Page 8 of Contempt

Fun, right?

Yeah.

The panic didn’t swell as hard this time. Sure, he gulped in a mouthful of water, and choked on it because he’d been distracted when he fell in. Too distracted to prepare himself for another round of this goddamn game of torture.

Shame on him.

Renzo had gotten used to counting the seconds when he was in the tank. Even as his body twisted to find the spot to come up, and even as he kicked and struggled because that was human instinct to try and save one’s self, he still counted the seconds.

Usually, around the three minute mark … he knew he was going to be coming back up soon. Except this time, three minutes passed.

That panic he hadn’t been feeling before started to rise hot and heavy in his throat. He became acutely aware of his heartbeat as his lungs started to scream with the need for air. With his eyes wide, though he couldn’t see a damn thing, he felt his shoulder hit something hard. The wall of the tank, likely. It wasn’t that big. A six foot by six foot box, maybe.

At the four minute mark, he was damn sure he was going to die. He didn’t even think about it when he opened his mouth, and let out a shout. Instinct again, maybe. Who knew? All that caused was for water to rush into his mouth, and he swallowed it down.

Ever vomit under water?

Renzo did.

Yep.

His back hit the wall again, and again. He managed to get some kind of leverage with his foot in the corner, and he pushed his weight against the top—or what he thought was the top—of the tank, and the side wall. His gaze started to blacken, and the constant swell of fear and panic became a background noise to the humming in his ears.

Well, not so much a humming as a white noise.

Constant, and low.

Death was on the way.

Just as his eyes started to close without his permission, his body finally giving up the fight, he felt the pressure release. It wasn’t the hoist pulling him up this time, though. No, instead of going up with the hoist, he dropped fast. Like a sack of rocks being released from six feet high. He heard the rushing sounds fill his ears, and felt his body skim across something hard as more water rushed over his face.

He didn’t know when he came to a stop. He didn’t know why it was so bright when he opened his eyes. He didn’t know the faceless people who now stood above him in a tight circle—each holding a long, rod in their hands.

It looked like bamboo.

Maybe?

Renzo choked and coughed, his lungs aching with every breath he sucked in. And with every exhale, he vomited more water. Humiliation filled Renzo in a way he’d never felt before. He probably looked like a fucking idiot. Rolling over to his knees, he finally figured out what happened as his gaze landed on what used to be the box he suspected they were using as his fucking torture chamber.

All four walls of plexiglass had collapsed. Because of him, or because it was time to let him out, Renzo didn’t know.

Water fell from his face in droplets as he breathed heavily and tried to calm his racing thoughts. The anger was most present—rage so strong it was thick in his throat. But there was a darkness there, too. Like the darkness he’d been kept in for so long felt like an old friend who now made a home inside his mind.

It wasn’t about to leave anytime soon, either.

“Almost too late, Cree,” someone murmured above him. “Another ten seconds, and—”

“He looks fine,” came a feminine reply. “He was strong-willed. He needed that, didn’t he, Cree?”

“Mmm, we’ll see. Get up to your fucking feet,” someone else—Cree?—barked. The voice sounded familiar to him. It was the same voice belonging to the man who walked him to this hell with the skull bandana hanging around his neck. “Time for something different, New York.”

Renzo didn’t move.

The first strike of the bamboo rod came down across his back. He shuddered, and shook. Still didn’t stand, though.

“Maybe that extra ten seconds would have been good for him, then,” the first voice muttered.

“Remember what I told you?” The familiar voice—Cree, if Renzo was to believe the people around him talking—came close as a man bent down beside him. Sure enough, when Renzo tipped his head to the side, he recognized the man’s eyes. “Do you remember what I said about this place, New York?”