17. “Show’’ Time

Seventeen

"Show'' Time

M arklov gathers everyone into a side room. The sound is unmistakable, a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine despite my aching rib cage. A familiar noise echoes through the walls, making me think about my baby, my black beauty. I widen my eyes, hoping to see a familiar face walk through those doors.

Marklov senses my excitement, and anger spreads across his face like wildfire. His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches tightly. With a swift motion, he beckons one of his guards over.

"Keep a close fucking eye on her," he snarls, his voice dripping with fury. "Let me see who the fuck these uninvited guests are." He practically spits out the words, his rage palpable.

He then gives a sharp whistle to two other guards, who immediately fall in line behind him, their faces tense with anticipation, ready for whatever may come.

As Marklov strides towards the door, his heavy footsteps echo ominously against the floor, each step deliberate and ready.

The guards flank him; their expressions are stern and alert. He pauses briefly, his hand hovering over the door handle, casting a final, threatening glance back at me. My muscles tense. The room falls into silence, the air thick with anticipation.

The door creaks open, and the noise grows louder, echoing through the room. My mind races back to the open road, the freedom, and the power I had with my black beauty. I can almost feel the engine's vibrations beneath me, the wind against my face, sending shivers down my spine.

The memory of gripping the handlebars, feeling the raw power of the engine roaring beneath me, floods my senses. The sleek, black chrome glistening under the sun, the smell of gasoline and leather, and the rhythmic thrum of the tires on asphalt all come rushing back. I remember how the bike responded to my every command, a perfect extension of my will, as we tore through the open landscape. The wind whipping past, the horizon stretching endlessly ahead, and the sense of absolute freedom and control—it was intoxicating.

But reality quickly snaps back as the first figure steps through the door, and I hold my breath, waiting to see if somehow someone knew where I was and decided to rescue me today.

As the door swings open wider, the rumbling noise intensifies, filling the room with a sense of impending confrontation. The bike's silence and I can feel the throbbing of my heartbeat mix with the clock ticking on the wall near me.

Marklovs eyes narrow as he steps aside, allowing the men outside to come into view.

My heart skips a beat, but as they step into the house, they are strangers, clad in similar leather jackets but with unfamiliar faces.

The leader of the group steps forward, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of confusion and determination. He seems to be looking for someone.

He looks at Marklov, then at me, and back to Marklov.

"Where is she?" he demands, his voice tinged with frustration.

Marklov sneers and returns his focus back to the man, clearly enjoying the misunderstanding.

"Who are you looking for, amigo?" he asks, feigning ignorance.

The man's jaw tightens.

"We were told you had someone important to us. But it looks like we might have the wrong place. My apologies."

Marklov laughs, a harsh, grating sound.

"Seems like your boss gave you the wrong intel, amigos. There's no one here for you."

The leader curses under his breath, clearly irritated by the mistake. He turns to his group, signaling them to back off.

"Let's go," he says, his tone resigned. "We've wasted enough time here."

As they leave, the tension in the room doesn't dissipate immediately. Marklovs eyes flicker with amusement as he turns back to me.

"Looks like you're not as important as you thought," he taunts, his voice dripping with malice.

I can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on me, the brief glimmer of hope snuffed out by the cruel twist of fate.

No one, not a single damn person in this world, knows that I am being held against my will, other than Ghost. And even that is a mystery, as I don't know if he is alive or not. The silence is deafening, broken only by my frantic thoughts, wondering if anyone will ever come to my rescue. The uncertainty gnaws at me, making each passing second feel like a lifetime.

Despite the overwhelming fear, I refuse to give in. I will find a way out of this, with or without help. My determination burns like a fire, pushing me to stay vigilant and alert. I know I can't rely on anyone else, so I must rely on myself.

Marklov faces the crowd, aware of the eyes on him since the uninvited guests arrived. He forces a smile and clears his throat.

"Ai, my apologies, everyone. It was just a little misunderstanding." He looks over at me, wrapping his arm tightly around my waist. "Now, shall we go on with tonight's show?"

Everyone is applauding, cheering, hollering, and acting like wild animals. Am I the only one that doesn't know what the fuck is going on?

Marklov motions to his men. "Bring our guest out, please," he said in a smug voice that causes a concerned expression to shoot across my face.

My eyes look over to meet his

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?" I said in a low whisper.

"I thought I'd surprise you tonight. Don't worry, Little Sinister, you'll love it. We all will."

What the fuck does that even mean?

As I stand in the dimly lit room, my heart races. My mind fills with a whirlwind of emotions, all of them dark and unsettling. I feel the tightness in my chest the pain in my ribs, and all I want to do is go home.

I glance over at the cage rolled into the center of the room, and my stomach turns. A person is curled up inside, their head covered with a black cloth. I can hear muffled words coming from within, but I can't make out what they're saying. I can only assume they're begging to be let free.

"Who is that?" I demand, my voice trembling.

"Who it is… is not important. Just do as I say, and everything else will fall into place." He let out in a confident voice.

This doesn't make sense. None of this does. It's like Marklov is speaking in riddles, and I'll be honest, but that is not my language of expertise.

I can't help but compare this situation to a fucked up ritual or a group initiation of some sort.

"The show must go on, Little Sinister." He let out and took my arm, walking me towards the person who was just as helpless here as I was.

"Tonight, you will prove yourself to me, to us. You will kill this woman in cold blood like you've done to many others countless times before." Marklov let out on our walk up to where she is.

"And what if I don't? This person means nothing to me." I reply.

I only killed one person out of complete cruelty, and that was when I was with Ghost. I couldn't help it. I saw it as a fucked up romantic gesture of some sort and was just living in the moment.

Marklov places me beside the woman, whimpering out through the cloth that is covering her head. One of his guards steps closer, offering me to take a black bag with something in it.

I look up at Marklov, standing next to me, nodding his head and telling me to take it.

Pulling open the velcro strap, I see a very familiar piece. It's my bayonet. There is no way in hell he will trust me to have this in my possession.

Marklov leans in close to my ear.

"Take it, Little Sinister. I know you, and I know what you crave. Don't test me, or the one you think you have come to love will be eating a bullet for his last meal." He let out a deep chuckle.

Did he just confirm that Ghost is alive? Or is he just playing mind games with me?

My hands tremble as I pull out my knife. It's so clean that I can see my reflection on it. The weight of it is all too familiar. Not because it is heavy but because of the memories I share with it.

The words he spoke in my ear gave me hope. If Ghost is still alive, he will be my best chance at getting out of here.

Until then, I will continue to play my part.

"You will take this woman's life tonight, no questions asked." He said out loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

I've never had an audience before, and in this situation, it's better her than me. I know that sounds selfish, but it's the truth. The thought of being in her position fucks with my gut, and I can't help but feel a sense of relief that it's not me up there.

I mean, either way, this woman will probably be killed, and lucky for her, I know the quickest way to end her misery. I have been trained and disciplined for situations like this. Unfortunately for others, I had to do some unforgivable things during my deployment. You pick up a thing… or ten.

I place my hand on the cloth covering her head and slowly remove it. She looks up at me with tears streaming down her face and fear in her eyes. Her ordinary features trigger a vague familiarity that I can't quite place. A part of me yearns for the violence, but another part of me resists, refusing to give Marklov the satisfaction of seeing me obey his order.

I take a deep breath. I have ended lives more times than I can count on both hands. Killing her shouldn't be any different. But it is. I feel…bad for her.

I move towards her, my knife glinting in the light above us, my hand gently resting on her head. If she is to die tonight, it will be by my hand. I can ensure it is quick and as painless as possible. She quickens her struggles against the bonds, but it's futile. I am too strong and too skilled. The sadness in her eyes mirrors the sorrow in my heart, knowing this is the best way.

I grab a handful of her hair and pull her head back, exposing her tear-soaked skin that glistens from all the crying. Her face is wet and flushed, showing how much she's been through. The light catches on her tear-streaked cheeks, making the scene feel even more intense and raw.

I place the blade against her throat, feeling the warmth of her skin against the cold metal.

"Shh…Shh…Shh, this will all be over in a blink of an eye." I say- a small attempt to comfort her before her fate is sealed.

I feel a spark of enjoyment rises inside of me. My adrenaline is flooding through my veins, but I keep a straight face. I look over to Marklov, and his face is filled with satisfaction. It is enough to piss me off.

I turn back to the woman who is slowly giving up and accepting what will happen next, and I do it. I quickly run my blade across her throat and instantly feel her warm blood spill out, covering my hands, arms, and feet. She convulses once…twice… and she's completely still.

I let go of her head, and a sickening thud hits the ground. I tower over her, looking at what I had just done. I feel almost like myself again—the pity for her vanishes.

Those feelings of being myself get cut short by a singular applause next to me. Marklov. I look up at him, our eyes locked. I just fed more into his trap. I just murdered someone not just for his own satisfaction but mine, too. It pisses me off to think I am anything similar to him.

"Bravo, Little Sinister, you did perfect mi amor." He let out in a congratulatory voice.

I flared my nostrils at him, and he took a step forward.

"The knife, please." He holds out his hand, giving a silent command.

I stand there momentarily in thought. I could easily kill him next. Would his men shoot me? What would be their reason to do so? Their boss would be dead. They would be free. But who would cut them a paycheck?

My thoughts teetered back and forth for a moment longer. I return my knife to Marklov, and his men accept defeat for now.

Everyone chatters among themselves like this is a common thing around here. And with Marklov, I have no doubt in my mind that it is.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up, Little Sinister," he said gently as he places his hand on my lower back with a light touch.

I didn't pay much attention to it before, but I couldn't help but notice how muscular and inked up he had become during his time in prison and since the last time I had seen him.

His commanding voice echoed through the room.

"Men!, get this area cleaned up. The show is over." His tone was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

As we made our way through the crowd, Marklov expressed his gratitude to those who attended, shaking a few hands along the way.

A man walks up. His smile stretches from one ear to the other.

"Ah, Mijo, she's a natural, and she's a beauty." He laughs out.

Throughout it all, his hand remained steady on my body, a constant presence I couldn't ignore. The atmosphere is charged with excitement and tension, and I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about what would come next.