“I don’t understand?” Is she still talking about Andreas?
“And that’s the best place for you to be. I don’t need you to understand. All I need you to do is scream and cry and bleed when the time comes. And if that doesn’t work? Well, it won’t matter then.” She nods and closes the briefcase, a sickly smile plastered over her face, but it doesn’t cover up the evil under the surface.
The muscle pulls me up by the arm and starts to lead me away.
“Wait. What about my brother? Can I see him?”
“Yes. When we’re ready for you.”
“He’s alive?” It’s a relief to hear that, but the question is still in my voice.
“For now.” She turns on her heel and I hear the clip-clop of her expensive shoes march across the room to the exit behind her. The man pulls me towards the other exit. Time to go back to my cage. My body shakes as I stumble my way back, terrified of what awaits me. Leverage. That’s all I am, isn’t it? For my brother and possibly Nate. For all my protests against violence and crime, I haven’t been able to stop this.
The man’s in no rush to get me back to my room and lets me take my time. Both my eyes are squinty from the swelling now, and I can feel the ache of my bones as I test out a few movements of my face. I think I see the doorway to the big hangar of a room that is at the front of the building. The thought of running enters my mind, just as the man tightens his grip on my arm.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
A table now stands in the middle of the room that serves as my prison cell. The man shoves me into the room, and I almost expect him to come inside with me. The gasp of breath I take as he shuts the door is monumental. I go and perch on the edge of the table, pleased not to sit on the floor.
My legs swing back and forth as I hang my head. Uncertainty infests my mind as I think about Andreas. What can he give them?
The creaking of the door snaps my eyes from the floor, and I watch two men I’ve not seen before step inside. A third man drags a body in behind. One of them closes the door behind him and checks the lock. The body of Andreas is dumped in the far corner. My eyes stare to check for the rise and fall of his ribs. He’s covered in blood but he’s alive. They both pause to stare at me for a moment as if to give me a second to play catch up to their intentions.
There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.
The men step forward together, and I slip off the table. Not showing my back, I round it, and put the six by two wooden structure between us. My heart races as anxiety and adrenaline rush together.
“Andreas,” I shout, unable to help myself. He’s half conscious and a sluggish moan is all the response I get.
As the men move closer, I see they’re both Yakuza. Dark tattoos cover their faces and necks, disappearing beneath the collars of their T-shirts. One man is taller, meaner looking, with a sloping mouth. The other is slim built but has a glint in his eye. He knows what he’s about to do and is already enjoying the hunt.
The last man is doing something with Andreas, propping him up as if positioning him to…watch. My breathing catches, and I struggle to fill my lungs.
The mean one says something in Japanese, and they both rush towards me. It happens so fast, I stumble backwards away from the table and back up against the breeze-block wall. My legs kick out, and my arms circle wildly to keep them from me, but it’s all in vain.
“Get off me. Get off me!” I scream, gritting my teeth as I defend myself. The larger one backs me into the wall and presses his forearm under my jaw, squeezing my throat so I can’t breathe. I scratch and pull at his arm, but he won’t budge, and I can feel my head getting dizzy. As the burn rises from my chest, I look for the other one who’s watching. My eyes grow heavy, and I hope I’ll pass out.
Just as I feel myself slip, the pressure is gone, and I crash to the floor, coughing on the air I’m desperate for. Arms wrap around my body and start to move me towards the table. I thrash and kick out again, but I don’t make contact with anything but air. He slams my chest onto the table, his hand in the middle of my back as I try to move. One of them shoves me about until my hips dig into the edge of the wood.
Groans start echoing in the room and I hear Andreas fight against the man with him.
The other guy, who was choking me a minute ago, comes back into my line of sight. He presses my face into the wood with one hand before moving his grip to my throat. It’s not hard at first, just uncomfortable. The more I struggle with my arms, the more he grips. When I stop moving, his hand relaxes, and I can draw air in again.
My breathing is shallow, and even though I know I shouldn’t panic, I can’t help but pant, keeping up with the beat of my heart. As I feel the pressure build, dark spots start floating through my vision and I feel something at my feet. Someone’s taking my boots off.
From my position, I can only see the side of the mean looking man. His hand rests against my jugular, dictating the amount of breath I can take. Something cold passes next to my ankle, and I feel a tug on my jeans. The jagged sound of ripping fabric reverberates through my body, and panic rises through me. My clothes were the last line of my defence, and now I can’t pretend about what they’re here to do.
I kick out with my free leg, bucking and trying to do whatever I can to stop what is happening, but the hand at my throat squeezes tighter and more weight presses down on my back. The ripping continues until I can feel the cool air touch my skin.
“No! No…Get the fuck…” Muffled and disjointed shouts from Andreas fill the air, making this all the more painful to bear.
My eyes close, holding back hot tears as I wait. I slam my palms into the table, but the strength has fled my body. I feel myself falling under but right before I do, pain sears through me as he penetrates me. The gasp is soundless as I cry and can do nothing but absorb the pain in one lungful.
“Stop!” My mouth sticks together as I try to scream, but only a whisper sounds. “Help.” Another silent cry.
My flesh stings and I try to retreat, pulling away from the intrusion, but the table keeps me exactly where he wants me. The hurt intensifies as he grips my hips and shoves himself deeper inside of me. This time I cry, and my moan is filled with the anguish that wrecks my body.
I grip the edge of the table, my fingers curling around and digging into the underside, marking my pain with my fingers as he brutalises me. My eyes lose focus, choosing not to see anything in the gloom around me, but then my vision is blocked by the face of the mean man. His hand tightens around my neck and I start to choke as he tightens his grip. My throat is raw, and I say a prayer that this time, I’ll slip into unconsciousness.
