The Devil's Deal

chapter five

Penny

Voices are coming from every direction, some are hushed and further away and then others are closer and louder. Someone, I realize, is yelling, their voice is heavy and deep, a slight accent that I can't quite place.

Such a weird dream.

I try to roll over in my bed, but when I shift, I feel my arms are stuck by my sides. I snap my eyes open to a blaring white light that is pointed directly at me. Little spots spread across my vision, I try to blink them away. I pull at my arms, but the sound of metal is holding them back. When I can finally look around the room and am not blinded by the light I take in my surroundings.

What I notice first are the men who are standing around the room, most of them have their arms crossed and are staring directly at me. The others are leaning against the wall pretending that I am not actually sitting in the center of the room handcuffed to a chair.

My chest feels heavy and my head is pounding. I remember why I am here, of course, I hear the gunshots echo through my ears, I see flashes of the men's dead bodies hitting the pavement whenever I close my eyes. I witnessed two peoples murders tonight, and now I am kidnapped by those same strange men.

Mr. Bridger.

That's who they told me I was being taken too.

As I said, I am very aware of my situation, but that doesn't make me feel any less scared about being locked in a random room with a bunch of buff macho men.

The name Bridger rings a bell and I squeeze my eyes shut trying to remember all the trashy magazines I read in Brooke's apartment; she has a stack of them on her coffee table. Then I remember reading that he was named by people's magazine as one of the sexiest men alive. You know, that magazine issue where they pick a nice looking man for all the wives and mothers to swoon over? Yeah, that one.

The man who I hadn't noticed before clears his throat, he is being blocked by the bright lamp that is sitting on the table in front of me. One of the other men walks over and pushes the lamp to the side so that I am finally able to take in who is sitting before me.

One name rings out, Mr. Bridger.

He is intimidating, with his almost black hair, and eyes that are so dark it seems like you're staring directly into a black hole that continues on forever. But his mouth is held in stern a solid line with his hand resting under his chin. He is wearing the most professional suit I've seen, It looks like he could be going to a funeral. I glance around the room quickly to notice all the men lining the walls of the room are also wearing similar suits.

"So... we have a bit of an issue, Miss Jones." The man—Mr. Bridger—says, his features don't move an inch as he says this, his face is stoic and solid, the face of a man who is used to getting what he wants. I know this because my step-father's face is the exact same. No emotion. Ever. And if there was it was only twisted in anger and hatred.

My eyes widen, as the name, he mentions registers, my name, "Y-You know my name?" I stutter, my voice is dry and scratchy.

He tilts his head, "Yes. And that isn't the only thing I know about you, Penelope," His hand rises above the table and he holds it open.

One man to the left of me steps forward and produces a thick folder full of papers, he hands it to him.

He puts it on the table and opens it, slowly sifting through the sheets before pulling one up, his eyes scanning the page from top to bottom.

"You Penelope Jones recently moved here from Monmouth, New Jersey. You live in the 6th apartment on Barrow st. located in Greenwich Village. Is this information correct?" He asks, raising one dark eyebrow.