Listen to Bruised by Allegra Jordyn

I sat there, my body numb with cold and exhaustion, the ropes biting into my wrists. My eyes, swollen from the hours—maybe days—of crying, struggled to focus. The room around me was dark and suffocating, the only sound the steady thump of my own heartbeat in my chest, louder than the silence that swallowed me whole.

The hunger gnawed at me, but it was distant. My body had grown accustomed to the ache, and my mind was consumed by the dread of whatever nightmare would come next. I couldn't remember how long it had been since he had left. Time was something I couldn't hold onto, like sand slipping through my fingers.

The door creaked open, a sound I had come to fear more than anything else in this place. My body stiffened in reflex, instinctually bracing for whatever horror awaited.

He entered, this time with company. A man was with him, and he was in worse shape than I could ever have imagined. His face was bruised, his clothes torn, and his entire body was shaking with the kind of fear that only a man who knew he was about to die could possess.

"Enzo, per favore." The man pleaded.

Enzo. That was the monster's name.

Enzo, though, didn't seem the least bit fazed. His presence was as calm and calculating as ever, the same unbothered air that made him more dangerous than any monster in my nightmares. His eyes were cold, but there was something else—something satisfied—that flickered in his gaze.

"Amari," he said, voice smooth and casual as if this was just another day for him, "meet our little friend here." He gestured to the prisoner, who could barely lift his head to look at me. "This," He continued, his voice dripping with disdain, "is Marco. Marco thought he could lie to me. He thought he could betray me."

Marco's head snapped up, his eyes wide with terror. "Per favore..."

But Enzo cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't waste your breath," he said coldly.

"You see, Amari, I try to be a reasonable man. Patient even. But he thought that after everything I did for him, I wouldn't notice the knife he was slowly putting into my back." Enzo's tone turned sharp, a dangerous edge to it. "I'm not some soft-hearted fool who gives second chances."

I could feel my pulse race, the room tightening around me as Enzo continued. I couldn't look away from the man, from Marco, his pitiful, terrified face staring back at me. I felt an instinctual twinge of pity for him, but it was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming terror in the pit of my stomach.

Enzo stepped closer to Marco, his gaze icy, his voice low and dangerous. "He thought he could make deals behind my back. Thought I wouldn't know." He turned to me, his gaze shifting from Marco's pleading face to mine. "But I know everything, Amari. And now, he's going to pay for every lie, every little secret he thought he could keep from me."

The coldness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. My body trembled, still tied up and helpless. The fear that had been clawing at my insides from the moment I'd been captured intensified, gnawing at me now, unbearable and suffocating.

I watched, wide-eyed, as Enzo walked over to a small table in the corner of the room. He casually picked up a knife, inspecting the blade with an almost casual interest. The sight of it, the gleam of the metal in his hands, made me want to puke. I turned my head away, but I couldn't stop the horror from creeping into my bones.

Marco sobbed, his voice breaking as he fell to his knees.

Enzo's laugh was dark and cutting. "Cry all you want, Marco. You've had your chance. Now you're going to learn that lies, betrayals, they all have consequences."

I couldn't look. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to shut my eyes, to block it out, but the scene unfolding in front of me was inescapable. My body was frozen in place, tied to the chair, unable to run, unable to do anything.

The air felt thick, suffocating. I heard the man's desperate sobs as the gory scene in front of me unfold.

"Don't look away, love, I want you to see everything."

His voice sliced through the air, sharp and commanding, leaving no room for defiance. I could feel my chest tighten, a lump forming in my throat that was impossible to swallow.

My body was shaking, my hands trembling violently against the ropes that bound me. But my eyes? They couldn't look away, no matter how much I wanted them to. I was forced to witness every second, every agonizing detail of Marco's suffering as Enzo methodically worked with the tools he'd gathered from the table behind him.

The sounds echoed through the vast, damp basement—the scrape of metal against skin, the whimpering of the man at the mercy of the monster before me. Every time Marco cried out, I felt like my own heart was being torn apart, a sickening twist in my chest. But the worst part? The worst part was the cold detachment in Enzo's face as he worked.

Each tool was used with brutal precision. A hammer. A pair of pliers. A knife. He was a surgeon, an artist of pain, and I could do nothing but sit there and watch, my eyes wide, filled with terror, begging my body to wake up from this nightmare and let me escape. But no amount of pleading could change my reality. No amount of wishing could undo what was happening in front of me.

The room felt colder with each scream that left Marco's throat. I could feel the bile rising in my throat, threatening to choke me, but I couldn't even look away. His eyes met mine once—desperate, pleading—and in them, I saw the terror that mirrored my own.

The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the unrelenting heat of fear. My stomach churned, and I fought not to vomit, my body rebelling against the sight of the horror unfolding before me.

Finally, Marco's screams became weak, his body trembling in pain, his breath shallow. Enzo stepped back, looking down at him with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction.

"You're weak," Enzo muttered, almost casually. "You have always been a little bitch."

And then, with one swift slit to the throat, he ended it. The splash of blood landing on my face. The silence that followed was deafening, the finality of the moment sinking into my bones. My body felt like it was made of stone, incapable of reacting, of doing anything but sitting there and witnessing this tragedy unfold.

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let myself look away. I couldn't. He had forced me into this, and now I was chained to the horror of it, unable to escape.

Enzo turned his gaze toward me, a chilling smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes sparkled with something dark, something cruel. "Now, Amari," he said, his tone lighter, almost playful, "you've seen what happens to people who lie to me."

He stepped closer, and for a moment, I thought I might pass out from the sheer terror rushing through my veins.

I could barely breathe, my vision swimming, as I stared at the brutal scene before me. The stench of blood, the twisted mess that had once been a man, seemed to overwhelm every sense. I could feel the bile rising in my throat again, and before I could stop it, I threw up, my stomach convulsing violently. The sour taste of it lingered as my eyes blurred with tears, everything around me spinning. I couldn't think. I couldn't process. It felt like the world was slowly crushing me under the weight of what I had just witnessed.

Enzo didn't even flinch. His eyes were cold, calculating, as he studied me from across the room. He sat down in front of me, his clothing perfectly pristine, untouched by the blood or violence that surrounded him. But it didn't matter. The man radiated darkness in a way that made everything else seem insignificant.

"See that?" His voice was cold, with a touch of something like satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and menace. "It just a glimpse of what I do to people that try to play smart."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the mess of flesh and blood at my feet. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, my body trembling from head to toe.

"I don't feel so good..." I whispered through my tears, my throat tight, the sobs racking my chest. My head felt like it was going to explode from the pressure of everything that had happened.

He chuckled darkly, leaning back in the chair as if this were all some sick game to him. "You're going to have to do more than that to get away, love. This isn't some bad dream you can wake up from." His voice was low, taunting.

I shivered, curling in on myself as much as the restraints would allow. My body ached from the ropes cutting into my skin, but the pain was nothing compared to what I was feeling inside.

Just then, one of his men stepped forward, holding a file. He handed it to him, he took it without a second glance, flipping it open with a casual ease that made me feel like I was on display.

Enzo started reading aloud, his eyes scanning the contents of the file as if it were just another mundane piece of paperwork. "Amari Westfield. Age 27. An investigative journalist. Seems you've been poking around places you shouldn't be, haven't you?" His eyes flicked up to mine briefly, the smirk on his face widening.

I couldn't respond, couldn't find the strength to fight back. What could I say? That I didn't ask for this? That I was just a reporter trying to get a break from the chaos of my life?

He continued. "Your family... interesting people." He flipped through a few more pages before pulling out a photo. A recent photo. A family photo. My parents—smiling at Landon's football game. The image hit me like a ton of bricks. How the hell did he get this?

"No..." I gasped, panic swelling in my chest.

Enzo's eyes glimmered with a cold, predatory satisfaction. "Your younger brother, Landon, wasn't it? Star football player. Proud parents. Such a nice, happy family. How sweet."

I could feel my stomach twisting, my throat tightening with fear. He had pictures of them. He knew where they were, what they were doing. "No. No, please, don't hurt them," I begged, my voice barely more than a desperate whisper.

Enzo leaned forward, his finger tapping slowly over my bother's smiling face. "Tell me who sent you. Unless you start being honest with me, I'll make sure your family learns exactly what happens to people who cross me." His voice was silky, but there was nothing soft about it. Every word was a threat, and it felt like the air in the room had thickened, suffocating me.

Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably now. I couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop the panic that was eating away at my insides. "No one sent me!" I cried out. "I swear! I just wanted a vacation. I didn't mean to get caught up in any of this! I don't know what you think I'm doing here, but please, please, don't hurt them."

I could feel the desperation in my voice, my body wracked with sobs as I pleaded for mercy. "I'll leave. I'll go back home. I won't tell anyone what happened. I swear to you, I won't say a word. Just don't hurt my family."

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine as he studied every tear streaking down my face, every trembling breath that left my lips. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and with every step he took, the air around me grew thicker, heavier, almost impossible to breathe. My body went rigid as he came to a halt right in front of me, towering over me, his gaze dark and calculating, but there was something in his eyes too—something almost... hungry.

His hand reached out slowly, and before I could fully process what was happening, the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against my throat. I froze. The metal felt like an ice shard against my skin, its coldness seeping into me, amplifying every ounce of fear I had been trying to suppress. The tension was unbearable, so thick it felt like it could strangle me. My heart pounded against my ribcage, so loud, so frantic, I was sure he could hear it. My throat constricted, each breath becoming harder to take as I stared at him—his face still a picture of ruthless indifference, like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience to him.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing," he said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet laced with steel. "But I'm running out of patience."

He paused, his eyes burning into mine, making me feel like I was being pulled into some dark void I couldn't escape. My entire body shook as his words settled in my mind.

"The more you lie to me," he continued, his tone deadly calm, "the longer you stay down here to rot, starving and freezing to death. It's a sad thing, to watch such a pretty thing like you just... rot away." He smirked, his words dripping with venom and something else—something I couldn't quite place, but I could feel it, like a predator toying with its prey before the final strike.

I could barely breathe, my throat tight from the gun pressing against it, my mind racing with panic and hopelessness. Nothing I said or did seemed to matter.

His smirk never faltered as he stood there, watching me, almost enjoying my fear, before finally turning away. His footsteps echoed through the cold, empty basement as he walked to the door, leaving me behind, still tied and trembling in that dark, suffocating space.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me in utter silence. The kind of silence that suffocated. The kind of silence that made every fear, every doubt, every painful thought feel louder and more real. I was alone, cold, hungry, and broken.

Hopeless.

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