Chapter 60

What did you say about my Dad?!" I exclaimed, immediately joining the two men.

"That's none of your business, bitch!" Spat Mike, threateningly stepping in front of Anton.

"As long as it concerns my father, that is." I calmly yet firmly objected.

   Mike took a few steps toward me, looking down at me. Despite being shorter than him of a few inches, I coldly held his gaze without showing any fear. Honestly, I was way too infuriated and in need of answers about my father to even care about what he'd do or say.

"Lesson number one, bitch!" Groaned the masked man. "When I tell you something, you don't talk back to me!"

"Tell me what you were saying about my father." I insisted, apparently unfazed.

"I told you no talking back, bitch!" Yelled Mike, starting to loose his composure.

"Oh, you were talking to me?" I defiantly asked, raising my chin slightly. "Well I'm sorry, I didn't understand, I thought you were talking to someone named bitch! My name's Joan."

   Mike's shoulders shook as he growled under his breath. Planting his gaze into mine, I noticed that his eyes were icy blue. They were sharp and cold, nothing to do with Anton's fiery brown ones. I showed no fear, even when Mike threateningly clenched his fist. But a hand wrapped itself around his wrist.

"Enough, Mike." Calmly yet firmly protested Anton, a warning in his low masculine voice. "Let me deal with her."

"But, Anton..." Began Mike, turning his masked face toward his boss.

"I'll deal with MacCarthy's daughter!" Insisted the taller man, towering over his henchman. "Now, go downstairs, there's something I'd like to discuss with you and the guys."

   Surprise then resignation flashed in Mike's frozen blue orbs, while Anton always looked unfazed, perfectly collected. Eventually, the shorter male degaged his wrist from his boss's grip with a shoulder motion. Then, he slowly walked past me and whispered:

"You're lucky, bitch!"

   Anton and I watched him go downstairs before the gang leader lead me back in his room. At this point, I literally was shaking from my need of answers. Maybe that was the fact not to eat which made me feel edgy, but I couldn't help myself. While my captor was closing the door, I turned around and directly asked him:

"What were you saying about my father?!"

"I was saying that we'd get some news about him and what he plans to do soon, Miss MacCarthy." Replied Anton, calmly turning around to face me. "Are you sure you really don't want to eat?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" I impaciently scoffed, waving off the tray of oatmeals on the desk. "When exactly will you have news of my father?"

   For a few seconds, the black haired male looked away, showing me his right profile, the one with a deep purple bruise just underneath his cheekbone. He at first considered telling me or not telling me, thoughtfully holding his angular chin between his thumb and his index, then he finally turned back to face me. My light greenish blue orbs were silently begging his dark brown ones. Eventually, my captor blinked, breaking eye contact.

"Normally, this afternoon." He sighed, looking down slightly.

"I want to be allowed to see him!" I demanded, walking up straight to him.

   Since he wasn't answering, I started to lose my temper. That was something I'd usually never do, but I needed to see my father, to hear him, to reassure him to tell him I was fine, eve  if that was a lie! My poor father might have been so worried about me! Demanding, I firmly grabbed the thin white fabric of Anton's sleeveless T shirt, urging him to answer me rather than ignoring me. He couldn't tell me he was at my disposition if I had any question and then ignore me each time I was asking one! Eventually, he turned his head to face me, making eye contact once more. His pale face was only at a few inches of mine and I could see in his eyes some fatigue I didn't notice earlier. Noticing that, I lightened up my grip onto his T shirt and just rested my palms against his broad shoulders, feeling on his shoulderblade a thin scar hidden underneath his cloth.

"We'll see that." He eventually replied.

   Then, he gently pushed me away as he crossed the room to his cupboard. The tall man threw on a plain white shirt he messily buttonned before to head out. Before to leave, he turned around.

"Miss MacCarthy, I'm sorry but I have to go." He explained, his hand resting on the doorknob. "I have business to attend to. I advise you to eat, I'll be back soon."

   With that, he left. I immediately rushed toward the black wooden door, but by the time I grab the handle, I already heard the click which indicated me that he locked the door again. I tried to shake the doorknob, but it of course resisted.

"Grr!" I yelled in frustration, angrily punching the scarlet wall. "No!"

   Wonderful, he just locked me up again! I thought he said that wouldn't happen again! Taking a deep breath to steady my rage, I forced myself to find back the calm and objective state of mind which was usually mine. He wouldn't let me out? Very well! Then, I didn't see why I should play by the rules! Making my way around the room, I made it my new objective to search it from the floor to the ceiling. Maybe there was details I missed the first time. My first stop was the black wooden cupboard, which I pushed open. On my side, no matter how much I rummaged, all I could find was clothes, clothes and some more clothes. And on his side? I found on his side of the cupboard a lot of clothing too, obviously! Mostly in black and dark shades, his own wardrobe held a massive collection of various leather jackets. Sinking my hand in every pocket I could find, all I pulled out was tailor bills from the ones who tailored some clothes. With a defeated sigh, I turned away from the cupboard, picking up the clothes I threw on the wooden floor during my searches.

"There must be a clue!" I whispered to myself, placing back the clothes in the cupboard. "But where?"

   I felt tired even though it was still the middle of the morning. Heading back toward the bed, I almost crashed on it, wondering why I suddenly felt so weak. I wasn't sick or anything, so... Of course, that's because I didn't eat for too long. I turned my head toward the tray of food still laying on the desk, but I refused to budge. I knew I felt unwell and that eating would be the right solution, but I was also very proud and I refused to eat in order to spite my captors. I wouldn't give them the pleasure to let them see that I ate! But eventually, my stomach grumbled and I gave in. I wouldn't earn anything by weakening myself! Swallowing my pride, I stumbled over the desk and grabbed firmly the spoon in my hand. I'd never have thought oatmeal and milk would taste so great to me, probably because I was famished. I gulped down some bites of my breakfast, feeling relieved when the cool milk poured down my throat. I was so hungry I even considered wolfing the whole bowl down, but I then decided against it.

"No." I shook my head stubbornly, settling back my spoon beside the bowl. "I won't eat no more."

   There was no way I give him the satisfaction to find out I ate, finally. Plus, I didn't need to eat anyway. I was fine, I was all good! And since I was near the desk, I decided to seach it again. I knelt in front of the wooden furniture, opening all the black drawers. This time, I took more care in everything I've found. One of the books was a register. I settled it down the desk, but could hardly decipher it because I didn't know what all those numbers reffered to. Shrugging, I just placed it back where I found it and pulled another book. This one looked more like a notebook, with a black cover but no title. I curiously held it out to the light for a further inspection, when something slipped out of the pages. Kneeling, I picked it up to see exactly what it was. That was a picture, showing a smiling young woman with shoulder-lenght auburn curls, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, carelessly grinning at the photographer. The background was an exterior backgroud, probably the street of a small town. The woman on the picture was wearing a pink fluffy sweater and had matching gloss on her lips. A floral hairpin was attached in her dark red hair. Now, I was eaten by curiosity and was about to open the book. But just at this moment, the door opened to reveal Anton's tall frame. The gangster was holding another tray of food and froze on the door step when he saw me.

"What are you doing? Where did you found that?!" He angrily exclaimed once he recovered from his surprise. "Put that down immediately!"

   The man quickly crossed the distance between us two, as I was still frozen in place, shocked like a little girl caught with her fingers in the cookies pot. Anton ripped the picture out of my fingers and shoved it in his pocket. For all the process, he remained deadly silent, glaring at me in a way which really made me fear he might strike me this time. For once, I deemed better to break eye contact and look down rather than provoke him again. Just then, a tray of food came in my line of sight.

"Eat!" Firmly urged me my captor, his tone a little harsher than usual indicating me that he was losing his patience.

"No." I defiantly shook my head again, sticking to my plan.

   This time, he did something I wasn't expecting of him. Placing the tray on his desk above the first one, he firmly grabbed my arm and pulled me slightly toward him, his burning glare looking down in my cold green eyes.

"I tire of your games, little girl!" He hissed through his clenched teeth, rage vibrating around him. "You're going to eat whether you want it or not!"

"No!" I replied stubbornly, showing only cold determination to accompany his burning wrath.

"You will!" Insisted the criminal, squeezing my arm a little tighter in his strong fist.

"No!" I squealed, struggling to break my arm free from his grip. "Let me go!"

   Suddenly, he looked down at my arm and seemed to realize what he was doing. He swiftly released my arm, me immediately bringing up my hand at the piece of skin he touched. He took a deep breath, the raging fire in his brown gaze turning into cold anger.

"As you wish." He dryly said, turning his heels to walk out. "But know this can't be lasting forever!"

   He slammed the door shut, letting me stunned from both fear and indignation. How dared he treating me like that?! Raising my hand from my arm, I saw the reddish skin where his hand was a few seconds ago. I wouldn't have a bruise, but he squeezed hard enough to leave a warning. He was strong enough to hurt me. If he had wanted to, he could've broke my arm. What the Hell was wrong with that guy?! Was it all because of the picture I've found in his drawer? Then, who was this woman? I was left with my interrogations until the door was unlocked again. I was expecting to see Anton, but my shoulders slouched when I recognized Mike.

"Come on bitch, go downstairs." He said in his usual cold gruffy voice, cruel amusement showing in his piercing blue orbs. "We're going to see Daddy!"

"What?!" I exclaimed, strouting out of the room. "My father's here?!?"

   With a chuckle, the gangster pushed me toward the stairs, as if I needed to be pushed forward to move! I rushed downstairs, eager to see my father. So he was really here? Did he come here to fulfill whatever agreement the Carmichael gang was expecting of him, then return me home? Was the nightmare really over?

"Daddy?" I called out, stumbling in the living room. "Daddy?!"

   But I froze when I saw only the masked men of the gang sitting on light green sofas. I looked around. There was no sign of my father nowhere. Some of the bandits, including Mike who blocked the door behind me, chuckled at my confused face. Then, I looked up to the TV in the middle of the room. On the screen was a male figure I immediately recognized; Dad!

"Mr MacCarthy, is it true that you were inside the bank when it was robbed?" Asked him the journalist.

"Yes, it is." Nodded my father, proudly clenching his jaw. "This is I who called the police."

"According to what we know, the police failed to arrest the robbers." Continued the journalist. "But we have reasons to suspect the infamous Carmichael gang to be responsible. What would you like to tell them?"

"To those who robbed my bank, I'd like to say this: You won't get away with it!" Firmly declared my father, straightening in his armchair. "No matter where you hide, you won't be able to escape justice! Eventually, you'll be found and you'll understand how wrong you were to try to mess with me. Because by robbing me, you've not only attacked me, but also the whole United States! And you can count on me to know no rest until you're caught and punished for your crimes!"

   My father was always talented when it came to speeches. After having heard his powerful message about justice and freedom, I felt pride wash over me at the sight of my father's moral values.

"Very well said, Mr MacCarthy!" Nodded the journalist, obviously sensitive to his speech. "Lastly, would you mind telling me what the Carmichael gang took away from you?"

"They stole 20 000 $ exactly!" Exclaimed my father, sounding offended. "The savings of a whole nation! Thousands of deserving lives found themselves ruined because of them!"

   What? As the TV moved on to a retrospective of what the gang was known for, the bandits all started to discuss about how he mentionned nothing of what they wanted to know, but I wasn't hearing them. My head was buzzy. He complained about the theft of money, the lives of hundred persons, but he said nothing about me? He didn't even mention his own daughter? Only Anton had the decence to flash me a sorry look. Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed I was escorted back to his room by Mike or some other gangster I didn't know of. Why didn't my father even mentionned me? I was so lost in my thoughts that I was barely aware of the passing time, only that the light was declining outside and that from time to time, a masked gang member showed up to escort me to the toilets. Maybe my father didn't want to tell about me on the media so that the cops could be left to investigate in peace, without the constant interruption of journalists? Or maybe he was supposed to talk about me later, in another interview? Or maybe he was still grieving too much to even be able to talk about me?

"All of this would never have happened if I haven't been kidnapped!" I whined quietly, laying in X on the bed. "All of this is because of the Carmichael gang!"

   But I knew I was being unfair; That wasn't their fault if my father said nothing about me on the TV. I had been wondering what he was up to for hours, making me head buzzy and dizzy. I layed on the bed for hours, watching without moving to even turn on the light as the sun was going down. Before I know it, the sky was pink outside. A knock was heard on the door, then someone unlocked it.

"Wake up, doll!" Chimed in an unknown gang member, accompanied by Mike. "The boss insisted for you to come dine with him tonight!"

"And he requested that you wear that!" Added Mike, throwing what he was holding at my face.

   I unfolded the soft velvety fabric, discovering it was a deep red ankle-lenght dress. What was exactly Anton thinking? No matter what, I was still his hostage and I wouldn't comply to anything he'd ask from me!

"Well, tell Mr Carmichael that I'm not feeling disposed to fulfill his request." I snapped back with fake obsequiosity, ready to hand them back the lacy dress.

"He warned us you might say that..." Sighed the other masked man, shaking his head.

"He also said that if you refused his invitation, you'd have dinner with the rest of the gang." Cruelly snickered that smackhead of Mike. "And completely naked!"

   I grew pale at the mere mention of that, painfully picturing myself naked, sitting at a table surrounded by a bunch of barbaric men wearing balaclava. I wanted to be defiant, but I knew where the limit between being defiant and being stupid was! There was no way I let this happen, so I only had one option left.

"Fine!" I sharply agreed, pulling the dress back toward me.