Hunger

Chapter 3

I kept my eyes shut as I woke up, aching, with my head on my arms. Groaning, I stretched and curled my legs to my chest under the covers. If I didn't open my eyes I had a chance of going back to sleep, I thought. I moved to rub my eyes but my hand wouldn't move. Trying to pull my arms down, I opened my eyes to slits. What? Where the hell am I? I was in a brightly lit room. It was massive, I was in a four poster bed with black covers, the walls were black and grey. The room was empty apart from a wardrobe, a bed and a door leading to an ensuite. I looked up and studied my arms. They were in rope that wound around my wrists tightly and secured them to one of the bed posts. I tugged at them, they didn't budge. What the hell happened last night? I was wearing the same clothes under the covers, staring at them, everything rushed back to me. Olivia. The murder. The two men shouting in another language. The shooting. The needle. His eyes.

As my mind reeled. The door to the room swung open. He entered. His hair was sleaked back and formal, he wore a tuxedo, much like the one he wore in the club.

He seemed annoyed as he closed and locked the door, turning his ice cold gaze on me. I pushed up against the back of the bed as much as I could, kicking the restraining duvet off me. He didn't say anything but strutted towards me, menacingly. I curled up into a ball and closed my eyes. There was a weight on the bed and I opened one eye. He was sitting on the bottom of the bed, loosening his tie and staring out of the window.

We sat like this for a minute. I was too scared to move. Too scared to breathe.

"Marco" He said, turning towards me.

I just stared, wide eyed. "W-what?"

He frowned. "The correct term is 'Pardon me', and my name. My name is Marco."

"Why am I here?" 

"Because you are, thats all you need to know right now."

"You need to let me go!" I started tugging at the restraints, my voice escalating.

"No I don't" He said simply.

"Do you want money? Is that it?!"

He scoffed. "I have enough money, thank you. What do you think I am, a burglar?"

"Well yeah!"

He seemed insulted. "I am way worse than a burglar " He said the word in disgust, before suddenly leaning over me, his hand disappearing inside his suit jacket. "Try mafia" He said slowly, putting emphasis on the word. I could feel his breath on my face as his eyes burned down into mine. 

He removed his hand from his pocket, something glinted in it as it came up to my face. A knife. I whimpered. Suddenly, my hands were cut loose and I sunk into the bed under him. He seemed amused at my response as the weapon was put back into his pocket and he sat back.

He got up, leaving me rubbing my sore wrists on the bed and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower.

What have I got myself into?