3. Raven

Chapter three

Raven

I want to get out of here. I’ve not had a shower in over twenty-four hours, and I can feel the grime clinging to my skin like a second layer.

Ezra had moved me to a cell when I couldn’t provide whatever information he needed. I still have no idea why he thinks I know something. It is so damn frustrating. The cell is tiny, inside some sort of a room and, of course, I was blindfolded on my way here.

The air inside is heavy with the smell of rot and dampness. It’s unbearable. I can barely stand it any longer. My bones ache, and my head is throbbing from exhaustion. But there is no way I can sleep in here. Every time I close my eyes, I feel like I am suffocating.

The man who swept me off my feet is nothing but a facade. Behind those charming smiles and seductive eyes lies something much darker. He’s dangerous. I know that now. I’d be brain-dead not to realize it.

But why me? What have I done to deserve this? My heart tugs, and my mood does a one-eighty. My back hits the wall before I start to slide down, tears welling up in my eyes as I think about the hospital. My job. They must have noticed by now. Harper… she must be frantic, wondering why I haven’t answered her calls.

She’s probably cursing me for disappearing after that stupid hotel event. I didn’t even get the chance to tell her about my one-night stand. I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. I’m in so much trouble. No, maybe Ezra is the one in trouble. When my people find out I’m missing, they’ll report it to the cops. When the cops find him, he’ll be in trouble. Although I highly doubt that he’ll let himself get caught that easily.

That’s not what I want to hear.

I sniffle and try to wipe my eyes on the dirty sleeve of my shirt, but it’s no use. Just then, the sound of a creaking door reaches my ears, and my heart leaps into my throat. I scramble to my feet, my pulse racing. What’s it going to be now?

A figure appears in the doorway. My stomach drops. It’s a man—tall, broad-shouldered, and holding a cigarette between his lips.

His eyes rake over me, not bothering to hide the gleam in them. I know that disgusting look all too well. It makes me shudder. I involuntarily take a step back into the shadows, but there’s nowhere to go. Then I notice it—the large scar running across his face, from his left eyebrow down to his chin. It’s brutal. I wonder where he got it from, but it’ll please me if I hear a lady gave it to him.

“Well, well,” he grunts, dragging the cigar slowly away from his lips before exhaling a puff of smoke right in my direction. “What do we have here?”

I hate the smell of smoke, but I don’t scrunch my nose. I stand, squaring my shoulders and spreading my feet slightly apart. This is one of the very few times I need to take this stance, and I hope I don’t look like a fool.

“You all are going to pay for this.” I raise a pointed finger, but I don’t bring it past my hips because it’s a bluff, and I’m masking my fear well, or so I think.

“I-I don’t know what’s going on, but I swear, you’re all going to regret messing with me. I’m just a medical resident. I’ve done nothing wrong.” One thing I’ve gotten from books in this type of situation is to never let your captors have the satisfaction of seeing you break. Never.

As if my resolve is a joke to him, his head tips back to release a chuckle that sends a scary chill down my spine.

“A resident, huh?” he says, tilting his head to the side. I see the tip of his tongue jot out to lick the corner of his mouth. “You don’t look like any doctor I’ve ever seen.”

“And you don't look like any man I've ever seen,” I retort, before my brain processes what I just said.

Tread carefully now, Raven.

Instantly, he squeezes his face, the downward curl of his lips telling me he isn't impressed.

“I'd watch my mouth if I were you, darling.” His endearment sends another scary shiver through me as his hand tightens around the lock. A brief image of what he’ll do if he enters the cell flashes through my mind, and I resist the urge to gag at it.

“Look, I swear. I have nothing to do with whatever… gang shit you all have got going on.” He doesn’t respond except for the small smirk on his lips. It's indeed gang shit.

“Ezra should know I’m innocent.”

At the mention of Ezra’s name, his smirk fades. I can feel tension descending in the room as his eyes narrow into slits.

“You think you know our boss?”

I hesitate before nodding. “Well, no… not really. But I know he…” he has a huge dick. “… he—he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Or at least, that’s what I hope.

The man releases another cold, humorless laugh.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He shakes his head, finally taking a step back and letting go of the lock. I release a sigh of relief at the action.

“You really don’t know him, do you? You think he’s some kind of a knight in shining armor? That he’s gonna come in here and just let you leave? You’re in for a rude awakening.” Perhaps I've known this, but hearing it from one of his men leaves me drained.

“Please… please, just let me go.” I don’t have the strength to act tough anymore. It’s pointless. My voice breaks.

“I have a job, a life. I haven’t done anything wrong, I promise you. Whatever it is you think I know, I don’t. I haven’t even completed my residency yet. I’m a nobody, I promise you.”

He steps closer again, bringing his cigar to his lips and, this time, leans close so that I can smell the smoke in his breath.

“You see this scar?” he taps the jagged line on his face. “You know where I got it?” I shake my head and swallow the lump in my throat. I’m too terrified to speak.

“The boss gave it to me,” he says. “Yeah, that’s right. He’s not the man you think he is. And let me tell you something, sweetheart. If I let you go, he’ll kill us both. He won’t hesitate.”

My breath catches in my throat. I can’t wrap my head around how it happened or why… or if Ezra is truly capable of killing someone. He straightens up, taking another drag from his cigar.

“The Don doesn’t play games, sweetheart. And neither do I. The sooner you tell the truth, the better off you’ll be.”

Don…as in mafia don?

My legs give out, and I sink to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

The man turns to leave, pausing at the door to look back at me. “Get some rest,” he says with an evil smirk. “You’re gonna need it.”

The door slams shut, and I’m left alone in the darkness. I hug my knees to my chest, my body shaking with sobs. How did everything go so wrong? Just a few hours ago, I was heading home from work after a long day. A regular woman with a regular life.

And now I’m trapped in this nightmare with no way out. Ezra… How could I have been so wrong about him? The man who made me feel so special is actually a monster. A monster who might kill me.

I close my eyes, tears still spilling down my cheeks. I have to find a way out of this. I have to survive. But how? How can I, when the only person who knows where I am is the very man who put me here?

I glance around the cramped, smelly cell. There’s nothing here—no way out. Just a tiny window high up on the wall, far out of reach.

I'm still staring at the wall when footsteps echo from the hallway. I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes. The door creaks open, and my stomach drops when I see who it is—Ezra.

He's striding like a king— a hand in a pocket and a well-ironed white long-sleeve shirt. His hair is slicked back and shiny, a stark contrast to what I’d seen that night.

In this dark place, the strands of white glint against the dark strands, adding to his ethereal lo– No. This man has the fucking audacity to look calm and collected when he’s kidnapped me.

Whatever prior feelings I had for him suddenly give way to a rush of anger. “You bastard!” I yell with every ounce of energy I have left in me. “I regret ever meeting you!”

Ezra’s face remains cold, unmoved by my words. “Likewise,” he replies, his tone flat and detached.

He steps closer, holding up a cellphone in front of me. There’s a picture on the screen—a man I’ve never seen before, grinning like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Tell me what you know about this man.” He digs one hand into his pocket.

Here we go again. Asking questions I have no answer to.

I glance at him, taking in the deadly look in his eyes as his fingers seem to clutch the phone tighter. Releasing a small breath, I continue to glance at the screen. The man has blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. He seems chubby, too. I can guess they’re most likely from the same world.

But of course, I can’t tell him anything because I don’t know him. Ezra, though, wouldn’t want that…and I seem to be running out of time. I can tell from the pulsing movements of his fingers against the screen.

I gulp, scratching the back of my neck. “I… I know he smokes an unhealthy amount of tobacco. His teeth are turning brown.” Ezra’s eyes narrow into thin slits, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he lowers the phone to stare at me.

Uh, oh .

“Do you think this is a joke?” His hand leaves his pocket and clenches into a fist by his side.

“N— no,” I stammer, my heart thudding in my chest. “I swear, I don’t know him.”

I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but then what fucking difference would it make.

His jaw ticks, his nostrils flaring in obvious anger. “The man in the picture claimed you gave him information about the shipment.” His voice is chillingly calm. “So don’t lie to me.”

Shipment?

Confusion freezes my brain for a split second. “What shipment?”

I flinch when he mutters something, then snaps. He barks out an order to someone outside the cell, “ Porta il chiodo e il Martello (Bring the nail and the hammer)!”

It’s apparent from his tone that whatever he just said was not good. A moment later, another man enters the cell, carrying a box of tools. My breath catches in my throat when he strides into my cell and opens the box.

He picks out two long, steely nails and the large hammer inside.

Shit .

My heart tears out of my chest. “Wait, no, please!” I beg, my voice breaking as the man grabs my hands and forces them onto the rough wooden table in the corner of the cell. Tears stream down my face, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Please, Ezra, I don’t know anything! I swear!” Ezra does nothing but stand with hands behind his back. His eyes peer into mine, cold and unreadable. The man places the tip of a nail against my palm. I feel the sharp edge bite into my skin. My breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he raises the hammer to a height sure to leave me handicapped.

“I don’t appreciate you carelessly running your mouth,” Ezra announces monotonously before glancing at the man. He doesn't say anything, but it seems the man already knows what to do.

“Wait!” I scream, just as I see the hammer coming at the back of my palm. When it pauses an inch close to my skin, I almost shit myself.

Damn .

My mind scrambles for anything that might save me. “I know the man!” I should tell him whatever the hell he wants to hear. He stops and stares at me with a raised brow, urging me to go on.

“Great guy, honestly.” A scared laugh leaves my quivering lips. “We, uh… about the shipment. Funny story. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but the oils…”

“Oils?” he repeats as if I’ve gone completely nuts. Heck, even I feel like I’ve gone nuts.

“Yes, t— the oils on the… umm.. shipment…” I stutter, grasping at anything to postpone this inhumane action. But I can see the anger flaring up in Ezra’s eyes again. My heart is pumping so fast I’m afraid I’m going to have a heart attack.

“You think this is about oils?” he reiterates with a finger pointed toward me.

God. I don't fucking know what the hell all this is about.

But I cannot tell him that. He wants something I don’t know.

There's silence for a while until he clenches his jaw and nods at the man in the cell. He raises the hammer above his head again.

“Please. If only you’d believe that I don't know… please, Ezra, I beg you.” My pleas are followed by ripples of tremors across my body. I try to yank myself off.

As I start to scream, another man rushes into the cell. I watch through teary eyes as he whispers something into Ezra’s ears. The expression on his face doesn’t give anything away. But he nods at the man, and he drops the hammer and nail on the table. I ignore the slight heave of Ezra’s chest when he speaks.

“Lock her up,” he says to the man while holding eye contact with me. “I’ll confirm it myself that she’s innocent.”

His guard lets me go and takes the torture devices with him, returning them to the toolbox. Then he goes ahead to carry out Ezra’s instruction.

And then I am alone again. Tears pour uncontrollably from my eyes. My knees become weak, and I collapse on the floor.

What have I gotten myself into?