Attack

Kayla. The chilly morning does nothing to soothe my skin, which is drizzling with sweat as I aggressively hit the punching bag. My breath comes out in pants, and I feel my strength fading away. I found myself in the gym at 5 am, and I have been hitting this bag relentlessly for an hour now. My fists are bloody, but that doesn't stop me. I need more and I am getting exactly that. But sadly, none of the hits makes any effort to lessen the rage dwelling in my soul. The pain and strain from my knuckles make me release a guttural grunt, but I hit harder, almost breaking them, when I remember about the fucked up roses and notes in my room. Everything happening around me is driving me crazy. "That's enough, princess," my dad, who's been watching me silently, firmly warns, and clasps my arms to stop further punches. I wonder when he sleeps because every time I wake up, he's always there. " You need to take care of that," he motions to my hands with sad eyes. " Carl will be here any time from now for his prisoner," he reminds me. Thomas brought the Russian with him, together with Matt, and I assume Dad already talked to him. "Did you talk to Matt?" I ask in a mischievous tone. "Yeah, I did, but he kept playing games with me and I got angry." Yeah, that's right, my dad is a very impatient man with anger issues. Getting on his bad side is suicidal. "I will go freshen up and, join you for breakfast," I tell him, exiting the room as he follows behind.  " What will you have, darling? I don't want to prepare something you won't eat."  "Pancakes are okay, Dad, I love you," I say, gulping down a bottle of water. "I love you, princess," he mumbles, kissing my hair. "So, any progress with Carl?" he smirks, and I groan. He heard about what happened yesterday, and he thinks I'm already in love with the guy. Parents. " We talked about this, Dad," I complain, faking seriousness. Dad chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I was just curious."  However, just as I enter my room, gunshots are heard around the house. The security of this place must have been compromised because it's been a long time since we were attacked, especially during the day. And to add on to that, the mysterious roses that keep appearing in my room. I crouch down to take cover as I head for my weapons because they caught us completely off guard. I haven't reached my drawer yet, before bullets are fired through my window, shattering the glass in the process. Fuck. I curse repeatedly when a bullet hits my side unexpectedly. Grabbing my gun, I randomly shoot through the broken window, ignoring the bleeding from my stomach. The firing gradually ceases, and I rush to the bathroom to take care of the wound before it bleeds out of control. My dad must have taken care of it. Standing in front of my new mirror, I take off all of my clothes and stare at my bare body. The wound isn't deep, but it will surely leave a scar, and I will have to cover it up too. Just like I do to all my scars. People say we should wear our scars with pride, but I never saw or felt pride in mine. When I healed from the wounds they left on me, my whole body was covered with scabs. I cried every time I looked at them, and they made me feel disgusted and ugly. I couldn't even stand before the mirror and look at my body. So I went to the tattoo parlour and got each one of them covered with ink. No matter how small it appeared. You can only imagine how many tattoos I have. My whole back, stomach, and thighs are tattooed. My back is covered with a big eagle with its wings spread, leaving none of the flaws visible. Both of my thighs are tattooed with red roses; maybe the creepy stalker got the idea of black roses from there. Other small parts are just stars and writings, but in general, you won't notice my scars unless you are keen enough. You might think that made me feel better, but no. I went ahead and got my nipples pierced, my belly button, and my clit, but still, it didn't take the pain away. I did some crazy shit, but nothing worked out for me. Dealing with depression is the hardest thing one could ever go through. I even abandoned my friends, hated contact and company, let alone conversing with anyone. I only talk when it's necessary, with the exception of my father, of course. I was forced to become a fucking introvert. "Where is she?" Carl's voice breaks me from my thoughts, and I sigh. What does he want? "Fuck, Kayla...., princess," he keeps shouting while I quietly attend to my wound. The bathroom door flies open, and I don't even flinch or cover myself. Whatever happened to knocking? "Shit, you are hurt." Carl rushes to me but immediately stops in his tracks. Oh! We just found out I'm naked. I am not ashamed of my body at all. Apart from my scars, I am proud and confident. My breasts are perky, my stomach is flat from intense working out, my butt is round, and my hips are slightly curved with long, smooth legs. Carl's eyes rake over my body, studying every crevice and curve. His eyes trail on every scar covered up by a tattoo, and I watch him swallow dryly. "Fuck" he grunts, staring at my pierced nipples and down to my flat stomach. Think with your head, Carlos. "Are you done?" I ask, staring at him, and his brain instantly starts to work. Carl clears his throat, clenching his fists tightly. " Sorry, I should have knocked." His dilated eyes quickly rake my body again before meeting mine. For some reason, I feel like I can trust him. I know he can never hurt me. "Let me help you," he huskily croaks out and moves closer to me. "No, I got it. I'm done anyway," I say, bandaging the affected area, and he doesn't move. It's like his legs are stuck to the ground with glue. "I would love to take a shower," I tell him, so he'll give me privacy, which he's already invading. "Sure," he quickly clears his throat, " I will be downstairs." he rushes out, shutting the door behind him. Men. I wash my body carefully, making sure water and soap don't touch the wound. After I am done, I apply ointment to my knuckles and bandage them up afterwards. I am meeting my informant later on, so I dress once and for all. I put on black shorts, a black sweatshirt, and white sneakers. Without forgetting my mother's golden necklace, which I never leave my room without. I tie my long hair in a messy ponytail and head downstairs to see what the attack was about. "Honey, are you okay? Carl said you got injured" my dad meets me on the stairs inspecting me up and down with his eyes. I look around to see most of Carl's men, one of them being Theo. "It was just a scratch, Dad, nothing serious to worry about," I assure him, taking a seat at the breakfast table, and he joins me, still not convinced. "Hey, stranger," a familiar voice says behind me, and I look back to meet a smiling Theo. "Hey," I wave at him curtly.  " You wanna hang out maybe later?" he asks eagerly. "Theo, don't start," another man warns him sternly. The man has a big build, black hair, and eyes. He looks strong and a little bit scary. Especially with the sight of a scar running along his left eyebrow, I don't think he has ever laughed or smiled before. Theo dismisses him with a wave of his hand. "Ignore my boyfriend, he's always grumpy, the boss is rubbing off on him." I look at the said boyfriend, and he's glaring at the smiling Theo. Opposites attract, I assume. "His name is Sam, Boss's second in command and best friend," he says again, smiling at the scowling Sam. Grumpy indeed, but I don't think Carl is that grumpy, or is he? How does a talkative Theo cope with that intimidating man? "Mmh, maybe some other time," I politely decline his offer, and his face falls. "I was hoping I could use a friend, being around all these males suffocates me," he mumbles to himself. If situations were different, I wouldn't mind being his friend, but who knows, maybe someday. "Dad, who attacked us?" I almost forgot that important question. "The Russians, they came for their colleague from yesterday, Carl is questioning him as we speak," he answers, sipping his coffee. No wonder Carl is not in the room. "He must be special to them then," I mutter, sipping mine too. "Yeah, he is the second in command of the Russian mafia, and he holds a lot of information, reasons they won't leave him in the wrong hands," he says "Is Carl alone with him?" "Yes, darling, you can join him if you want. I am sure he won't mind," he says, smirking at me. I playfully glare at my dad," Will you ever stop teasing me, father ?" " One day you'll thank me, princess, now hurry up and finish that food," he commands, but there is a hint of amusement in his tone. "Were there any survivors?" "No. They were cornered by Carl's and my men, we got them," he assures. I rush my breakfast before joining Carl in the basement out of curiosity. I follow the hallways to the last room where the bald man is tied to a metal chair. Carl has already done a number on him; the fingers on both hands are already gone. " Tell me what I wanna know, damnit," he snaps at the bald man, who only smirks in return and doesn't look fazed at all. "We both know how this goes, Carlos. I will die whether I talk or not. So you might wanna go ahead and just end it 'cause I'm not telling you shit," I admire his loyalty. " Not so fast, buddy. I always get what I want, and you know that. I'm gonna leave you on that chair, and this chat will continue when I see fit." he stabs him in his knuckles, and the fucker wails in pain. Carl turns around to leave, but instantly stops in his tracks when the Russian speaks. " Does she know?" he points at me, laughing hysterically. Carl looks at me and back at the man " Does she know the man she's going to marry has a crazy........." he doesn't get to complete his sentence before he's shot right between his eyes. Silenced for good. I look at Carl, who's pointing his gun at him with a clenched jaw, and wonder why he did that. What is he hiding? What is it that he doesn't want me to know?