Mafia Games by Vi Carter
CHAPTER SIX
CLAIRE
I’m possessed.
Or that’s how it feels. It’s like each move I make, an echo of my action, is lagging behind me. I keep spinning, expecting to see something behind me, but each time I catch my reflection in the unbreakable glass. He said the glass was unbreakable.
Another sob tears from me. Trying to pull back my panic and fear is like trying to hold onto water. All it does is cover me in a wet layer of darkness that keeps growing.
He knows your name. The voice in my head whispers, and I swipe at my ear like I can make the noise stop.
I lose track of time as I search for a way out. I smash another chair against the glass to no avail, and my hope dwindles too fast.
“This isn’t real.”
Brown boots appear on the stairs; the legs come into view before a face I’ve never seen before has my heart jumping.
A man with sandy-colored hair walks towards me, holding a tray of food.
My Captor said he would get me food.
The man pauses at the doorway.
“Move back.” His command has the air halting briefly in my chest.
He is going to enter.
“Move back now!” His bark has me moving back. My movement is a quick shuffle, and he raises a brow. “Five seconds or there will be no food.”
I have no choice but to move back. My foot hits something, and I glance down. It’s a piece of the broken chair. The man isn’t watching me as he swipes a card at the door panel. The click is deafening, and the air changes as the door opens.
The signs are there in his gaze. Not to try anything, but I ignore the warning and scoop up the broken piece of chair. Violence isn’t an option for me. I’ve grown up seeing too much of it. I’ve always sworn I’d never hurt another human being.
But these men aren’t human.
He places the tray on the table and side-eyes me.
“Thank you,” I whisper and move closer to inspect the content of the tray. To him, I am no threat. I see it clearly in his green eyes that don’t smile at me, but they don’t hate me either.
His gaze drags across my bare arms, and I don’t want them to reach my hands, not before I get a chance to use my weapon. I keep the piece of wood pinned at my side.
“May I have a chair, please?”
Sweat makes a pathway down my spine. My shoulder blades drag closer, trying to ward off the sweat and fear.
“No.” He steps away from the table and moves to leave. He turns away from me, and something else takes over.
It’s not even that I’ve thrown caution to the wind. It’s like all the fear turns feral, and it’s not about escape; it’s about elimination, so this ends.
Raising the broken leg of the chair high, the wood sails down into his shoulder. I’m expecting a sickening crunch, but the sharp piece of wood sinks into his flesh and stops. The force rattles up against my arms, and I’m nearly flung sideways as he spins, dragging me with him as he screams. My stomach churns as he tries to reach for the foreign object in his shoulder.
I don’t wait but race for the door. My panicked feet slip on some of the broken wood, and the floor races upward. I hit the ground hard and start to crawl toward freedom. My hands cross the threshold of the doorway before I’m dragged back. My stomach is burning as pieces of broken wood poke and cut my flesh.
I spin in his hands as he flips me over. My feet kick out, missing their mark completely.
He reaches down with large, angry hands and drags me off the ground. I’m waiting for him to hit me. He wants to hit me, but instead, he releases me and pushes me aside. The back of my legs hit the table. I’m reacting without thought, and that’s not always a bad thing. The tray of food flies towards his receding back. The plate shatters, and food is flung across the floor, but it’s enough to stun him as he stumbles and falls to the ground. I run again, only this time I’m more careful of my footing as I make it out of the glass box. I turn and start tapping the panel to close the door, but it’s not closing, and he’s standing up, rubbing the back of his head. His hand comes away coated in blood, and I freeze at the sight of red.
“What is going on?” A voice behind me has me scrambling away from the door of the box. A man wearing a pair of glasses raises his hands. His bald head reflects the light of the room. The man who I just hurt walks out of the box and takes a threatening step toward me.
I move back.
“Go upstairs.” The bald man doesn’t look away from me, and he keeps his hands raised in a gesture that I assume is to make me believe he isn’t a threat. He is here, so that makes him a threat.
“But…” The other man starts.
“Now!”
The warning I hear causes me to take another step backward.
The bald man doesn’t speak again until we are alone. “Upstairs is filled with trained men, whom you won’t get past.”
My legs tremble with adrenaline. I rub the back of my shaking hand across my face. “I just got past him.” My voice is small, and I don’t recognize it.
The bald man smiles as he nods. He takes a small step towards me, like I might not notice, but I see the movement. “Yes, you did. Now, it’s time to go back in the box.”
I half glance over my shoulder; there has to be a door down here.
“There is no way out, only those stairs.” The bald man slowly drops his hands, and I wonder if his patience has run out. “You’re also bleeding, and someone needs to look at that.”
I don't look down. I can feel the warm liquid along my stomach and legs. “Someone? You mean you?” I take another step back.
He exhales loudly. “You don’t want to do this with me. Trust me, I’ll win.”
I turn, and he curses as I sprint around the outside perimeter of the box, I turn the corner, and he’s nearly on my heels. I run until I hit another corner. There is enough space here in the basement for a car but I don’t see any doors. Turning back toward the box, the only way out is the stairs.
Hands grip my arms, and I try to pull away, but the bald man’s grip is surprisingly strong.
“Don’t put me back in there.” I’m screaming as he drags me back. “Nooo!” I kick my legs, but all I end up doing is hitting the ground. My arms are still in his tight grasp, which stops me from protecting myself against the concrete floor. My head takes the brunt before he drags me to my feet. The door to the glass box is right in front of me, and I’m pushed across the threshold.
Spinning, I watch the door close as the bald man glares at me.
It’s not a calmness that settles around my shoulders. It’s the hands of the grim reaper that keep me still on the floor as I wait for him to return. The lighting down here doesn’t alter, so I don’t know whether it’s night or day. I’m on the floor with my knees dragged up to my chest. I have moments of clarity like I can make this add up like I can see a way out and know I just need to wait for another opportunity to escape. Then terror takes over, screaming that I’m going to die.
Tears fall hard and fast from my eyes, and I swallow one sob after another. There are worse things than death. I know this. Death sometimes almost seems kind.
I don’t hear him come down the stairs. I can’t say how I know he’s coming; I just do. He’s standing a foot away from the box in a suit that is made just for him; dark eyes that remove any light from the space are pinned on me.
My stomach tightens painfully. I should stand. I should be in a position where I can protect myself, but my limbs aren’t taking directions from the signals my brain is sending them. Instead, there are only pools of darkness.
“You’re hurt.” His deep voice has my eyes fluttering closed.
“I want to go home.” My voice isn’t strong, and I look back up at him.
He juts out his chin sharply. “I’ve already told you, Claire. You aren’t going anywhere.”
My limbs push up, and I’m standing. “You can’t do this.” I can’t accept this. “What do you want?” I’m half afraid of the answer, but my bones, along with my skin, are so tight, I’m ready to snap.
“When I tell you, you aren’t leaving, it means. You. Aren’t. Leaving.” His hands move behind his back. With his head held high, his height really takes root with me. He must be well over six foot tall, and with wide shoulders, I had no chance of escaping him or fighting off someone his size.
“Trying to escape was foolish.” His lip twitches before resettling. His hands leave his back as he takes out his phone from his trousers pocket. He raises the device, and I think he’s taking photos of me, so I turn away quickly until I hear his deep voice.
“Bring down Eamon.”
I spin around. Eamon? Who’s Eamon, and what is he going to do to me? I’m moving backward deeper into the glass box, but there is nowhere to hide, just like the creator had intended.
The man I attacked, along with the bald man, step into the basement.
“Eamon.” My captor’s deep voice doesn’t just rattle me, I see nothing but fear in Eamon’s eyes that dart in my direction.
“Sir, I’m sorry.” Eamon starts.
My captor cuts him off with a raised finger and a cutting smile that has me looking at the bald man.
The bald man’s face is alight with excitement, and my fear triples.
“Sorry. You should never be sorry. You own what you did.”
Eamon opens his mouth to speak, but my captor once again holds up a finger, silencing him. “What you did was to royally fuck up, Eamon.”
“I’ll do anything.” Eamon’s voice isn’t strong.
“You can go.” My captor directs towards the bald man, who doesn’t look happy at his new order, but leaves.
Dark eyes swing back to me, and I step away from the dark abyss, only to hit the wall. The coldness seeps further into my bones, and I don’t know what to do.
Eamon’s body is jittery, and he shifts in his stance, the broken part of me is thinking, ‘Don’t run. If he chases you, I don’t think you will survive.’ I shouldn’t care, but I’ve lived with cruelty and know the sight of it. It’s standing in a black suit before me.
My captor steps up to Eamon, and it’s like a shoe lined up against a dollar note. You can truly see the full size of the object. The object in question grabs Eamon by the neck and drags him to the glass wall. Eamon’s face hits it hard, and my jaw tightens as green eyes widen.
“I’ll do anything, Boss.” His face is shoved up harder against the glass.
“Yes, you will.” The words are spoken, but he’s looking at me, and there is a lull, like that moment after the flash of lightning, as you wait for the rattle of thunder. The glint of a knife catches my eye, but it disappears seconds later. Red liquid sprays in an arc across the glass as life seeps out of Eamon’s eyes. Fear chokes me, and my limbs give out as Eamon gasps and chokes as he makes a pathway down the glass before hitting the floor. The air thins, and I try to breathe in the sparse oxygen that doesn’t fuel my body—spots dance in front of me. A movement to my left has my attention. He’s moving toward the door.