★ESCAPE★

~CHAPTER 3~

I struggle against him, harshly but he kept dragging me down the stairs. Some of their men were pouring liquid all over the place.

The smell of gasoline was everywhere, Were they about to burn down our house, but -wait- my father was still alive inside. Was he going to be burnt to death?

I didn't want to care, and I definitely didn't want to feel any pity for the man who had caused me so much pain. But it was hard.

It was so hard to shake off this feeling of unease that settled in the pit of my stomach.

I was dragged forward till we emerged out our front door and into the cool night air.

Sleek black SUV cars lined up our front yard, gleaming in the moonlight.

His hand was rough on my skin as he walked over to one of the cars and pushed me into the back seat.

Landing hard on the leather seat, almost hitting my head on the opposite car door, but managed to avoid it by mere inches.

The front car door opened, then it shut loudly. I looked up to see him sitting in the passenger seat before my gaze shifted to the driver's seat, where a man was sat with his back to me. I couldn't really see his face, it was shrouded in shadows.

The car began to move smoothly out from the curb, and I shifted slowly to the car door, my mind already moving with thoughts of my escape.

I could jump out the car as it's moving, they didn't even tie me up, which looked like a mistake, or was I less of a captive than I thought?

Do not underestimate me,I glanced to the front, but they seemed oblivious to my presence, their eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Looking out the window, I saw our house getting burnt to the ground, with flames the licking out the windows and smoke billowing into the night air.

Quickly, I looked somewhere else, not wanting to think of that man, my father, who was still inside.

Images of him, being burnt to death seared into my mind, and waves of guilt wash over me. But I pushed it aside, focusing on my own survival.

We got farther and farther away from the roads I was familiar with. The streets becoming increasingly deserted.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to do. My body would get ached all over, but it wouldn't kill me, right? My hand grasped the door handle and I prepared to jump out.

Expecting the door to swing open, I pulled on the handle, but to my surprise, it didn't budge.

No..no..no..no, I pulled on the handle again and again, but it wouldn't move, not even a little. Why isn't it opening , What was I going to do now? I looked around the door frantically, searching for any possible means of escape, but there was none.

Just as all my hopes were vanishing, I heard Mr. Tattoo's deep voice, rumbling with amusement. "You should have known better,"

That piece of shit,I looked over to see him already looking back at me and a sly grin planted across his face.

It was painfully clear that he had been expecting me to try and escape, and he was thoroughly reveling in the fact that I had failed.

I slumped back onto the seat, dropping my eyes to the floor, unable to meet his triumphant gaze. He lowly chuckled before finally facing the front.

The next thirty minutes passed by in silence. No one made a sound, not even a whisper. The driver hadn't said a word, and Mr. Tattoo looked content to simply sit there with his eyes fixed on the road.

I was left alone with my thoughts that were full with fear and doubts about what lay ahead.

Feeling the bruised on my face swelling and throbbing in pain, I raised a hand to it. My eye was still tender from the blow my father had given me before the explosion, and my lip was split and sore, but at least it had stopped bleeding.

I was thirsty and hungry, my body crying out for sustenance and relief. Exhaustion was pressing me down too.

I only ate once a day, and it was always at night, when my father was fast asleep and wouldn't notice. I would sneak into our kitchen, my heart held at my throat and scrounge around for whatever scraps I could find.

It was a miserable existence, one that I had been forced to survive on.

But even at that, I knew better than to ask or speak now. My eyes were dropping but I glanced over to the front seat and tried one last time, coming up with a new escape plan, maybe this one might just work.

I cleared my throat, but my voice was so small, having not been using it.

"Um...um..." I thought he wouldn't even hear it.

But to my surprise, he turned his face around, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. "What?" he was impatient and I swallowed hard, trying to think fast.

I swished my thighs together, acting like I was pressed to urinate. Maybe, just maybe, they would stop the car, and I could make a run for it. It was a long shot and a stupid plan, but it was worth a try.

"I...I need to pee," I sounded as pitiful as possible.

Mr. Tattoo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my request.

"No." The answer was as expected, but I shook my head, refusing to give up. "Please," I begged.

"I really need to go." He snorted, turning back to face front, unmoved by my plea.

I decided to do it, yeah I'll do it, I started to cry, letting out a pitiful wail. I didn't remember the last time I had cried in front of someone; I always cried myself to sleep, but not when someone was around.

I sobbed like a child, hoping that he would take pity on me; maybe he would see me as a vulnerable girl who just needed to use the restroom. I didn't care if it made me look weak, I just wanted to escape.

After some minutes of crying, my tears were running dry as it was a fabricated display of emotion, but to my greatest surprise, the driver, who had been quietly driving, spoke up. "Lasciala andare a fare pipì..." (Let her go pee...). he said them in Italian and I didn't understand the words, but his tone sounded gentle.

I saw how Mr. Tattoo's head snapped to the driver, his expression disapproving., "Il Don non sarà contento di questo" (The Don won't like this). His words laced with a warning, and the driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, meeting mine for a brief moment before returning to the road.

I'm cooked, right?