FlyGirl - The First Edition

Chapter 14: Mute is a funny word

I WOKE UP  because I was cold.

Once I woke up, I decided that I would prefer to go back to sleep. It was so much easier than actually dealing with the facts.

The facts, so much as I could ascertain, were thus: I was zip tied to what I perceived to be a radiator in a dark and cold room. Given its dank and musty odor, I knew it was basement. From where I sat, I could see a halfway closed door with a light on behind it. Behind this door were two men who had been arguing from the moment I had regained consciousness. I wished they would shut the hell up. My head was already pounding; their arguing, combined with the bass which I gathered was coming from the floor above, was making me want to puke.

Either that or I had a concussion. Along with maybe a bruised rib or two. I hadn't been thrilled with Nick's manhandling of me. When I expressed my dismay, he kicked me a couple of times in the stomach and backhanded into unconsciousness.

"She belongs to Cosetino. This is bad, Nico."

Nico. That must be Nicolae. Nick. Someone was talking to Nick. Whatev. I closed my eyes.

Nick answered in Russian. I don't know what he said, but it sounded obscene. Most likely it was about me.

"You want a war?" asked the first man. "Because you touch her, you're gonna have one. We gotta good relationship with the Cosetinos. Don't let a woman fuck it up."

"Pull down your pants, Ilya," said Nick, "I wanna see if you still got any balls."

"You're going to get us all killed," yelled the first man. "Over a woman, too. That's stupid, Nick. Stupid."

"It's a good as day to die as any." The door slammed open and the light came on. "Are you awake, little princess?" He came over had stood in front of me. "Finally. You are awake. What's the matter? Don't you feel well?"

My head hurt so badly I couldn't even look up at him. "Kill the lights," I moaned.

"Does your head hurt?" He knelt down in front of me, his asininely blue eyes evaluating me like I was livestock. "Let's see this bump."

I tried to my head, but I lacked sufficient energy. He grabbed my chin and turned my head, then prodded at where the bathroom stall door had hit me.

I winced. "Stop it, you douche."

"Da. You have a very bad bruise. When we get to Russia, we'll have a doctor look at it." He then pressed in on it, hard, so hard I saw stars.

I gasped; the pain came on so fast and hard I couldn't even scream.

"And that is for calling me douche." His teeth flashed bright in the dark.

I allowed myself to lean forward into the black. This, however, did not make him leave; instead, I felt him bury his hand into my hair. With an unnecessarily violent jerk, he pulled my head back. "I hope you are slow to learn," he said, his eyes piercing down into mine. "It's more fun that way."

I closed my eyes and let myself fall limp. I was so near to passing out that it was fairly easy to feign. He dropped my head, said something in Russian, and then the next thing I heard was, "She's passed out again. I thought she'd have more fight in her."

I heard the door slam. Finally. I was all alone in this pitch black room. I opened my eyes. A part of me wanted to cry, to scream for help, to lose control. But what good would that do, other than waste time and energy? If I wanted out of here before I got to experience the embrace of Mother Russian, I would have to do it myself.

I moved my wrists up and down, and thanked God that they used zip ties and not handcuffs. It's easier to get out of zip ties than handcuffs; I know this because all partner's kids at the Firm go through annual hostage and kidnapping training. I wiggled my hands around. Damn. Whoever put them on, put them on the right way.