Bound to Serenity by Chao

Author:Chao
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Fiction Works
Published: 2014-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

My eyes flutter open. I am no longer in the nest. Something is wrong, very wrong. After a few minutes, a face comes into focus, dark and deadly.

My head throbs. I find myself on a cold hard floor. The air is chilly and fetid. I try to reach down to push myself into a sitting position, but my hands are bound. My body is numb, but my mind races as I try to find a way out of this mess.

“It’s about time you woke up. I was beginning to get bored watching you sleep,” the gravelly voice says to me. It too has a Cuban accent, but I know it is not Baca.

Goosebumps flood my body. I try to get up again, but my hands and legs are bound with duct tape. Slowly, I manage to squirm into a sitting position. “Who—” I clear my throat and cough from the dryness. “Who are you?”

The man sits silently for a long time, staring at me. “Don’t ask questions.”

I shiver. “What do you want with me?”

“Don’t talk.”

I talk anyway. “What does Baca want with me?”

The man chuckles mirthlessly. “What he wants is his business.”

“Since you are stuck with me, doesn’t that make it yours as well?” I ask, holding out for an answer.

He doesn’t say anything but moves closer to me. Now I regret saying anything at all. He grabs me by the back of my head and pulls my face close to his. His teeth are black and rotted, his ugly breath a mixture of tobacco and alcohol. My stomach rolls, but I hold myself together.

“I can make you my business and show you a few tricks,” he says with a sneer, but then he pushes my face away.

I don’t need a translator to tell me what his tricks are. I shut up . . . but not for long—oh, I hate myself. “You have a name?” I ask, and mentally kick myself for doing it. I tend to speak when I am nervous.

“I am Miro,” he says.

We are making progress. “Thank you Miro.”

“Don’t thank me too soon.” His face looks scarred from years of drug abuse, explaining the rotting teeth. He looks no older than his mid-twenties, but the black hair on his head is already thinning. His coal black eyes bore into mine. I break away from his ogling gaze and look around the room. If an opportunity arises, I will make a run for it. But first I need to free myself from my bindings.

The room is poorly lit. I am in a small cellar with four pale concrete walls and floor. The air around me is cool but not cold. The guarded door across from me is the only way in or out, unfortunately. It has a small square on the top half that functions as a communicating device between my guard and the guard on the other side.

“Miro, bring her to Calixto,” the doorman barks an order.

Miro cuts the bond between my ankles and yanks me to my feet.

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