Two women in uniform, in their late twenties maybe, barged into my cell. I was laying in the same position for the past twenty minutes, I guess. I could barely move my hands, and I could feel a thick liquid in between my thighs. My stomach was turning from the acrid bile lingering in the air from my vomit.

"Miss," A small voice came from one of the women who were now just standing right beside the bed.

"Miss," It came again as I showed no sign of acknowledging their presence.

One whispered in the others ear before squatting down and scooping me into her arms. I didn't mind her touch much, but I definitely felt my skin crawl when we made skin contact. She made her way out of the cell. At this point I was wincing from the pain that struck every time she took a step. My head leaned on her chest and I wished I could stay there forever. It was warm and comforting. Bright light shone all around, meaning that we were out of the cell, wherever it was, and on the first floor.

Guards stared at my bruised, partly naked body as the two women passed by them with me.

The second lady sped up a bit to get the elevator first so that she could have it come down before we got there. Its doors opened and we made our way on it.

It stopped at the seventh floor and I realized that it was the floor where the so called boss's bedroom was. Panic hit me hard, thinking that they were taking me to his room, but relaxed when they opened another door, which was just next to his bedroom.

Orange rays of early morning sunshine lit the bedroom through the window, giving all the items in the room a vivid vibrancy. For one moment I thought I saw beads of blood sliding down the wall. I thought, as I closed my eyes, that death was here and his gruesome grinning face was looking down at me yet nothing had ever seemed so inviting. I waited for the grim reaper to come and collect my soul, I was willing and would gladly pass it on.

The other women who hadn't been carrying me opened a door between the bed and the large glassdoor leading to the balcony. It led to a bathroom identical to the one in the boss's room. She quickly filled the bathtub with hot water then came to undress me, while I was still in the hands of the other. Slowly I was eased into the water. Holding a sob back as my wounds throbbed. Slowly the water turned a scarlet red. After about five minutes, they drained the tub and filled it again with fresh warm water.

"Bring the oils," the one who had carried me said to the other. Her entire uniform was drenched.

She was actually beautiful; with pale skin, brown curls, grey eyes and sharp but petite nose. I wished I could be her, I had never felt so jealous in my life. She didn't seem broken, she didn't seem violated, and her skin did not crawl, not like mine did. She did not beg for death. My eyes travelled to the white ceiling as tears rolled to my ears.

God,

I know I'm a shit person, and I don't pray much. But make it stop, please.

Tears flooded down with my whole body violently shaking.

I flinched every time they touched me, each time taking me back to the cells where I had been ripped apart as if I had been lesser than a human.

After a long painful bath, the brunette scooped me up again, soaking her uniform even more as the blonde wrapped a towel around my body and dried me, before placing me in between the soft, silky sheets of the bed.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, not sure of what I was thinking. Tears ran down my cheeks from the pain. It seemed like my tears weren't drying up anytime soon. And I was so tired.

I was slowly drifting off to sleep, when someone softly shook me, opening my eyes I saw the brunette sitting beside me.

"Sorry miss, but you have to eat," she said raising a bowl to my chapped lips.

Picking up the spoon she fed me the soup before giving some pills and then singing me to sleep.

Warmth filled me as sleep took over me.

💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟

Rafael's P.O.V

I paced in my office with the glass of whiskey in my hand. Taking a gulp, I groaned as the warm liquid burned it's way down my throat, then I threw the glass to the wall and watched it shatter into hundred pieces.

I wanted to kill someone so bad; I wanted to rip someone's throat out with my bare hands, I wanted to see heads rolling. Walking to the wall, I punched it hard, over and over again. I could feel my hands bleed, causing me to hit harder. They had killed Ronaldo, put his head in a box and sent it to my house in Germany. I had been too late, I couldn't save my best friend.

After landing, I had rushed to the warehouse to find it in flames. They took all the imported girls, drugs, money and guns. Someone really had it out for me. They wanted to fuck me over.

Ronaldo had always been there for me. We had grown up together, him being the stable boy in my father's house. He would sneak me out of the house and we would go riding in the fields. When my father would beat me up and leave me in a cold cell, Ronaldo would steal the keys, carry me out, and tend to my bruises and cuts. He had always been there for me, and I couldn't be there for him the time he needed me the most. It seemed as if everything was just going upside down. I had lost my Loala. The beauty that put the sun and the stars to shame. Thinking about her only made me angrier.

Every night I would sit up and watch her sleep through my laptop in my office. I was taken by her, but knew that asking her out would take time, thus I thought I would kidnap and marry her. Eventually she would have loved me back, but Tom had fucked that up, bringing that whore into my house.

Yes, I may have overreacted with her, but I needed someone to feel as much pain as I felt.

My phone buzzed on the table, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Yes," I answered

"Boss, we got one of the malen that were involved in Frankfurt, we just landed."

"Bring him to me." I said, as a huge grin spread all over my face.

I was going to kill someone, finally, I thought.

"Yes boss."

Dropping the phone, I ran to my room to put on my black sweat pants, and an old torn up black shirt.

Going down stairs, I walked into the torture room. It sounds cliche, but torture rooms meant no body parts lying around the house. The room felt different from the rest of the house and the air was heavier with a hint of dispair. I loved the smell of it, especially knowing all the things that had been done in this room. Darkness surrounded me, it welcomed me as its own. From the wall, I took all the tools I would need and placed them on the table, facing the torture chair. A lot of money had been spent on this room and all the toys it housed. This was where I was most comfortable, this was where I thrived, and this was my territory.

The doors opened and two of my lackies came in, holding a tall, unconscious and blindfolded man, with black, long, wavy hair. I pointed for them to place him on the chair and tie him down. Walking to the sink, I filled a metal bucket with water, and poured on the man's limp body.

He woke up gasping, eyes scanning the room frantically. You could see the wheels turning in his head, see realization settle in as his worthless eyes fell on me as a shiver left his skin covered in goose bumps.

I chuckled a little at his look, I just couldn't help it. The excitement getting the better of me.

Let the fun begin.

I pulled on some gloves and grabbed a pair of bloodcaked tweezers.

Slowly, I pulled out all twenty of his nails, burning each finger and toe after so he wouldn't bleed out. He ground his teeth, moaning mostly, and I couldn't get him to scream.

"Now that the warm up's over," I said, casually pulling off the gloves and throwing them into a blood splattered trash bin. "Tell me. Who were you working with, hmm?"

His face was so red I thought it would explode; his veins were bulging all over his drenched face and his whole body quivered with pain.

"No answer?... Alright." He didn't know, but this was making me more and more excited. With a huge grin, I took another pair of gloves and pulled them onto my hands, cracking my knuckles before picking the tweezers back up.

Firstly, I removed all his lashes on his right eye, taking my time. Then I carved out the very eye that had stared at me with such fear and hopelessness, after that I just could not help but pour brandy on the bleeding hole before sewing it shut.

"Perfect," I said, admiring my handy work. I missed doing this; I had become soft, and it had cost me my best friend.

My ears were buzzing from all the screams. "You want to talk now?"

The man nodded his head.

"We were hired by a man... They called him Drago. He has a tattoo of a gun just beneath his right eye." He said, spilling out details.

"Who killed Ronaldo?"

"No one. When we got there he had shot himself in the head."

Clever bastard, he had known that they would torture my whereabouts out of him, so he ended his life. After taking out the other eye, and all his teeth for fun, I shot him right in between his empty sockets and watched the life drain out of his worthless body. Taking off the gloves, I washed my hands and then walked out of torture room.

Gosh, I was fuckin' horny.