The lace of his boot hanging down into the glass of whiskey sitting on the desk. Ashes worming their way across an old porcelain plate - unsmoked, forgotten. Ankles crossed up on the age-worn table. He had his arms behind his head while listening to his comrade read through text messages, names, contact information. Listening for clues as to which one might be his daughter. Emails, though none of the literal thousands of junk proved to be Kisa. There were photos of the blonde with random people. Photos of her on stages in smokey rooms. Photos of her and her husband in erotic selfies for her own personal entertainment. Sighs of impatience while he motioned with a hand to continue on without all the stupid steamy details. There had to be something. Kids these days used their damned phones for everything. This bitch didn't have messages, except for fans sending photos of them together. Anyone that knew her would know that she didn't care for instant messages, chatting by phone, or hitting each other up on social media. She'd only opened an IG to promote her music, and share fan photos, edits, and art. Just to keep engaged with them. A frustrated grunt as Vitaliy grabbed the phone and threw it across the room. The fragile piece in the cheaply printed Misfits case shattered immediately. He crossed the room in a few angry strides and disappeared behind the door that lead to the basement, the dungeon basically.

They had moved her while unconscious to a room that smelled of stale sweat and blood. The floor cold, and as she shifted, the chain around her ankle felt heavy. She was also extra weak from all the beatings, and not having anything in her belly for as long as they'd had her. The walls unforgiving, no windows to give light. Then a creak of the door, heavy steps descending, rough breathing. Immediately she tried to turn on her side to cower and protect herself, but she'd realized then that there was what felt like a leather strap and chain around her neck as well. Elvis lyrics were there somewhere, except she wasn't going to be treated like a little teddy bear.

"You f***ing useless little nymph. A wet cunt, nothing more." He spoke so viciously through his teeth while undoing the belt buckle on his pants. The violent zip before his pants came off let her know where this was going. A frail voice, raspy with dehydration attempted to beg for him not to. "Where's my daughter?" He asked again, his lips on the back of her ear while positioning himself over her backside. A slap, a fistful of flesh that would definitely leave a bright red mark against her creamy white skin. The waif of a blonde cried out in pain as he brutally yanked her hair, and bit into her neck, then down her shoulder. "SPIT." He growled as his disgusting large fingers filled her mouth and dug around for saliva. They were filthy and tasted of cheap tobacco and copper. "I saw your photos and videos with loverboy. Don't play shy. You like this." He crooned into her ear, his voice shaky as he wet himself with her spit and forced himself deep within.

It's funny, the word forever. It describes so many different measurements of time. As a child, that half hour of lunch would fly by before having to return to class, but those last few hours before going home felt like y e a r s. Before one realized, school transitioned to work. Work might seem like ages, but something like a concert took a heartbeat and a half to be over. They were children, then teens, adults, then seniors. The seniors especially understood how fast time could fly by. It was like someone pressed fast forward on the fun things, while almost slowing things like this to a torturous halt.

"Lttle rock star." He grunted into the back of her head while continuing to take her from behind. "Now you will have something to tell your road friends about." Though it seemed as if five or six hours had passed by, it had been only a little shy of twenty minutes before he grunted and collapsed on her, murmuring words in his language about how tight she was for being a busy little whore. One more shove inside her before he pulled his deflated beast free. "If anything I'll keep you alive for more of that whether you talk or not." Then he laughed cruelly at her exhausted whimpers "then again whores like you are a dime a dozen." Her fingers were raw and bloody from digging down into the cement floor. She felt hollow, broken, and maybe she'd had a reputation before and during the early stages of her marriage for being the Siren of Sin, for glamorizing gloryholes and acting like a little sex puppet.. This wasn't enjoyable, she felt as filthy as the floor, two inches tall, and she wanted. to. die.

When he rolled off her and pulled his pants up, the men listening at the top of the stairs to her weak screams, and pleas for him to stop, scurried and pretended they were busy with other things. They secretly hoped Vitaliy would allow them to have at her, but instead he reappeared at the top of the stairs and grunted for them to "Get that bitch dressed up. I want to send some motivation out to her friends and family. See if anyone is willing to speak on her half about where my daughter is." This crusade of his had seemingly lost direction. It was a little impressive to him how much this young girl would take from him and his men, and she still wouldn't betray his daughter's trust. He thought for sure that forcing himself on her would break her, get her to talk. Nothing. Well, nothing but the sweet sounds of her begging and screaming in pain and humiliation. Vitaliy had a thing for degrading people, he got off on it if he were being honest with himself. Mashing her tormented and screaming face into the dirty floor, imagining it again now, made him almost want to go for round two. He'd do that later, business first.

His boots echoed in the empty room while he walked over to grab the shattered phone. The screen itself cracked all over, but it still worked. His calloused hands didn't feel any glass while scrolling through the messages. He had already made a mental list of the people that he would contact as his men called up to him that she was dressed. Making no mention of the fact that they got a little handsy in the process, but she was still crying. Her ego had taken quite a big hit on this. The girl had seen and done some sh*t in her life, but none of it compared to this. The beatings, being f***ed like a dog without a choice, the feel of his victory as it dripped down her inner thigh. Praying to all the Gods to have mercy that this wouldn't be the one time that she was breedable. Being an entertainer was one thing, being a parent was another. She couldn't do both, hell, she couldn't do the latter even if she wasn't traveling the world and singing for her supper. Her and Mal had already decided that kids were outta the question. They'd had too much fun being able to do things without little crotch-nuggets interfering.

"Wipe her face and take her outside." He commanded of the men who moved quickly. One using the edge of his sleeve to wipe her face, not sweetly. There could be no romance behind his actions though he found her vulnerability attractive. The other grabbed a satin rope and tied her arms up behind her, then forcefully shoved her outside. It was then that she realized she wasn't even in a city. It was dark, but she could make outlines of things. There seemed to be an abandoned field. Her eyes hurt though, hell, everything hurt.

They took photos of her on her knees. First with a gun to her head, then between her lips. They took photos after shoving her and making her fall. They took photos of her arms tied up. For each message sent from her phone to her dearest contacts, they took photos of her in compromising positions.

Mal: This slut is your wife? Where is my daughter. Pray that this bitch speaks or we kill her at dawn. I will have her again before her pretty face is splattered all over this yard..


Spidy: Do you know where this whore is? She is here. I will have her again before her death at dawn if she doesn't tell me where my daughter is.


PapaCroc: This slut is your daughter? Pray that she talks or she dies when the sun comes up. She knows where my daughter is. I will have her before sunrise then she will have her last breath.


There were other people that she had texted, Wolfy, Roadhoe, but from skimming messages alone, they didn't know how close she had been to these people, some of them were much older texts suggesting she hadn't talked to them by this way in awhile. Waylon was listed as Papa because it reminded her of Papa Doc from 8 mile, well, it rhymed anyway. There were clear indicators that she was close to this Spidy as well. If all else failed, they would round up a new set of photos for other contacts on the list. They would hunt each and every one until they either found Kisa, or found someone that could convince the little whore to speak.


AN| Those mentioned are welcome to reply to this however they wish, it can be played out, but it's also not necessary. No pressure! I had added more to this while editing the bulletin, however, while switching back from another tab, it refreshed and I lost everything new. There will be at least one more post in this little series of sorts. Providing the status of my adhd meds, muse, and free time, it'll hopefully be tonight or tomorrow. Thanks for reading. ♥