Was it the police?
His old crew?
Taking deep, concentrated breaths, Wiseman remained perfectly still, ignoring the thunderous hammering on his door.
As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The flat went silent.
Wiseman took a few more moments before he slowly began to push himself forward when the terrifying crash accompanied the door flying from its hinges. He saw it hit the floor of the hallway, a barrage of splinters burst off upwards like fireworks. Heavy footsteps echoed across the hallway and Wiseman began to feel nauseous again.
The steps drew closer.
Wanting to remain as silent as possible, Wiseman felt his body betray him.
The fear rose up in him, manifesting as another bout of vomit, this time a pale-yellow liquid that splashed into the toilet below.
It drew the intruder to the door.
As Wiseman tried to calm himself, he looked through watery eyes at the thick, black boots at the threshold pointed in his direction. A voice, weighed down by a thick, European accent, followed. The softness of the words took Wiseman by surprise, as if a child was speaking.
‘You like glass of water?’
Surprised by the offer of kindness, Wiseman helplessly nodded, listening vaguely as the boots trudged back through the flat, a brief clatter in the kitchen and then the water bursting from the tap. He tried to reclaim his bearings, the panic and lack of hydration keeping him grounded. As he rocked back onto his knees, he finally wiped his eyes, just as the intruder reappeared.
Wiseman felt like he was in a horror film.
The man filled the entire doorway, his huge frame causing him to arch his neck slightly forward so he didn’t catch his scalp on the frame. The man was a stack of muscle, his arms and chest looked like they were made of stone, even through his jacket.
It was his face that scared Wiseman most of all.
The entire left side was hideously scarred, the eye entirely white, useless. It looked like a ping-pong ball stuffed into a rotten peach.
The man’s hair was cropped, the stubble fading at the charred skin.
His granite-esque hand shot forward, handing Wiseman a glass of water.
‘Here.’ His voice was soft. ‘You drink.’
Wiseman did as he was told, eagerly chugging the water. He was confused, having no idea who the gigantic stranger was or why he was being kind. Without taking his eyes from the gentle gaze of the giant man, Wiseman cautiously handed back the glass. The man took it.
In a flash, the large man swung it forward, slamming the glass into the side of Wiseman’s head. The glass shattered, the shards spraying across the bathroom and Wiseman slumped forward, blood trickling from the blow and his thoughts as scattered as the glass.
He tried to murmur for mercy, but realised it was useless.
Behind him, the attacker removed his jacket, his giant frame stretching his black T-shirt to its limit.
It wasn’t the only resolve he was there to test.
He stepped further into the bathroom, his boots crunching over the shattered glass that covered the floor like a litter box. Wiseman reached his bandaged hand out towards a shard of glass, a useless attempt to protect himself.
The boot slowly lowered down on his forearm, the edge of the leather touching the band aid.
Wiseman went rigid with fear.
‘My name is Oleg.’ The man’s voice sent a chill down Wiseman’s spine. He spoke with the simplicity of a child. ‘I have to ask you some questions.’
‘Please,’ Wiseman sobbed. ‘Please don’t kill me.’
‘I will not kill you.’
Wiseman burst into tears, a mixture of pain and relief at the man’s reassuring words.
It was short lived after the following seven.
‘But I will have to hurt you.’
Chapter Fifteen
The shrill beeping of a heavy-duty vehicle echoed through the metal walls and caused Jasmine Hill to open her eyes. They were sore, the last two days had been spent in a terrified panic and she couldn’t force another tear from her eyes if she tried.
She had never known fear before.
Neither had the three other girls sharing the metal chamber.
The confines of the metal room were narrow and under furnished, with three rough mattresses thrown lazily onto the unforgiving iron floor. In the far corner, a bucket had been placed, which was now overflowing with human waste and causing a toxic aroma to fill the dark prison. Flittering in and out of sleep, there had been a number of occasions where the smell had invaded Jasmine’s nostrils and caused her to roll to her side and retch at the stench.
She was weak.
The other girls were too.
All of them were in their mid to late teens, with two of them staying deathly silent, rocking back and forth in the dark and resigned to a fate that Jasmine was beginning to realise was worse than death. The only one of the girls to speak back, Hannah, had agreed with her that if they were going to be killed, they wouldn’t have been fed. While that was a generous word for the loaf of bread that was thrown into the room with them, it did make sense.
They were wanted alive.
Jasmine pushed herself from the battered mattress and sat with her back against the metal wall. There was the odd sound from the outside world, one which made Jasmine want to bang against the wall and beg for freedom. However, one of the girls that lay a mere two feet from her had done just that.
Within two minutes, the door had opened, a blinding sheet of light causing them all to turn away. Two gruff men, both with heavy accents and high-vis jackets demanded to know who it was or all of them would be punished.
The girl bravely raised her hand.
The man cowardly raised his own.
Jasmine had shuddered with horror as the fully grown man clobbered the young girl in the face, reducing her mouth to a washing machine filled with blood and loose teeth.
An hour or so after the brutal beating, the door had opened again, the light dimmed by the emerging twilight and
