My Ruthless Kidnapper

Chapter One: 24hours Later

          TEN HOURS BEFORE THE PARTY

  It was only ten in the morning when I emerged from my bedroom after a lengthy phone conversation I had with my mom. 

  The house smells like pasta which already caused my stomach to begin rumbling.

  "Dad, what are you doing?" 

  "Simon suggests I take a day off." For a moment, he glances at me with a smile on his lips before focusing back on the vegetables on the wooden cutting board.

  Instead, my brows pulled together. "What happened? Are you not feeling well?" I confusedly questioned. 

  As far as I'm aware, my dad does not take days off from work so that he can chop broccoli in the kitchen. 

  "My dear, can't a father take a day off to spend it with his daughter?"

  "Not likely you." I lean against the kitchen island. I shrug innocently. 

  "Hey! Remember you're grounded?" He points out and begins wearing some black oven mitts. "I don't want you to feel lonely while your friends are jumping weirdly like all teenagers do." He appends while opening the oven to unveil the two mouth-watering steaks in a grill pan. 

  "It's called party, dad." I chastised, folding my hand on the worktop.

  "Which is very unreasonable." He nodded, a serious expression etched on his face.

  "It's fun." I smile, attempting to lure him to apprehension. 

  "Which is risky." He retorted.

  Frowning, I stupefyingly shook my head at the man with arched brows. "Since when did fun ever got risky?"

  "It starts with euphoria and ends with how I wish, my love." He says like it's a matter of fact. 

  "I doubt," I smirk. 

  "You would thank me when you grow up. Now go choose a movie for us; I'm almost done with the cooking." He towers over me, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

  "Isn't it too early for lunch? it's still morning."

  "We can always order takeout when you get hungry." He nudges my shoulder, forcing the giggle out from my throat.

  "Dad, the new bakery downtown." I elatedly suggest.

  He scrunches his face thoughtfully. "Maybe..." 

  "Dad," I whine.

  "Alright, the new bakery downtown." He agrees.

  "That's why I love you." I squeal blithely. 

  "Because of food? Cheryl."

  Blushing already, I correct myself. "No, I love you for everything."

  "You better because I love you for everything." He smiles widely, assuring me the truth. 

  PRESENT-DAY

  I squeezed my eyes and rubbed them with the back of my hand, but again all I could see was black. For a moment, I believed I had gone blind, which confused me, for I felt no pain relating to my optics. 

  The background around me was completely opposite of a party area. Apart from the audible pounding sound of my heart in my ribcage and heavy breathing—everything else was deafening quiet. 

          I was shivering like an older woman lost in the woods in the middle of December. My lips quivered while fear took over every ounce of me. I knew I was alone, far away from my best friend and school, far away from my father and home. I knew I was kidnapped when the memory came back playing clearly in my head. 

          I've been awake for a long time, and nothing has changed. I've been alone and terrified, yet nothing has happened. I had no guest, no noise, no evidence I'm still alive. That was when the realization hit me. 

  I knew I was dead. The figure from the bathroom either killed me or must've taken away my soul. Both ways, I was dead. 

          Well! I was proven wrong when something creaked, and slowly a gleaming light reflected a direction. I could see a flat-screen television, a tall lamp, and an armchair. If I weren't on the verge of screaming my lungs out, I'd be fascinated by the beautiful view of the decorative walls. But everything in me suddenly paused when a shadow began approaching me. 

          I scrambly attempted getting on my feet to run, to protect myself, but my legs had stiffened, and so I crawled. 

  Breathing excessively, I shuddered with fear of what or whom was about to attack me again.

          What did I do? What have I done? Why was I here? I asked myself mentally when my whole body relay on my palms and knees. 

  Failing to reach the wall, two big hands successfully circled around my arms and violently dragged me back to another destination. 

          I couldn't talk, for I've forgotten how to. The fear I was living left a pool of tears streaming down my face, and with each second that passed, breathing became more challenging.

          I made an effort to escape for the second time towards the opened door, but again I was pulled back, only this time by my hair that I thought my scalp might bleed from the force.

          I let out a sharp, piercing cry, for the pain was irresistible. The strong hands gripped my arms tightly and mercilessly. "Don't be a b***h. You are supposed to be easy."

          The loud voice was deep, husky, and thick. It was manly and held anger and danger in its tone. Although I still couldn't talk, I only could weep tears and shiver from my unknown fate.

          The entrance door widened further, and three figures walked through it. This time I got to see clearly, for the light was turned on in an instant, brightening the entire surrounding.

          The big luxurious room was my least concern. I can barely stand on my feet. All my focus and fear were on the three men standing in front of the big tv screen. 

         The two muscular middle-aged men with stubbles around their jawlines standing behind a tall guy, probably around my age, were dressed in black suits and wires. They looked fearless and robust, people who were meant for UFC.

          Meanwhile, the middle young man seemed to be exercising control over them. He had the boss features even though he was simply wearing black boots, black leather trousers, and a plain black shirt. His disheveled hair was slightly golden, and his eyes were wooden brown. He looked harsh for his age and ignorant for a young man. His terrifying gaze sunk on me, alerting me how much I needed to run. 

          I thought I was scared earlier, but at that moment, I froze. Knowing whatever and whoever they were, they got me here for a reason. I don't quite remember doing anything troubling that will get me into situations like this. But there has to be a reason, and if I'm not lucky, it was a bad one. 

          Different emotions shifted in my system; between regret, hate, dread, and guilt, I settled on pleading. All I did was plead. With my watery eyes, I beg because my throat had closed, and my heart was slowly shutting down.

         The room was quiet, and the men's eyes were all dart on me. I was sure they could hear the rhythm of my throbbing heart and my struggles with oxygen. I had continued to shake in the grip of the ruthless man behind me.

          "I warned you not to touch her, didn't I?" The younger one in a casual outfit asked. His deep raspy voice sent chills down my whole body, and I vulnerably shivered along with a silent sob.

          "She was trying to escape, sir." The obvious older man behind me said and instantly released the clasp to my arms. I was sure he left a scar on my pale skin, for the clutch was solid and painful.

          The thrilling brown eyes ran down my body, slowly and carefully inspecting every inch of me before he replied in a slow tone. "You broke the number one rule and degraded my power. You disobeyed me."  

          "I'm sorry, sir." The man before me apologized. There was fear in his tone that I wondered what he could be afraid of. 

          The young man in the middle sucked in a deep angry breath, with a tight frown on his lips whilst his eyes never leaving my dreadful figure while I eyes-plead him to have mercy on me. 

  However, I wasn't lucky enough when he pulled out something from behind his pant, something I didn't get to apprehend until a horrendous loud shot sharply deafened my hearing.

          He shot me. He literally shot me.

          One two three... I rebooted to the red liquid splatter all over my body. I had my hands to my stomach, for the pain was unbearable. It was like something was stirring inside of me. But when I lifted my palms and inclined my head to see my own blood, I found my fingers dried and cleaned—apart from the sweat my palms were producing, not a stain of red liquid at all. Did he shot me elsewhere? My head? Heart? 

          I hadn't finished the calculations when my eyes noticed the pool of blood running towards me, like a magnet attracting steel. It was the scariest thing at that moment. With a slight spun around, daring myself to figure the source of the substance—my eyes confirmed to my senses. 

  A man was killed right in my presence, a man who was breathing heat against my skin, a man who was lively speaking seconds ago. 

          Breathing became extremely hard. I struggled to stop my heart from combusting; only the pounding of my confused brain was too audible for my hearing, my vision was red, my stomach hurt, I felt sick. I was suffocating from the sudden shrinking room; everything began to fade out slowly.

          I think I passed out.