Page 2 of Psychological War

He was dead and waiting inside the shipping container for Luca to find. Just biding time until he found him.

The problem was the slight flaw in my plan. Matteo’s men weren’t supposed to find me just yet. They were supposed to find Mario in the Cosa Nostra shipping crate. But they caught up to me faster than I would have liked. Which brings us to now, Matteo's men torturing me, wanting to know where Mario, their under boss, was.

“Where is he? You stupid fuc—” One of the guards sneered at me before getting cut off from the door slamming open. Another guard stepped into the room, wincing when he saw the condition I was in. It was almost comical. From his expression he couldn’t handle the way I looked. With bruises covering my body, my face was black and purple.

“Boss wants you to take her into the room with the other,” one of the men said in Spanish. They often spoke it, thinking I had no idea what they were saying. If only they knew I could understand every single word they spoke.

Blinking a few more times, I could see it was Hugo. Oh, he was my favorite. He loved taking his time punishing me. He was going to die a beautiful death when I got out of here. Which shouldn’t be too much longer, maybe a few days at most.

Hugo let out a heavy growl, motioning for one of the men to untie my legs and hands from the chair. Once I was free, Hugo grabbed hold of my collar, dragging me out the door and down the hall. Once the door was open, he shoved me inside before slamming the door closed.

“Oh my god.” I barely had time to pick myself up before a very quiet voice whispered beside me. Turning over, I nearly knocked into a red head who was reaching out for me. Snatching my arm away from her like she was on fire, I backed away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Rolling my eyes, I shook my head before crawling to the far wall, resting my head against the cool cement wall. My ribs sent a sharp stinging sensation up my sides. I could feel it in my fingertips. That would be if I had actual feeling in my fingertips.

The smallest sound of her stepping forward caused me to lift my head, and her eyes widened. Either from my glare or because I was covered in blood and sweat, and most likely other bodily fluids I didn’t want to think about. It wasn’t like they would allow me to shower. I almost chuckled at the thought of it. I had been here for three days already, and with the amount of blood covering my body, I knew I looked rough.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, eyes glued to my face.

I snorted.

“I’m sorry. You’re not okay, obviously.” Again she kept talking, when I really just wanted it to be quiet. I needed to be quiet so I could prepare myself for what would come next. I just needed to hold on for two more days.

“I’m Mila, what’s your name?”

I continued just staring at her. She didn’t need to know my name. I was a dead girl walking. No one needed to know my name.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Mila asked. “I didn’t speak much before either. I’m finding myself wanting to stop talking again.”

Mila began to pace back and forth across from me. She should save her energy. I had no idea why she was here, but whatever the reason was she should definitely sit down and rest.

“They’re going to find us soon.” I had no idea who she was talking about, or if she truly believed someone was going to find her. But this was Matteo's compound. No one was getting inside. And no one was getting out. Not unless I killed them.

All of them.

Two days.

Two days and I would end all of them.

“I know you probably want quiet, but I need to talk. If I retreat back to my head I’ll probably stay there.” She stopped pacing, focusing her attention back onto me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Mila dropped her gaze down to the floor, as though she was used to being submissive. I hated that she felt like she had to submit like that to me. There was no reason she had to fear me. Sure, I was a killer. I’ve murdered plenty of people. But those people deserved it.

Those people hurt those who couldn’t defend themselves. I was doing the world a favor. I was helping the world by getting rid of those people.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I should just ignore her, close my eyes and wait for the next set of guards that came in to take me away. Instead, I found myself saying, “You can keep talking.”

Mila’s head snapped up, her eyes filling with tears. “Are you sure?”

Nodding my head slower than I should, Mila finally sat down against the wall across from me.

“Do you want my shirt to stop the bleeding on your forehead?” I shook my head no. I didn’t need her taking her shirt off just to have the men come in here and see her. I was hurting and as much as I loved a good fight and taking care of the trash problem, I don’t think my body could take a fight right now.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t take off my clothes. You’d think I’d know that since I’ve been through this before.” Looking up at her, Mila tried holding her tears in as she spoke. “Yeah, I was kidnapped before, actually three times.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “The first time was Matteo. He actually bought me from my piece of shit birth giver. I was held by his associates for a few weeks before my husband found me.”

So for the next what I’m only assuming could be hours, I listened to Mila talk about how she ended up here. She never spoke her husband's name. But apparently, while Mila was being transported to Matteo’s, her husband saw her and saved her. She said she didn’t think that when he took her that it was an actual kidnapping. I wanted to roll my eyes; pretty sure I did. Kidnapping was kidnapping. Didn’t matter how nice or sweet they were.

Mila even talked about her goals of opening her own art gallery. I couldn’t lie to myself that I enjoyed listening to her talk about her artwork. She had been drawing since she was ten, and her dream had always been to open one.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, the door was slamming open. Hugo and another guard I hadn’t seen before stood in the doorway. Mila was still against the furthest wall lying on the ground.