The Mafia on 6th Street

Taken | Be Cautious

Just a warning as the next couple of chapters contain violence such as assault, abuse, harassment, etc, etc. Just a trigger warning for readers who are sensitive to such topics.

And as always, enjoy!

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-Unedited-

Salty air and savory bites of beef jerky in the midst of drowsiness was the closest feeling she'd felt compared to when she was high on Bambi's boat (aka Donovan's cocaine chocolate shipment).

Angelina definitely had a fever. She hadn't felt this way since Damien locked her up in a cell without proper sanitation, warmth, and food. Angelina sniffled her mucus and felt nauseated. It wasn't the time to have seasonal sickness on a deserted island.

Angelina choked repulsively in a screech with the chords that were left in her, struggling against the beings that twisted her arms and bounded her ankles so that she landed headfirst onto the sand, pulverizing her profile and cast arm. She groaned, tasting the ghastly cloth clenching her jaw.

It didn't help that she was exhausted due to her sudden sickness. Every time she tried getting up she collapsed. Angelina closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, attempting to relax her nerves.

Somethings in life were written to happen for a reason. Even if they were brutal and unfair. And what had happened to Angelina next was its sentiment.

The back of her skull was buried in the sand by a boot, crushing her head.

Angelina bid herself to calm down from the hysteria she was summoning. She needed to concentrate and use her senses to identify her captors and her surroundings.

Gruff voices.

Men.

English speaking.

She twisted her neck to catch sight of them.

Instead, the boot slammed her head again to the ground with such strength it was animalistic. No mercy.

"Where's the male with you?!" The man with his boot in her face growled in his clammy voice.

Angelina muffled mouth was of no use as her response sounded like gibberish. The man slammed his foot onto her back and Angelina howled in pain - her arm and bones were suffering. She sobbed her misery and ire as the grains of salt pressed against her eyes.

"She can't talk, dipshit." Another male growled, grabbing her by her shoulders to flip her over. He yanked out the cloth her teeth gritted. His daunting brown eyes racked her body with chills as everything about him screamed murderer. He was too ripped, tanned, gaze wild, and a jagged vibe – a true predator that had undeniably Latin roots.

She wondered if she should rat Damien out before she got ransacked again in the sand.

"O-over there," She pointed vaguely out into the open in the direction Damien went in.

She wasn't sorry at all. She knew that Damien could take care of himself.

The man wickedly grinned with his pearl sharp teeth and yanked the cloth back into her mouth tightening it to a point she felt it near her throat.

"Good answer, sweetie." He chuckled evilly; indicating that they had already known where Damien had headed. After all, they had been tracking them since Damien's little visit to the jet the first time.

The man that had first cracked her skull with his boot against the sand stood next to his partner. He looked vile compared to his friend. Massive, yellow teeth, no hair except for a braid coming out from the middle of his skull, and a patchy beard. Too pale against the nature of this island. No hygiene. Just disgust.