The Brothers' Mission[Sequel](18+)

Chapter Four

Amaris

I gently close my eyes, readying myself for death, yet nothing happens. 

No trigger pulled.

No pain felt.

I am still breathing.

He didn't shoot me.

Slowly, I crack my eyelids open, just enough to peer at the monster above me, pressing a gun down my throat.  His breathing is fast and shallow, his lips pressed firmly in a straight line, and his eyes hold such anger that I can't figure out why he hasn't pulled the trigger. 

Yet.  Hasn't pulled the trigger yet that is.

Just as quickly as he shoved the gun into my mouth, he removes it.  Vlad returns the gun to his shoulder holster, covered by his expensive looking suit.

Is he seriously wearing Armani?

Vlad pulls out a walkie talkie and rambles off a bunch of words, in Russian obviously so I won't know what he's saying.  Prick.

He pushes himself off of me and stands next to the bed.  He had me so frightened that I didn't even feel him straddling me.  "Don't go anywhere," He starts before a smug smile decorates his face.  "Well..you can't go anywhere, now can you kitten?"  He coos as he smiles maliciously down at me.  He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up.  Ha.  Good going dumbass.  "Someone will be here shortly to escort you.  You are filthy and I don't appreciate all this blood staining the bed linens, even in my holding cells."  He looks at me with disgust, then shakes his head and heads to the door.  Before he exits, he turns around, staring me down like a predator would its prey. "I have much planned for you little girl."  He slams the door behind him, part of it falling down into the room from its hinges.  And with that grand departure, I'm alone again.

Hot tears of anger cascade down my cheeks.  I can't help the overwhelming feeling of impending doom weighing down on me. 

My family will never find me.  Luca was shot.  Damon was shot. My tears keep pouring out, hot tears, so hot they burn my skin.  The sting serves as a reminder of the dumpster fire my life has become. If I had any type of luck, it'd just be bad luck. No in between.

The remainder of the door slams open, bringing my attention back over to it.  Oh joy.  A mean looking son of a bitch enters my non-cozy little prison.  He too wears a fancy suit similar to Vlad's. He quickly approaches me and wastes no time pulling out a knife. With one fast flick of his wrist, the blade pops out and he reaches for me. Unsure of his intentions, I try pulling my body back from him.  Please God, can't I just be shot instead of stabbed to death?

"Please... don't cut me... just shoot me... don't cut me." I plead desperately, the tears unstoppable and endless at this point. I've never cried so much. Ever.

The man paused and stared down at me. He is really intense. His eyes harbor some sort of emotional depth that I struggle to decipher. He seems to be debating on what he should do to me. His brilliant, blue eyes were a bit entrancing. "Hold still," he grunts as he swiftly slid the knife under the ropes binding my wrists. Perhaps he isn't as mean as he looks and won't hurt me after all. "If you try anything, I will beat you senseless." Perhaps I was wrong. His tone was serious but his gaze looked... apprehensive. Either way, pretty eyes or not, I'm not going to take the risk.

I rub the skin around the wounds on my wrists as he cuts the ropes from my ankles. Jesus my poor skin is going to get a nasty infection if I can't tend to it.

"Come." He simply orders, motioning for me to follow him.

I warily trudge behind him through the doorway and down a long hallway. They are going to need to replace that busted ass door. The ghost of a smile pulls at my lips but I reign it in before I'm fucked up for finding humor in something.