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As Alec struggles to his feet, the woman’s penetrating gaze locks onto mine, daring me to defy her. Despite her apparent frailty, she emanates an aura of power and demands respect. I find myself fearing her even more.
Alec winces as they lift him to his feet. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next, as the old crone turns her attention to me.
“I’m Matilda Gonzales.” She offers a small smile. “And you must be Barbi. I apologize for the rough treatment. Men often resort to violence without considering alternative approaches.” Matilda’s tone carries a scathing edge. “However, you must understand that we have no choice. The Guardians are making a mess of things. We need to protect our interests, and you, my dear, will help us do just that.”
Fear tightens my throat, and my mouth turns dry despite the humidity. This woman, as fierce as she may be, seems as unhinged as a lunatic.
Alec scoffs at her words, but she ignores him and refocuses her attention on me. “We won’t hurt you or your friend as long as you give us what we need.” She snaps her fingers with a loud crack that makes me jump. “Put them in the truck. I’m taking our guests to the villa.”
The men push us forward and we stumble to the truck. I climb up, but they toss Alec. He lands with a thud. Alec grimaces, pain etched across his face.
The truck jostles along the rugged and rutted road, shaking us around like rag dolls. The scent of dust and sweat fills my nostrils, and the hot air whips through my hair as we navigate the treacherous roads. I struggle to distract myself from the impending danger, but the weight of my anxiety overwhelms me.
After what feels like hours, the truck finally grinds to a halt with a screeching of its brakes that brings my ears to my shoulders.
One of Matilda’s goons slices the duct tape binding Alec’s ankles, and we’re yanked out of the truck. We stumble as we’re roughly shoved forward.
I take in my surroundings, trying to absorb every detail. The villa before us is a grotesque spectacle of wealth, enclosed by towering walls with lush gardens spilling out from within. It’s awe-inspiring but foreboding.
Matilda ushers us through the doors, her demeanor changing from aggression to welcoming us as honored guests. The interior is as equally magnificent and grotesque as the exterior. She whisks us past several rooms, before turning into a grand salon. It’s clear this is where she holds court—there are multiple plush chairs arranged in a semicircle around a large throne-like chair. Matilda takes her seat, commanding the space with regal poise.
“Sit.” Her fingers snap, and we comply, sinking into the chairs with relief. We do as we’re told, but only because the chairs are a thousand times better than the horrific ride through the jungle. She leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, and locks her intense, hawkish gaze on us. “I want information about Guardian HRS, and you will give it to me.”
Alec snorts derisively.
Matilda’s expression reminds me of a predator about to pounce. She leans back in her chair, and her men come forward to grab us. They yank us onto our feet and haul us forward, dragging us without mercy to kneel at her feet.
“You’re a Guardian, and you will tell me what I want to know, but maybe, you need to rest from your journey first?” She snaps again with her bony fingers, making me wince at the sharp sound.
Her men escort us through a labyrinth of hallways until we eventually arrive at a guest room that exudes grandeur and intimidation. The lofty ceiling and heavy drapes create an oppressive atmosphere, and though the furniture is ornate, I’m not fooled.
This is a place of evil.
As I take in the room around me, a wave of nausea washes over me. The ostentatiousness of the decor clashes with the ominous purpose of this space. There is no ambiguity regarding what Matilda desires, or the lengths she will go to obtain it.
Matilda glides in behind us, her movements slow and measured as she scrutinizes us with a chilling gaze. Her overpowering scent fills the air—an amalgamation of perfume and something acrid and pungent, as though she steeped herself in the essence of her own cruelty.
“I have ways of making you talk.” She practically purrs with malevolence. “Ways that will make you beg for mercy.”
Her words send a shiver racing down my spine as I imagine a multitude of horrors she could unleash on us. My heart pounds as the reality of our situation hits me like a ton of bricks.
Yet, instead of the expected array of torture devices, Matilda snaps her fingers once more. I flinch at the sharp sound, then widen my eyes in astonishment as four men enter the room, carrying a hefty metal chair.
“Sit.” Her command leaves no room for disobedience and the order is for me, not Alec. Her long bony finger points at the chair and a sickening knot forms in my stomach.
I obey out of fear, taking a seat on the cold metal. A moment later, her men grab my arms and strap them to the chair. A moment later, one of her goons comes in with a steel box.
Matilda nods approvingly as the thug opens the box, revealing serrated knives and gleaming blades that make my skin crawl. The sharp steel glints in the dim room, intensifying the unsettling atmosphere, while the scent of fear and sweat permeates the air.
“Choose.” With a flick of her wrist, she points a bony finger toward the box.
With each passing second, the knives in the box appear sharper, more menacing, and more treacherous.
“Choose?” I exchange a terrified glance with Alec, who mirrors my fear.
“Select one of the knives,” Matilda repeats, her words dripping with malice.
I inhale deeply, attempting to steady my trembling hands. My gaze flits anxiously from one blade to another, while bile rises in my throat. I scrutinize the cold, pitted steel, each knife more ominous than the last. These instruments are crafted to inflict pain, to draw blood, to mutilate, and to kill. Swallowing hard, I acknowledge that I have no choice but to comply with her command.