vote to keep this book going

Adriano Moretti's POV

I watched helplessly as her limp figure crumpled into that man's arms. He caught her, looking smug, and grasped her body tightly.

I had heard her murmur a name when she first saw him. Hank. Who the hell was he? And who the hell did he think he was touching her?

I used whatever strength I had left to break away from the hold of the two men who roughly held me back. I started towards Hank, his back turned to me. My feet moved quickly and determinedly across the pavement. I had to get to her.

He'd never see me coming.

But as soon as I made it to him, he conveniently whipped around to face me.

And I felt a sharp, searing pain in my abdomen.

I looked down, stunned to find a small knife coming from Hank's hand stuck inside of me.

He still held Bella over one shoulder, and he didn't move to take out the knife either. "Take one more step and I twist it," he warned.

But I couldn't take another step if I tried, spots appeared in my vision and I felt the two men's hands force me down to the ground, mushing my cheek into the hard, unforgiving pavement. Blood soaked my shirt and began to spill from my face.

Despite all of that, I was only focused on Hank's retreating figure, loading my Psycho into a large, black van.

Then my vision went completely black.

__

Psycho's POV

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

I yanked roughly on the chains that pinned both of my wrists to the dirty, damp wall behind me.

Just a few seconds earlier, I awoke to find myself in a basement of sorts, all alone and in the dark.

My neck hurt like a bitch, but the memory of Moretti being forced around by those men was a harsh ache in the back of my mind. I had to get him out.

"But how the fuck am I supposed to do that with these fucking chains on?" I yelled out of anger.

"Not into bondage?" A familiar, chilling voice strolled down the stairs.

My heart beat started racing. My chest moved up and down as I tried my best to give my lungs air. Seeing Hank, I felt like the scared little 15 year old girl I once was.

He didn't wait for a response, just laughed.

I forced myself to speak up and ask the question that's been plaguing my mind ever since I woke up. "Where is he?" I choked out.

Hank smiled, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth, "Pretty Boy? Aw, don't worry about him right now."

He crouched down beside my sitting figure, his longer, dirty blonde hair falling over his face, he scratched his gruff, unshaven chin as his eyes wondered over me.

He picked up a strand of my hair and twirled it between two of his dirty fingers. "I've missed you," he said suggestively.

Bile rose up in the back of my throat.

I spit harshly in his face and he chuckled. "Still just as feisty as you were as a little girl."

He leaned closer and I arched away from him, tensing up my body. I had thought he was going to touch me but instead he was undoing my chains.

I held back from rubbing the dark purple bruises on my wrists in front of him, not wanting to show any more weakness.

He got up and walked out of the cell. "Follow me, Dollface."

I could tell by the major bulges in his pockets that he was either strapped as hell, or incredibly excited to see me. Either way, I knew to just follow orders and not try and escape. Not that there looked to be any possible exits, anyways.

"Where are we going?" I asked, looking at his back.

He didn't answer, just kept walking and ignoring me.

"I think I deserve to know where you're leading me to," I spoke up again, crossing my arms. This garnered Hank's attention.

He whipped around, stopping me in my tracks. His face filled with anger and pure, hot rage. "You wanna talk about what you deserve? You ran away from me!" He grabbed my shoulders tightly and shook me.

It appears I've awoken the other side of Hank. The completely unhinged side that was buried very shallowly beneath his surface. The one which came out quite often as I grew up.

"I'll show you what you deserve, you fucking bitch," He practically yelled, his voice echoing of the dark walls of the extensive basement. He lifted a palm and struck me across the side of my face, hard enough for my teeth to break the skin of my cheek. The blood filled my mouth and I was forced to spit it at my feet.

That still was not enough for him.

He grabbed all of my hair, lifting it over my head and yanking it apruptly. I could feel pieces of it ripping out and I winced from the pain.

I launched punches straight at him, landing a few in his face. I could see blood forming on his lip, which I had split open.

He slammed me into the wall, my head making contact with the bricks, making it go fuzzy.

His voice was accompanied by a ringing sound now and almost everything sounded mumbled.

He leaned in my ear to speak, "Turn around."

I was to weak to stop him from turning me around but my head was racing with thoughts to fight him off.

Weakly, I slapped and pushed at him, trying anything to get him away from me.

No. No. No. Not again. I braced myself for the worst, remembering what he used to do before I ran away.

But instead of doing that, I heard a metal clinking from his pockets that he pulled out and fastened painfully tight around each of my wrists. Handcuffs.

"You've lost hand privileges again."

I felt my eyes shift close, it grew increasingly hard to keep them open.

Then my vision went completely black.