Chapter Text
The woman called King couldn't move or breathe. She was pinned under a man she had never seen before until earlier that afternoon, his weight and his hand around her throat keeping her down against the solid mattress. She only knew two things about him: the first was that he was sent after her by her former employer, Mr. Big, for something she had done years ago — before she left Southtown's seedy underworld. The second was that he wanted to hurt her as badly as possible.
And goddamn, was he doing a fantastic job.
King was battered, bleeding, and broken. Frustrated and desperate, she tried to use shaking hands to push the man away, but it was no use — he was too heavy, and she was too light-headed and weak anyway. She welcomed the idea of losing consciousness, as being awake for this was too much. If she could just pass out, then maybe it would somehow be more bearable.
Suddenly the man loosened his grip on King's neck; she let out a strangled gasp as she drew in as much air as she could.
"Tell me something, Cécile," he taunted. "En français!"
"Lâchez... moi...!" King choked, her voice weak and unsettlingly hoarse.
"Not what I wanted to hear!"
The man then squeezed King's neck again, harder this time.
"We'll try again in a minute!"
A plethora of thoughts ran through King's mind. Some were directly related to what she was experiencing (how could this happen?!), while some were so far out of left field that she could barely even grasp them (she should have bought more yogurt at the store the other day). The bartender opened her eyes then, which she had been squeezing shut, and noted how hazy and discoloured everything looked. Her vision was slightly blurred, and she wasn't sure if it was from her head injury or tears. Nevertheless, she accidentally made eye contact with her attacker, which made her feel like she would throw up. Again.
"Let's try this again, Cécile…"
The man released some of the pressure on King's throat; she was quickly overcome by a coughing fit that made everything hurt more than it already did.
"Tell me something a little nicer this time."
"Je t'emmerde —!"
"Interesting choice of words."
King cried out as her air supply was violently cut off yet again.
On and on it went, a sick loop with no end in sight.