Chased by my Ex Husband

Grace

So many people have found out about me staying here somehow. It's time I change this place too and find somewhere else to go.

But then...

How far can I run before they hunt me down again?

How much time can I spend hiding only for someone to start threatening me again?

I ponder, standing on the sidewalk and staring at the Cafe in front of me. The night has fallen and the streets have turned cold.

The glass wall of the Cafe gives the perfect view of my parents sitting on the table. Like me, they are also staring back at me. The disdain in their eyes is so clear even here. Standing on the dark side, I heave a heavy breath and narrow my eyes.

Now, how do I go about this?

If I give them money and let them know I am scared of their threats, they will continue using my weaknesses against me.

Maybe, I should use Lily as a bargaining chip. I can tell them that I know where she is and she will only be alright as long as they leave me alone.

That will bring about two results.

A-They will leave me alone which is highly unlikely

B-They will pester me even more because I know about their daughter's whereabouts which is more likely given that they are vile in nature.

I sigh and look up. The traffic light has turned red. It's time for me to make things work somehow.

I step down from the footpath and onto the silent, dark road. Just as I reach the middle of it, a car rushes forward. Its tires skid to a stop in front of me, blocking my view of my parents.

Without giving me a chance to recover, two hands shoot out and drag me inside. My heartbeat escalates, my survival instincts kick in and I start thrashing right away.

From the corner of my eyes, I look out of the other window of the old van and freeze. My parents are still watching. As our eyes meet, they stay frozen, neutral, and...unmoving.

A hand clamps around my mouth, slamming a wet cloth there. I fight harder and try to scream as panic bubbles in my chest but the hands on my body are brutal, and the force of the cloth around my mouth makes it hard to breathe. Slowly, my heartbeat slows down. My eyes droop and my energy drains from my body, leaving me limp.

Before I lose my grip on my consciousness, I see my parent's blurred faces, as the van zooms past the Cafe, and leaves them behind.

I know.

They planned this.

It feels like I keep slipping in and out of consciousness, struggling to move but restrained by large hands.

I see men but their faces are blurred.

Everything goes black.

My mind fights again, and I see myself floating.

A plane.

The cloudy sky.

Yelling voices.

Hushed whispers.

My head is spinning.

A syringe in my arm.

And my head stops spinning.

I fight once more.

My eyes open.

My vision blurs.

I breathe, I struggle, I panic.

Another syringe.

A sting in my wrists, my ankles, the side of my face.

The desperation, the fear, the survival instincts-all in vain.

I am sleeping again.

Cold water splashes across my face and I gasp. My limbs start thrashing as if they know that I must run and free myself. But no matter how much I twist, I can not move

My hands and feet are tied to a dirty chair. My head snaps up, my hair falling around my face and covering my cheeks.

My vision takes a few minutes to restore while I struggle to make out the voices around me. A hand slams into the side of my head, and fall

onto the floor with the chair.

A sharp cry escapes my mouth. This is all it takes to get rid of the heavy sensation inside my head. I am awake-painfully aware of whatever is happening to me. Hands pull the chair upright, and my weight shifts onto my butt again. I gasp, pick up my head, and look around.

I am inside a dark run-down warehouse. Dirty boxes line up the surroundings, making everything appear scary.

My heart pounds inside my chest as my gaze stops at the men around me. They are dressed in black, wearing masks over their faces to cover their features. "Can you hear me now?" One of them stands in front of me and snarls.

I jerk in my spot, nodding my head quickly.

I am going to be sick. A voice inside my head chants.

"Good. "He nods, his voice loud and rough.

I try to speak, to ask what they want but my throat is too dry. My insides ache, and it feels like my limbs are broken, or just too weak with dread.

With my wide eyes, I scan my surroundings once more before finally looking down at my burning arms. Bile rises to my mouth, but nothing spills out.

My wrists are bleeding under the ropes. The blood has seeped into my off white sweater, the sweater with the heart in the middle, the

same that Tristin helped me wear.

There is so much blood. I wonder how I am conscious. I don't understand why I can't feel it as badly as I should.

It hurts, yes. But I feel more scared than in pain.

The man in front of me speaks something but my eyes lower to my neck. There is blood on my collar too. Where else am I bleeding from?

Maybe, it's my nose, or my cheek, or my lips. Or perhaps, everything is broken.

A hand grabs my hair and twists my neck back. The same masked man yells at me as our eyes meet. " Speak!"

"Ms. Whitlock?" A deep, soft voice calls from the speaker of a phone clenched between the man's hand.

I open my mouth to say something, but a metallic taste on my tongue makes me pause.

I don't recognize this voice. It's not Ethan. It's not Tristin. It's not my Dad.

"I am hoping your journey back home was comfortable." He chuckles.

My eyes widen. Am I back? How...

"Hello, Ms. Whitlock? Why are you not saying something?" His laughter dies as his voice takes on a dangerous edge.

"Did you cut her tongue, you idiot?" The man on the phone yells, startling me.

"No, Boss." The masked man replies.

Scared, I lift my gaze just in time for his heavy palm to land against my cheek, knocking down the chair again.

My head hits the floor so hard that my jaw rattles with the impact. I gasp for air, to subside the pain, to regain my senses but my vision is starting to blacken.

The chair is pulled straight and cold water splashes all over my face. He fists my hair and shakes my aching head around wildly, almost breaking my neck in the way. "Speak, Bitch!" He yells angrily.

"What-" I yelp, finding my lost voice. It's scratchy, but I can speak.