Smells Like Rotting Fish in Here

Cynthia’s blood turned ice cold at those words. Her heart sank further because she knew— she knew— there was no lie in what he said. Carlos practically owned every judge in the state. There was no way she would win this.

Carlos took slow, deliberate steps towards her, his piercing gaze burning into her skin. He stopped inches from where she was pinned, tilting his head slightly as his smirk widened. “You’ll rot in a dark hole for the rest of your miserable life,” he said smoothly, but there was nothing but raw fury beneath his words. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Cynthia swallowed hard, her eyes brimming with hot tears. “Carlos, please… You have to listen to me. This is all a set up. What do i stand to gain?”

“You can call that boy lawyer you were sneaking around with behind my back in Moscow,” Carlos cut her off, his voice like steel. He leaned in closer, his eyes boring into hers. “Let’s see if he can step up and save you.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I’ll make sure he rots with you— if he dares.”

Cynthia's stomach twisted. Her body sagged against the officer’s grip, a fresh wave of dread washing over her. She had been set up. Framed. But none of that mattered. No one was coming to save her.

Carlos stepped back, exhaling sharply before waving a dismissive hand. “Take this thing out of my sight, before I do something I'll regret. She disgusts me.” His tone was void of emotion, but the rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface. “And make sure you dump her in the deepest hole possible. I want her forgotten. And be discreet— no word of this should ever surface.”

The New York Chief of Police, standing at the helm of his officers, nodded in understanding, his face devoid of any expression. “Understood, Mr. Antonio.” He turned to his men. “You heard him.”

Within seconds, Cynthia was being pulled from the wall, her wrists forcefully cuffed behind her back. The cold metal bit into her skin as she struggled, screaming and kicking wildly. “No! No, please! Someone help me! I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

Her cries fell on deaf ears.

The officer holding her down didn’t even flinch as he dragged her toward the front entrance. Cynthia fought against the unrelenting grip, but with her hands restrained and a man twice her size overpowering her, there was little she could do.

As they stepped outside, the early morning sun glared down on her tear-streaked face. The entire estate staff stood silently at a distance, their expressions unreadable. No one moved to help her. No one dared to defy Carlos.

The sight of the waiting SWAT cars, their engines idling, sent a fresh wave of terror through her. “Please! Someone! Anyone! Help me!” she wailed, her voice raw with desperation. But still, no one came.

Carlos stood at the entrance, watching impassively as she was dragged away. His face was unreadable, but his words echoed in her mind like a death sentence.

“You deserve nothing but to rot.”

The car door was yanked open. Cynthia dug her heels into the gravel, fighting with all she had left. But it was useless. A harsh shove sent her stumbling inside, her body crashing against the seat.

The door slammed shut. A click. A lock.

Cynthia pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching as the estate she had once called home faded from view. The last thing she saw was Carlos turning away, walking back inside without a second glance.

\--------------------

'ON THE ROAD'

The trees blurred past as Cynthia sat stiffly in the back seat of the SWAT vehicle, her hands cuffed tightly behind her. The cold metal dug into her skin, sending waves of discomfort through her arms, but that was the least of her worries. Her cheeks were damp with bitter tears as she glared out at the endless stream of towering trees, a landscape that seemed to stretch forever, mirroring her growing despair.

She turned her head slightly, eyes darting toward the officer sitting beside her, his expression stone-cold, his gaze fixed forward. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

The officer didn’t spare her a glance. "You’ll find out when we get there."

The response sent chills down her spine. The uncertainty gnawed at her insides, and she felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her own fears. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Please… I need to use the restroom," she muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

"Pee on yourself," the officer replied flatly, still not looking at her.

Cynthia’s heart pounded. She clenched her thighs together, trying to suppress the growing pressure in her bladder. Panic settled deep in her bones as she turned desperately to the officer in the front passenger seat. "Please… I’m serious, I really need to go. You don’t understand. Just give me a bag or something— anything."

The officer in the front seat scoffed. "Then do it right there. We’ve got people who’ll clean up after."

Cynthia bit her lip hard, humiliation seeping into her veins. She was being treated like a disposable object, like she wasn’t even human. She fought to hold it in, wiggling in her seat, but it was a battle she couldn’t win. A choked gasp escaped her lips as warmth spread beneath her. A hot flush of shame burned her cheeks as the acrid smell began to fill the confined space.

"Mmm… Was that so bad?" The officer beside her finally turned, a smirk stretching across his face before he bursted into laughter. "I didn’t really think you’d actually do it, but damn— smells like rotting fish in here."