoying the moment, having a little chuckle. Though, Weasel looks a bit hesitant before opening his mouth again. I can't say that I blame him. Small chair is massive. He looks like someone who eats people for breakfast and drinks the tears of his enemies, like a character from Game of Thrones.

"Is this funny to you?" Weasel asks, looking at him in disbelief. Oh god, please say no Small Chair.

"I'm glad you asked, this is indeed very funny." Oh god why? His answer seems to anger Weasel, but he still keeps his distance. Is he afraid of Small Chair?

"I can't believe someone would be desperate enough to hire a little punk-ass looking bitch like you, to do their dirty work." He's got a fair point, Weasel is one weird looking dude. Though his nonchalant vibe is putting me a bit at ease, this probably isn't the best time to piss him off further.

And wait a minute, is he being paid to do this?

Weasel is seething, and he pulls his gun up and aims it at Small Chair. I accidentally let out an involuntary squeak, making him turn his attention towards me.

"What do we have here?" He lowers his gun and takes slow strides towards me, making my chest feel uncomfortably tight.

"You don't usually bring your whores to your gatherings, this one must be special." Rude. He comes to a stop right in front of me and crouches down to my height. He reaches out a hand to grab a strand of my hair, making me flinch back, resulting in my head banging against the pipe again, causing him to smirk disgustingly.

"I guess we've found our culprit." He is about to reach for something in his pocket, but stops when Mr. ceiling interrupts him angrily.

"She's not with us." Thank fucking god. This has to be my out. I haven't seen much yet, and I still have no idea what's going on here. Maybe he will let me go when he realizes that I have nothing to do with this.

"And you really expect me to believe that?" Weasel looks bored as he continues.

"They must really like you, little girl. Trying to spare you from the same fate as them by pretending not to know you, how noble." He rises from his crouching position and looks over at the guy who handed him the gun earlier and gives a nod towards me.

"Bring her."