He shoves me towards a massive club. I blink a few times, confused. Why the hell would they take me to a club? It’s a nightclub, by the looks of it. There’s no one around, because night hasn’t fully fallen, but it’s without a doubt a place for dancing and drinking. I stare up at the flashing silver sign that informs me it’s called House Of Obsidian.
In other words, House Of Black.
How fitting.
The club looks fairly modern as he come in closer to it, and I see the big swinging silver doors that open up onto a massive drinking deck covered in flash tables and chairs. I’m pulled up the steps and into a huge club that is all fitted out with black and silver. It’s edgy and dangerous, even if there’s no one inside.
The chairs are all stacked up onto the tables and the sleek black bar is empty. There are black booths in the corners, big curved ones that about eight people could fit in. There are sleek silver and black floors and a massive stage. It’s an upper-class club, without a doubt. I wonder why they hell they’ve brought me here.
Then they take me past the bar and into a quiet alcove. Someone reaches down and right out of the floor he lifts a huge door. Like a basement, I suppose. A light is flicked on and then the man holding me shoves me towards it. Wait, he wants me to go down there. I push my heels in, terrified. In a club is one thing, but underneath a club is another.
“You move, girly, or I’ll make you move,” the man hisses into my ear.
He shoves me forward, and instead of stepping into the massive staircase that leads underground, I stumble down it. I hit the first step with my cuffed hands first and cry out in agony as my body is tossed down. I roll, flip, and hit every part of myself, until I hit the bottom with a thud. Blood trickles from my lip and once again I fight the tears welling in my eyes.
Then I lift my head and my eyes widen in shock at what I see. I’ve read enough stories, seen enough movies to know what this is. A massive fighting ring is situated in the middle of the huge space. It’s blue and white, and so big I have to blink a few times to truly take it in. There’s a massive standing space all around it but aside from that, there’s nothing else in here.
“Max isn’t going to be happy about you fuckers bringing this girl in here,” someone says in the darkness.
Someone leans down and lifts me up and then I’m being dragged again.
“Max owes me,” the tall man says. “He’ll deal.”
They lead me to a room and fling open the door. It’s a locker room. I’m dragged through it and then pulled into a small space right at the back that looks kind of like a storage closet.
“You’re going to put her in a fuckin’ closet?” Someone snorts.
“It’s the only door that locks on the outside that I know she can’t fuckin’ get out of.”
The man tosses me into the space and I crumble to the floor. He looks down at me, studying me. “Pretty thing, aren’t you? We might just have use for you yet.”
Then he slams the door, and my world fades back into darkness.
~*~*~*~
NOW -Pippa
I sit in that closet amongst fighting gloves, brooms, punching bags and weights for what seems like hours. It’s cold in here, and I’m shivering, terrified. I can’t stop thinking about the place I’m in. It’s fascinating, and even through my terror I can see that. I know there’s a lot of underground fighting around these parts, but this club, it seems . . . classier.
I shift about until I find a comfortable spot against a stack of towels, and I drape one over myself for warmth. I don’t know what they’re going to do with me; I don’t even know who they are. All I know is what Santana told me, and that’s that they are in the drug world. How bad they are, I don’t know. Are they members of a cartel? Or worse?
I try to push my mind away from that as the closet grows darker and darker. Night has fallen, and the sounds of music thumping come from the club above. I wonder if all the people in there know that there’s a kidnapped girl downstairs. Would they even care if they did know? My heart aches at the very thought. What kind of people am I dealing with? Where will it leave me?
My thoughts are stirred back into the depths of my brain when I hear voices enter the downstairs arena. I hold my breath as the sounds of shouting flow through and the voices become clearer. Someone is yelling, and whoever it is, he’s angry. He has a voice unlike any I’ve heard before. It’s thick, slightly accented, and so husky it’s as if he should be reading for an adult hotline.
Before I can process further, the door to the closet is swung open and I’m staring up at the scariest man I’ve ever met in my life. He makes Maddox look like a puppy dog in comparison. It’s not that he’s bigger, or broader—it’s his eyes. Black as coal, and so empty it’s terrifying. His face is handsome, aside from that, though it’s handsome in the dangerous kind of way.
He’s got scars on his cheekbones, and a slightly crooked nose, clearly from having fought in his life at some point, maybe recently. Thick lashes frame his eyes, and his mouth, though full, is set in a tight line. His jaw is muscular, just like the rest of his body. His hair is cropped short, close to his head, maybe a few centimeters long and messy. It makes him even more terrifying. His body is large and muscled, especially his shoulders. He’s got tattoos running out of the sleeves of his shirt and down his arms, twisting angrily until they reach his hands.
Terrifying.
“You put a fuckin’ girl that looks like she’s fuckin’ ten in my closet?” he roars so loudly I flinch.
In other words, House Of Black.
How fitting.
The club looks fairly modern as he come in closer to it, and I see the big swinging silver doors that open up onto a massive drinking deck covered in flash tables and chairs. I’m pulled up the steps and into a huge club that is all fitted out with black and silver. It’s edgy and dangerous, even if there’s no one inside.
The chairs are all stacked up onto the tables and the sleek black bar is empty. There are black booths in the corners, big curved ones that about eight people could fit in. There are sleek silver and black floors and a massive stage. It’s an upper-class club, without a doubt. I wonder why they hell they’ve brought me here.
Then they take me past the bar and into a quiet alcove. Someone reaches down and right out of the floor he lifts a huge door. Like a basement, I suppose. A light is flicked on and then the man holding me shoves me towards it. Wait, he wants me to go down there. I push my heels in, terrified. In a club is one thing, but underneath a club is another.
“You move, girly, or I’ll make you move,” the man hisses into my ear.
He shoves me forward, and instead of stepping into the massive staircase that leads underground, I stumble down it. I hit the first step with my cuffed hands first and cry out in agony as my body is tossed down. I roll, flip, and hit every part of myself, until I hit the bottom with a thud. Blood trickles from my lip and once again I fight the tears welling in my eyes.
Then I lift my head and my eyes widen in shock at what I see. I’ve read enough stories, seen enough movies to know what this is. A massive fighting ring is situated in the middle of the huge space. It’s blue and white, and so big I have to blink a few times to truly take it in. There’s a massive standing space all around it but aside from that, there’s nothing else in here.
“Max isn’t going to be happy about you fuckers bringing this girl in here,” someone says in the darkness.
Someone leans down and lifts me up and then I’m being dragged again.
“Max owes me,” the tall man says. “He’ll deal.”
They lead me to a room and fling open the door. It’s a locker room. I’m dragged through it and then pulled into a small space right at the back that looks kind of like a storage closet.
“You’re going to put her in a fuckin’ closet?” Someone snorts.
“It’s the only door that locks on the outside that I know she can’t fuckin’ get out of.”
The man tosses me into the space and I crumble to the floor. He looks down at me, studying me. “Pretty thing, aren’t you? We might just have use for you yet.”
Then he slams the door, and my world fades back into darkness.
~*~*~*~
NOW -Pippa
I sit in that closet amongst fighting gloves, brooms, punching bags and weights for what seems like hours. It’s cold in here, and I’m shivering, terrified. I can’t stop thinking about the place I’m in. It’s fascinating, and even through my terror I can see that. I know there’s a lot of underground fighting around these parts, but this club, it seems . . . classier.
I shift about until I find a comfortable spot against a stack of towels, and I drape one over myself for warmth. I don’t know what they’re going to do with me; I don’t even know who they are. All I know is what Santana told me, and that’s that they are in the drug world. How bad they are, I don’t know. Are they members of a cartel? Or worse?
I try to push my mind away from that as the closet grows darker and darker. Night has fallen, and the sounds of music thumping come from the club above. I wonder if all the people in there know that there’s a kidnapped girl downstairs. Would they even care if they did know? My heart aches at the very thought. What kind of people am I dealing with? Where will it leave me?
My thoughts are stirred back into the depths of my brain when I hear voices enter the downstairs arena. I hold my breath as the sounds of shouting flow through and the voices become clearer. Someone is yelling, and whoever it is, he’s angry. He has a voice unlike any I’ve heard before. It’s thick, slightly accented, and so husky it’s as if he should be reading for an adult hotline.
Before I can process further, the door to the closet is swung open and I’m staring up at the scariest man I’ve ever met in my life. He makes Maddox look like a puppy dog in comparison. It’s not that he’s bigger, or broader—it’s his eyes. Black as coal, and so empty it’s terrifying. His face is handsome, aside from that, though it’s handsome in the dangerous kind of way.
He’s got scars on his cheekbones, and a slightly crooked nose, clearly from having fought in his life at some point, maybe recently. Thick lashes frame his eyes, and his mouth, though full, is set in a tight line. His jaw is muscular, just like the rest of his body. His hair is cropped short, close to his head, maybe a few centimeters long and messy. It makes him even more terrifying. His body is large and muscled, especially his shoulders. He’s got tattoos running out of the sleeves of his shirt and down his arms, twisting angrily until they reach his hands.
Terrifying.
“You put a fuckin’ girl that looks like she’s fuckin’ ten in my closet?” he roars so loudly I flinch.
