“Okay, so you ain’t talking Dante Maroni,” the man leaned back, straightening, the wood groaning under his weight. “Know anything about a Syndicate?”
Amara’s mind flashed back to the room at the Maroni mansion. Lorenzo Maroni’s cousin had mentioned it. She shook her head.
The man nodded. “Know anything about a shipment?”
‘The shipment goes out in three days.’
Amara denied it.
“Stubborn bitch,” the man laughed. “I’ll break you yet.”
Amara shivered, from the cold or the fear invading her entire being, she didn’t know. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice breaking as her eyes welled up.
The man hopped off the table. “Sorry, sweets. My boys and me, we don’t leave witnesses.”
With that, he went out of the door, leaving it open this time. He returned in a few minutes with a bag, placing it on the table. Taking out a large key from his pocket, he came towards her.
Amara shrank into the wall, backing away from him.
“No,” she begged, desperation leaking into her voice. “Please, let me go. I’ll never tell anyone anything.”
The man chuckled, as though she amused him. The scent of tobacco, motor oil, and that overly sweet smoke invaded her space as he unshackled her wrists. “Rest up. Be back soon.”
He took the bag and walked out again, locking the door, leaving her in the dark.
As soon as the man had left, Amara had explored the other closed door for a weapon. It had been a bathroom with nothing but a toilet, a sink, and liquid soap. Out in the room, there was nothing except the table and the chains that were bolted to the
wall, so she couldn’t use them either. Defeated, scared, Amara had simply walked to the corner and huddled in on herself, praying for someone, anyone, to come to her rescue. She didn’t know how long it was, or what time it was, when the man returned, this time with both his companions.
Heart in her throat, she looked up to see them blocking the light from the door.
“I don’t know anything,” she pleaded again, her voice cracking. “Please. If you want money, I can get you some. Please, let me go.”
They ignored her. One of them dragged a chair into the room. The second man came to her, pulling her up roughly by the arm, and threw her into the chair. Amara looked at them frantically, her eyes coming to a halt at the first man laying down a coil of rope, a knife, and a container on the table.
He put on gloves.
Her breathing escalated.
No.
“I don’t know anything!” she didn’t care how her voice broke on that last word. Her fear eclipsed everything.
“We still gonna chat, girl,” he informed her, as her gut tightened.
He took the rope, dipping it in the container. Amara heard the slight sizzle and her body began to tremble. He spoke. “You don’t wanna have these acid ropes around those pretty wrists, do you?”
She shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face.
“Very good. Then tell me about the compound. Is there any entry from the woods?”
“I don’t know,” Amara said, even though she knew there was. “Kids aren’t…aren’t allowed to go in the woods,” she stumbled upon the words in her nervousness. She’d come across it on one of her walks and though it was fenced, it was still there. But she wasn’t going to tell them that. Not when it was her home.
“See,” the man nodded. “That was a test question and you passed. Good. Is there any underground entrance?”
Amara shook her head, her eyes on the rope. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything.”
The man stepped closer, the acrid scent of acid coming with him. Amara clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from trembling.