A/N: Hello Fanfiction! This is my first GG story, so please, don't be nice. And I know it's short, but I wanted to post this right now, and I have to go to bed soon, so.. I'll try to make the other chapters longer. This was fun to write! If something bothers you, don't hesitate to attack me about it!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Gallagher Girls series! Gaaah!

I am sitting in an empty room. The windows are covered with thick, dark pieces of cloth, which are nailed to the walls, stopping even the tiniest slivers of light to escape into this concrete prison.

Chains wrap around my body to hinder any semblance of movement, and my hands are shackled to the cement behind me just in case I would manage to escape them anyway. I probably could. I mean, I am a Gallagher Girl, after all. We can get out of anything.

Although, right now, it's starting to look kind of hopeless.

I take a deep breath, and I can feel how my already wet clothes stick to my body even more. The air in here is so hot and humid; it's a wonder that it even makes it into my lungs. I take a second to analyze the situation, but I am still drowsy from the sedative they gave me, so the details are a little fuzzy.

Judging by the temperature and humidity of the room I'm in, I am still in Columbia – or at least the northern part of South America. I am above ground (they would not have windows if I wasn't), and probably still in the jungle. The information the Gallagher Academy gave me pointed to their base of operations being somewhere along the borders of Columbia and Venezuela; I'll have to guess that is where I am now. This is most definitely some kind of bunker/holding cell…

And I am utterly screwed.

Seriously, what I would not give for Bex, Macey, or even Liz (seriously, LIZ!) to bust in through the door (I can feel a slight draft coming from my left; that's where the entrance is), or for Zach to somehow kill all the stupid guards that I am certain are posted all around this building. And, you know, free me from all of these chains and get me the hell out of here!

My recently dyed hair is plastered to my forehead like it's been dipped in glue, and I cannot for the life of me remove the stupid strands, and damn does that make me pissed!

The muted thuds of footsteps and the squeak of a door opening pulls me out of my fit. Subconsciously I have been counting the time, and I know that exactly 3 minutes and 37 seconds have passed since I woke up.

38, 39, 40…

"Finally awake I see, miss Morgan," a voice says from above me. It is one I do not recognize, though I can tell immediately that it belongs to a Hispanic male of circa 25 years of age. The opening of the door let in a small beam of sunlight gave me half a second to take in my surroundings, but it was already gone by the time the man decided to speak.

"Who are you?" I ask weakly. I am quite disappointed in myself for not coming up with anything smarter or wittier than that, but right now, it's all I can do to open my mouth.

The man chuckles. I can hear the sounds we are all (including the men that have to be some kind of body guards) making echo of the walls, making me flinch. I have not noticed my headache until now, but once I do, it's hard as hell to ignore. The noises split through my brain, making it pound unpleasantly.

Pain. The word sends shivers down my spine.

Are they going to torture me?

"And I thought you were a smart one. I –" he steps closer, and I wince once again from the pain it sends through my scull. " –am Rafael Fabregas (A/N: he is in no way connected to the football player!). Or, as you may know me, Antonio Santiago. Really, I go by many things. You, of all people should be familiar with the term alias, seeing as you have several yourself."

4 minutes

"You're the leader of the cartel, then," I whisper. As soon as I utter those few words, a large, cold hand covered in a latex glove grabs my chin, forcing it upwards towards what I am assuming to be his face by the way it keeps sending small puffs of air that smell disgusting,

"I am no mere leader," he hisses, his breath making my nose wrinkle. "I am the leader. I control every goddamn operation in this part of the world, I own the entire continent!"

Yeesh, is this man full of himself or what? I let out a breathy laugh (even though it hurts like hell), and spit in his (at least, I think it is) his face.

That was not a good thing t do. At all.

I swear I can feel his expression turning murderous as he lets go of my head. I inhale deeply out of sheer relief (really, his hand was not pleasant), only to be cut off by a fist hitting my face.

"Fucking bitch," he swears as my head flies backwards, the headache multiplying by a thousand.

He must have made some sort of signal that I missed while he hit me, because I once again hear the sound of footsteps hitting concrete, and briefly note a small flash of light as they go out the door quickly.

But I am not fooled by their departure.

They will be back. And when they are, my face will not be the only thing that hurts.

A/N: Whoo! That was short! Again, this is my first GG story, and my second one over all, so please, give me some pointers, correct my grammar, nag at me about the tenses, I don't care, as long as you tell me when something's bothering you! English is not my first language, so I haven't really learnt a lot of grammar and stuff in school. I love everyone who reads this…