Don't Flinch

Torture

(Tasha's POV)
As I slowly come to, I feel pain. Pain in my head, my arms, my wrists, my legs, my entire body aches. My face is cold and the floor is hard, concrete. I reach up to put my hand on my head, but I can barely lift it. I yank at my arms and wince, I'm chained. Where am I? What's going on? I look through squinted eyes and try to make out my surroundings. I see tall metal bars about three feet in front of me. I don't feel like looking all the way up, but I have a feeling they reach the ceiling. There's five bars. I look to the right of me to see five more, and again on the left. A sturdy, maybe brick, wall stands behind me. I'm in a cage. The room I'm in is very dimly lit, nearly pitch black. It's so cold. I lift my head slowly to see if can sit up.
"Agh." I groaned.
It feels as if boulders are falling on my head, but I have to get out of here. I tried using my legs to pull myself up, but my ankles are chained too. I squeeze my eyes shut, and count in my head. 1, 2, 3– I abruptly sit up and fall against the wall. The room is spinning and my head is unbearably heavy. I take a few deep breaths and open my eyes. My clothes are gone, they left me with nothing but my undergarments. It's too dark for me to see, but I can feel bruises in various spots. My memory starts to come back in pieces. I'm going to need to get my story straight. I remember going to work, work was fine. The case we worked on was long and drawn out. I remember talking to Kurt, but our conversation is a blur. I went back to my apartment and— Nathan. Nathan is dead. Nathan is dead and Reade wouldn't answer his phone. Where did he go? I hope he's okay. My God, Nathan. I roll my head side to side on the wall, feelings of pain and defeat are flooding through my head. I freeze, I hear something. A person, maybe. It sounds like someone is moving around. Then, mumbling— I think? I can't make out what they're saying. There's two voices.
"She's here." A voice grows louder, closer.
Are they talking about me? I'm here. I wonder if they're keeping anyone else down here. I see a silhouette and squeeze my eyes shut again. I'm not scared, just worried about who's behind this.
"Oh, good. You're up" The voice says.
I look up, I don't recognize his voice or face.
"W-who are you?" My voice cracks.
He stares at me like I'm scum on the bottom of his shoe. He looks so angry and out of his mind. I recalled all the times I've told Reade to "lighten up". It's nothing compared to this guy.
"Silly girl, why would I tell you that?" His mouth twists awkwardly and his voice is like the ones you only hear in movies.
"Well, I'm here. Chained up, in a cage, and I'm guessing you're the reason why. I also assume this is your place. I feel like there's steps we could've taken. Do you even know my name?" I rambled on, in hopes I would get somewhere.
He stares at me without answering, then turns away. Great.
"Hello." I call out.
He doesn't answer. It smells like gasoline, rusted metal, and mud in here. The lights switch on, but I can't throw my arms up to shield my eyes.
"Bitch.." I mumble.
A different man walks over to me. He doesn't look at me he just stands there, facing away from me, like a guard.
"Excuse me, Sir. Why am I here?" I know he isn't going to tell me, but it's worth a shot.
I'm right, he just stands there and says nothing. The other guy who won't tell me anything comes back. He presses a button on a remote and the cage raises up. I remain on the floor, chained.
"I have a present for you." He smiles, holding one hand behind his back.
"A present?" I ask, this can't be good.
He took his hand from behind his back. He's holding a collar. It's black with wires around it.
"This will look great on you, your friends have them too." He shuffles toward me.
I scoot back against the wall.
"My friends?" I begin to panic.
Is that why Reade wasn't answering? Patterson can't seem to catch a break. Why are these people doing this? I can't think of anything unusual happening the past few days. Nathan's death was expected; unfair, but expected. The guy ignores me and grabs me by my shoulders.
"Let go of me." I struggle to pull away. "Where are my friends? What did you do to them?" I persist. 
He jerks me forward and slams me against the wall, causing me to hit my head.
"Ow!" I shrieked in pain.
"You talk too much." He says, snapping the collar onto my neck.
"I wouldn't annoy me too much, that thing is pretty painful." He turns away to leave the room.
"Wait. Where are my friends? I want to see them." I will not stop pressing the issue.
"Patience." He continues to walk away.
My head is pounding even more than before. I look down at myself, I don't want Reade or Patterson to see me like this. I look pathetic and weak. I'm chained like some kind of animal. I wonder if he did the same thing to them, I hope not. I hear footsteps again, lots of them.
"Why are you doing this?" A voice asks.
A voice I would recognize anywhere. I let out a sigh of relief. Just knowing he's alive provides me with comfort. I wriggle around to pull myself into an appropriate position. I turn to the side and hug my knees up to my chest. I want to see Reade's face to know he's okay, but I'm too embarrassed to look at him. I laid my head on my knees.
"Tasha.." He says in a tone I can't quite describe.
Disbelief? Horror? Fear? Hurt? I don't know. I do know I am not ready for this.
"Go ahead. Look at him." This guy is enjoying himself.
"No." I snap back.
"I said.. look at him." He demands.
"I said.. no." I speak louder this time.
"Okay." He sounds oddly at ease.
I tense up and wait. I don't know what I'm waiting for, but I'm nervous. That was weird. The guy, I've yet to give him a name (since he won't tell me his), takes something out of his pocket. I can't see what without looking at him. Within seconds, it feels like a million knives stab into my neck at once. Pain shoots up to my head and down throughout my body.
"AH!" I scream and try to grab at the collar, but my hands barely reach.
"Look at him." The guy says sternly.
I ignore him. I'm going to call him Torture. That's what he's doing, he's torturing me. I'm not going to look at Reade. I can't. Torture presses a button three times and then a forth. I yell out louder this time,
"AGH!!"
The pain intensified drastically. My body is shaking, my heart is racing. I want to cry, but I won't. I won't cry. I'm stronger than this, I can handle this. I squeeze my eyes shut and my face scrunches up in pain.
"I said, look at him!" Torture screams.
"No!" I yell back.
"Tasha.. please." Reade's voice is much quieter than ours. "It's okay."
I wish it was okay, but it's not.
"I can't." I mumble.
"That's fine with me." Torture says and presses the button again.
I scream at the top of my lungs just as Reade yells,
"Stop! She doesn't have to look at me."
"You don't make the rules. Sit down." Torture shoves Reade into something, a chair? "Look at him."
Unable to take another shock, I slowly lift my head and look at Reade. Double metal belts extract from the chair and wrap around his abdomen. His lip is busted and he's handcuffed. He's fully clothed, must be nice. I want to cry even more now. I'm not sure if he knows about Nathan, but this isn't the place to talk about it. Patterson is slumped next to Reade, still unconscious and handcuffed. I can see the metal belts digging into her ribs because of the way she's sitting. Her clothes are on as well. What the hell?
"Perfect. Here's how this is going to go:" He looks at Reade, "you're going to tell me everything I want to know. If I think you're lying or withholding any information I will inflict pain upon her." He gestures toward me. "I've got bigger and better plans than just a shock collar. So, I suggest you comply."
Reade's jaw hangs open as he searches for  a response. He knows he can't tell this guy everything he wants to know, but he doesn't want me to get hurt. I look Reade in his eyes and gently nod my head. I want him to trust me and trust my strength. I want him to do what he has to do and I want him to know it's okay. I hope he gets all that without me saying a word.
"Let's begin, shall we?" Torture put his hands together and his eyes grow wide.
I swallow hard, I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for what's to come.
"Agent Kurt Weller has a child now, yes?" He cocks his head to the side.
Reade hesitates, "Yes."
"Excellent, and where does this child reside?" He smiles.
His smile disgusts me. I can see the evil, the sickness, all over his face. He knows Reade won't answer that. He's going to ask questions he knows Reade won't answer. Reade looks over at me, his eyes are shining. This isn't just torture for me, but for him too. I can't tell him how to answer, that would be wrong of me.
"I— I can't answer that." Reade speaks quickly.
"Oh, joy! This is going to be a wonderful game." Torture nearly jumps with excitement. "You poor thing." He fake pouts.
I stare him dead in the eyes and don't say a word. I don't move a muscle. I'm not afraid of him, I say in my head.
"We'll start off easy, just for you. I'm going to put the voltage all the way up on your collar, but here's the catch: you can't scream. That's right, keep your mouth shut. We have neighbors, an angry old man. He tends to shoot through my windows when it gets too loud. Crazy right? So, unless you want a bullet in your skull from him (or me), I suggest keeping quiet." He sounds as if he's given this speech before.
His enthusiasm is concerning. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page." He presses the buttons.
I hold my scream in, but I'm screaming on the inside. My throat is flaming and my stomach twists. I grunt and let out a few deep breaths. I look up at Reade, tears are streaming down his face. He knows it's only going to get worse. I look away, I can't cry. I have to keep it together.
"Now see, that was boring. Next: I want to know what you know about her addiction." He waves his hand in my direction.
He has a tattoo spiraling up his forearm. It's like stained glass, but in gradients of black. Reade doesn't know much about my gambling addiction. As far as he's concerned, there is no addiction anymore. I wish that was the truth. I don't know what Torture knows about it, if he knows anything. He could be looking for leverage.
"Her addiction is in the past. She struggled and she got through. That's all there is to it." Reade is being completely truthful in his mind.
"Liar." Torture spat through his teeth.
"No! I swear, that's all I know." His voice is shaky.
I've never heard him so scared. I feel terrible. Why hadn't I told him I can't stop? I haven't been to a meeting in ages.
"I've warned you to abide by my rules!" Torture's eyes fill with rage.
I jump at the tone of his voice and Reade sits up straight. Torture began rummaging through a duffle bag. In search of what? I don't know. I don't want to know.
"He's not lying. He doesn't know." The words came out before I could stop them.
I've come to the realization: I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about Reade. Reade is tough, but not when it comes to me. He is always dead set on making sure I'm okay. I'm his number one priority, no matter the circumstances.
"What?" Torture acts surprised. "Tell him." He freezes, hands still in the duffle bag. I can't risk anything happening to Reade. I met his gaze and my heart sank to my stomach. The hurt and confusion spread across his face. He looks at me as if he hasn't a clue who I am. I take a sharp breath in and let it out,
"I'm sorry.. It has-"
Torture cuts me off, "What is "it"" he grimaces.
"My addiction. My gambling addiction hasn't stopped. I don't know if I want it to. I haven't been going to the meetings. It's so relieving, that feeling of risking everything. It makes everything else go away. But I'm okay, Reade. I'm okay. It's okay." I lost myself within my words.
I sound awful, selfish, and sick. I've never seen Reade look so distant. His tears dried as I spoke. His jaw is clenched, he's horrified. I look down at my feet, my chest is tight. My heart feels so close to bursting. I wait for him to say something.. anything. What have I done?
"Yess.." Torture hisses like a snake. "The game has really begun."
Patterson jolts awake, on cue (per se). She has a small coughing fit and takes in the room around her.
W-what's going on?" Her voice is husky and groggy.
I know exactly what she's feeling. The heavy weight throughout her body, the spinning room, the confusion, and the horror. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.
"..Tasha?" She spoke through a shaky exhale.
"You're right on time, missy!" Toruture exclaims, hands remaining in the duffle bag.
"Reade is going to tell us why Nathan Zapata popped up out of nowhere."
His teeth are jagged and nearly golden when he snarls. I thought my heart has already sank to the floor, but here it is falling even more. What does Reade know that I don't? I thought I introduced them for the first time. Has he got something to do with Nathan's death? God, I hope not. He would never. Would he?
"Dare I ask, what if I don't?" Reade gulps.
Torture switches out the shackles on my arms. The new set is much tighter, but the chains are longer. I don't see the point in this, he didn't switch the ones on my ankles. The sound of a heavy machine broke through the silence. I look around, only to find my arms unwillingly being pulled above me. They rise all the way up, past the point of being comfortable. My shoulders could pop out of place at any given moment. I made a grunting noise trying maneuver into a bearable position. I've never felt more exposed in my life. My whole body in plain sight, dirty, cut, and bruised all over. I want to hide every bit of myself. Patterson is looking away, as would I. Reade isn't looking away, but he isn't looking at me either. It's like he's looking through me. He's not aware of anything right now, other than the fact that I lied to him for months. I nearly forgot Reade's question when Torture answers,
"I'll make her bleed until she screams out in pain,-" he reaches in his duffle bag, "then I'll have to do it again because she disobeyed my rules,-" he pulls out a butchering knife, "and lastly I'll slit her throat."
He strokes the blade like it's a lifelong pet. He admires his reflection and spins the knife around and around. He takes short, graceful steps toward me. When he reaches me, he puts the tip of the knife against my skin.
"The first cut won't be too bad, they'll only get worse from then on. If I really don't like your story, I'll stab her. Again and again, and again, and again." He chuckles evilly. "One more thing: don't you dare flinch."
His bodily smells are overwhelming. He smells worse than the sewer rats running around the subway. My nose twitches and I jerk backward.
"What's the matter with you?" He leans closer to me.
Our bodies are almost pressed completely together. Our faces are only centimeters apart. Without saying a word, I spit in his face. Instantly, I'm filled with regret. It was a better idea in my head. He lets out a low deep growl. He grabs ahold of my throat and slashes the knife across my stomach. I gasp and throw my head back in pain. He cuts me again,
"Didn't I tell you not to flinch?"
Reade lurches forward, but is stopped by the metal belts.
"Leave her alone." He chokes out his words.
"Oh my god.." Patterson whispers.
"If either of you move, your collars will go off." He angrily says to Patterson and Reade.
He waves the knife at Reade, "Start talking."
I look at Reade with pleading eyes. His stare is no longer blank, but filled with fear. He may be pissed at me, but he doesn't want me to die.
"Nathan is running a huge drug cartel in the Bronx. Hirst asked me to run a private investigation on him." He pauses.
"Is" I think to myself. He said Nathan "is" running a drug cartel. Nathan isn't running anything. Nathan is dead.
"Keep going." Torture presses the knife into my arm.
"I contacted him and asked if he has talked to you recently because you've been missing him. I suggested he come to the city and stay for a while; It'd be good for you both. I asked him not to tell you I spoke with him." He grew hesitant as he spoke.
He's building up to something he doesn't want to say. He wouldn't do it, he wouldn't do it, he wouldn't do it. I repeat the words in my mind. Tears are pouring from my eyes and I can't stop them. Not anymore. My stomach burns. The bleeding hasn't stopped.
"Tasha, I have to do my job. I won't hurt him and my intentions are not to hurt you." The guilt is clear in his voice.
Guilty for giving me false hope, for sure. From the sound of it, he didn't kill Nathan. Nathan overdosed and that's all there is to it.
"Reade.." I shudder, "he's— he's dead."
Torture is circling around me, toying with the knife.
"Do you know why he's dead?" Torture asks.
"He overdosed on heroin." My voice is flat when I speak.
I haven't got much fight left in me.
"Hmph." He smugly laughs. "Keep going."
"Oh my god.. I'm sorry. My phone— I left it at work and by the time I—"
Torture interrupts him, "ENOUGH!" and slashes my arm.
I grind my teeth to keep from blinking or yelling out. This is inhumane. How can he live with himself after this? My eyes met Patterson's, she looks helpless. She's crying, but she hasn't made a sound. I'm sure she's trying to form a plan, but there's not much we can do. We can't move. Reade is shaking his head, I know what he's thinking. This is something he can't unsee. Something that will appear in his dreams, in his daydreams, and any time he closes his eyes. I can feel his pain when he speaks,
"Nathan didn't want to come. He said he didn't want to put you in danger, but I insisted. I promised to..keep you safe." Reade and I simultaneously come to a conclusion.
"Is that why we're here?" I demand. "Is this all because of what Nathan got himself into?"
I can't believe this, this extreme torture because of drugs? It can't be.. but what else?
"We're getting closer. He's definitely part of it. You see, I'm a very dangerous man. I run a lot of things nationwide. Nathan is much like you—" he puts the tip of the knife under my chin, causing me to lift my head. "He loves to feel in control, powerful, and he feeds off the feeling of risking his life." Torture willingly answers.
"You don't know him.. Not like I do." I refuse to believe Nathan is involved with this guy.
"I know a lot. About you, your family, your line of work, your team.. Stop me if I'm wrong: I know why you have this job, the CIA. It's the risk, the risk is much greater than gambling. You're basically a walking target and you love it. The FBI wasn't enough for you, they don't like to do things dangerously. Then there's the power, you need the power just like your brother." He sounds factual.
That's because he is, he's right (partially). I like my job because I save lives. I want to save lives, but I don't want it to be easy. I stared at him, avoiding Reade and Patterson; who remain silent. 
"The main reason I have this job... is because I want to help people. I want to save lives." I say softly.
"Who are you trying to convince? Them or yourself?" Torture presses.
Unable to face them, I change the subject,
"If Nathan lived for his position in your line of work, why did he overdose?"
A smile grows upon his face and he sighs. A knot formed in my stomach. I'm not ready for his answer. Torture approaches me and places his hand on my cheek,
"Nathan didn't kill himself and he didn't overdose. He was compromised—" chills went down my spine. I know what "compromised" means. It means he needs to be removed quietly and efficiently. "the minute he spoke with Agent Edgar Reade. I took him out."
"NOO! No, no, no!" I shriek, my voice is hoarse.
Pain and hatred are coursing through my veins. My scream could have burst ear drums. I don't care about flinching or my noise level. I don't care about anything anymore. I'm completely unaware of my surroundings.
"You killed him! You killed him!" I sob.
He presses the knife against my throat.
"Tasha!" Reade and Patterson shout. 
I scream over their voices,
"Why?!"
I hear loud bangs and shattering glass. I continue to cry out. Everything around me is background noise.