by Jacie Lennon
I have real fear for Brock, for me, and for my baby’s safety. With that thought strumming through me, I finally succumb to the exhaustion of my body and fall asleep.
I’m woken by a hand on my face, smoothing my hair back, and I smile, imagining Brock doing that same thing. When I open my eyes, it’s Landry sitting beside me.
“Hey, babe. You don’t look so good,” she says, a frown marring her face.
“I’m fine,” I say, struggling to sit up. “I cried myself to sleep, so I’m sure my face is puffy.” I glance up to Trixie, who is standing behind her. “What time is it?”
“Nine. We were afraid you weren’t going to get back up to go with us.”
“Of course I’m going. No one could stop me.”
“Are you sure? We won’t blame you for staying behind, especially in your condition.” Landry’s eyes drop to my stomach for a moment, and I look down as well even though I know what she’s talking about.
“We won’t be anywhere close to the action,” I say. “I’m coming.” I scoot my legs off the side of the bed and stand, placing my hands in the middle of my back and pressing in, stretching the kinks out. “I was thinking though, if Brock was arrested and at the jail, I wonder how they will get him back to the compound.”
“I’m sure they know what they are doing,” Landry says.
“They did seem very confident. I can’t believe Connor lives with those people.”
“I can’t either,” Landry says, glancing at Trixie. “Have you ever met his family before?”
“Unfortunately,” she says with a frown, reaching up to nervously tuck her short blond hair behind one ear.
“Why isn’t Connor’s last name Soltorre if that’s his dad?” I ask.
“He has his mother’s maiden name as his last name for safety reasons—or at least, that’s what Seth told me. But his full name is Connor Stanson Soltorre. Heir to the Soltorre throne.”
“Aren’t we just surrounded by royalty?” I say, rolling my eyes as Landry smiles.
“Come on. Let’s get ready to go get your man back.”
35
Brock
I blink rapidly as the door to my cell is opened, flooding it with light, and my eyes fight to adjust.
“Sleep well?” a voice asks.
I blink again, a face finally coming into view.
“Connor?” I ask, thoroughly confused and disoriented. I’m still hungry, but at least I got some water out of the sink. I think they might be trying to starve me, and now, I’m hallucinating. Surely, it’s too early in the starvation process for that.
“You are coming with me,” he says, bending down to loop one arm under mine, but I shove him off.
“I can stand on my own,” I growl, pushing off the floor and holding on to the wall as I try to open my eyes fully.
“Suit yourself.” He backs up a few steps and waits, arms crossed in the doorway. Once I’m standing, he steps back, jerking his head. “Follow me.”
I jolt forward a few steps and shake my head again.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I keep one hand on the wall as I follow him. A few of the cops patrolling greet him as we walk. I narrow my eyes at his back and realize that he’s wearing leather, the Lions’ emblem plastered to the back. I want to question him, but there are too many people around. Once we are at the door, he grabs my arms and puts them behind me, and a pair of cuffs he produces from God knows where clamp around my wrist.
“Follow my lead,” he whispers behind me, and it makes me flinch. His breath on my neck is not a sensation I enjoy. “Thanks for all your help, boys,” Connor says to some of the cops outside the door. “Gonna get this one back to the compound. It’s time he stands trial.”
They all have a good laugh, and I scowl at them, wanting to fight these restraints, but I’m truly interested in what is going on. The fact that Connor is here, bailing me out, is weird in and of itself.
“Tell Bull we said hi,” one guy says, and I feel Connor’s hands jerk against the cuffs.
“Will do,” he replies before continuing to shove me along, not being gentle at all.
I don’t know if he’s doing it for show or if I’ve read the situation wrong. We head down a walkway around the outside of the building before an armored vehicle comes into sight, two guards standing on either side with AR-15s. A little overkill, I think. Two more guys sit on motorcycles to the side. I guess I’m getting an escort to wherever I’m going. Hopefully, they haven’t erected gallows in the middle of town, where everyone will throw tomatoes at me while I’m hung. A little morbid? Maybe. But I’m not exactly thinking straight right now.
“Get in,” Connor growls behind me.
I’m thrust forward into the back of the vehicle, and Connor climbs in behind me, looping a chain through my handcuffs and securing me to the side of the vehicle where I’m sitting. He takes a seat across from me, and we stare at each other, rocking back and forth as the doors are slammed closed.
I hear the vehicle crank and motorcycles rev, and then we are moving, bumping on the road.
“So, you want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask and then clench my teeth together as I stare at Connor.
He gives me a calculating look, arms crossed and legs spread wide. He glances around the back where we are sitting, as if looking for something in particular. He must not find it because he sits forward, elbows on his knees, and clasps his hands.
“I’m transporting you to the compound,” he says, no other explanation.
“What the fuck are you doing with the Lions anyway? It’s not your scene.”
“I do what I’m told,” he says, not giving me any more information.
“Who is telling you to do it?” I sit forward as much as my shackles allow me to.
“Who do you think?” He smirks a little as he sits back again.
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” I mutter, leaning my shoulders against the side, my head tilting back to follow.
I stare up at the ceiling of the vehicle as we continue to jolt along, thinking about Connor’s nonanswers. His eyes dart around the back again, and I think that maybe he’s afraid of someone listening in. That might explain his evasiveness. Or maybe he wants to get out of being in here with me. Who knows?
We finally come to a stop, my ass sliding about a foot until my hands jerk and hold me in place.
Fuck, that hurt.
The back doors open, and the friendly AR-15s are still out to greet me along with the stone-faced guys holding them.
“It’s been a pleasure,” I say as I pass them, Connor holding on to my hands again as he drags me along.
We are in front of the compound now, and once we clear the vehicle, the guys get in and pull around the side of the building.
“Don’t speak. Listen. I’m locking you in a room. I want you to lie flat on the floor, facedown, and cover your head.”
“The fuck? Is this a joke?” I try to turn and look at him, but he yanks my arms up, and I bow over.
“I said, don’t fucking speak. Just do it. Someone will come get you.”
He doesn’t say anything else, so I agree, not wanting him to break my arms in half like he tried to do.
We enter the front door of the compound. Those sitting around stop what they are doing and look up, staring at me for a moment before giving quick chin-ups to Connor, and then they go back to their business. He pushes me along a bar built in the back wall, and I’d give anything to grab a drink right now or maybe some more water or food.
A back door opens and shuts, more guys filing in, and they briefly talk to Connor. It’s weird to see him here, a part of the Lions. I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but I guess I’m going to do what he said.
We go down a long back hallway before stopping in front of a door that he opens and shoves with his foot, ushering me inside. I turn in time to meet his eyes before he closes the door with a thud, and I hear a lock click.
“How the fuck am I supposed to c
over my head?” I yell, but no one answers.
I glance around the room, not much in here but a bed and a door that probably leads into a bathroom. There’s a window I could get out of if I had the use of my hands, but they are still cuffed behind me.
Fucking Connor.
I think he was messing with me. There are probably cameras in here, and he’s watching to see if I’ll drop my face on this nasty-ass floor. I walk over and sit on the bed. My shoulders droop forward as I lower my head, trying to figure out what to do. If I could find something to launch by twisting my body a certain way, I might be able to break the window out. As I look around the room, I can see that won’t be possible. There’s nothing small but sturdy enough for me to pick up.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on this bed when I hear the first sounds. It’s like a slow-motion scene in a movie. I register screams and bangs, loud noises that my brain finally processes as gunshots.
What the hell?
I quickly stand up, eyes wide, heart racing, and his words come back to me.
“Lie flat on the floor, facedown, and cover your head.”
He knew this was going to happen. But how?
I walk a few steps and drop to my knees, no longer afraid of looking stupid as I let my body fall over, turning my face so it won’t strike the floor hard since I can’t catch myself.
The gunshots grow louder, closer to my room, and I shut my eyes, praying that I make it out of this alive. I want to throw up and hide under the bed at the same time, but I can’t move. Screams continue to echo outside of the door, men yelling as thuds sound, and I can only imagine bodies hitting the floor. It’s a bloodbath, a massacre, and I’m “lucky” enough to be here when it happens.
I hear footsteps stop outside my door, and I turn my head, opening my eyes and hoping that whoever comes through that door is a friend. I’m not sure who the enemy is at this point. The Lions aren’t shooting at themselves, so someone else has entered the mix.
The door finally swings open, and I take in a panting Drake while he stares at me.
Is this who Connor sent to get me?
I want to laugh at the idea as it pops into my head, but this day—or night now—couldn’t get any stranger. Drake moves into the room, his eyes darting toward the window as he searches for a way to escape.
He glances back down at me and takes a few more steps inside but not toward me. He’s not here to help me; he’s here to save himself. I’m not surprised. The gunfire is louder now that the door is opened, and the sounds coming from behind Drake outside are the stuff of nightmares. I can sense the desperation and terror in the air, permeating this building, and my stomach is like lead, holding me to the floor.
A sound in the room draws my attention, wetness hitting my face. My attention goes back to Drake, who is closer to me now, his eyes wide as they look at me, confused before he makes the sound again. A strange gurgle comes from him, and I watch in horror as his legs buckle, and his knees hit the concrete with a thud as a red stain blossoms on his torso. He peers down at himself and starts to reach up with one hand, but it never makes it before his head slams on the floor, a foot from mine. I watch a thin stream of saliva mixed with blood seep from his open mouth. As it hits the floor, I gag.
This isn’t real. I’m not seeing this right now. None of this is happening. It’s a dream.
Another person enters the room. I’m jerked up by my cuffs, arms painfully extended behind me, and I grunt. I avert my eyes from where Drake is lying, unable to see that anymore, even with what he put Peyton and me through. I thought I was tough, but faced with actual death makes me feel like a pussy.
“Come on,” a voice says, and I realize I haven’t even paid attention to who is pulling me up from the ground.
I twist around and see someone I don’t recognize. He’s dressed in all black, a gun in one hand—some sort of small handgun-looking thing with a silencer on the end. He doesn’t hold it to my head, so I guess I should count my blessings.
I stumble forward as he grabs me, stopping me right before the door so he can stick his head out and look both ways. Once he thinks it’s clear, he shoves me out, and I trip over bodies before righting myself. There’s blood everywhere—spattered on the walls and creeping along the floor in trails that lead away from the person it came from. Like a macabre painting. My stomach heaves again as I step over yet another person.
I glance up and look down the hallway, spotting Connor watching us from the end, a tall man behind him. They both have their arms crossed, their cold eyes on me as I’m jostled out the back door, and it shuts before I can look back at them.
My arms scream in relief as the guy cuts the chain on my cuffs, my hands breaking apart, the cuffs still scraping the bones in my wrist.
“Head to the gate. Turn right and run.” The guy gives me a final shove, and I don’t question it.
I take off as fast as my body will go to get out of this place. I don’t know why they are letting me go, but I’m not staying to see why.
My shoulder slams into the post of the fence as I skid around it, the pain not even registering as I go right out of the compound. I don’t know where I’m going, but I run.
36
Peyton
No one is talking as we sit quietly, everyone lost in their thoughts. We are parked at the emergency turnaround, sitting ducks for anyone who might be close to the compound. I grit my teeth, only stopping when my jaw starts to ache.
I open the door, stepping out since it’s too stifling inside with everyone. I lean my back against the car, staring up at the sky, the stars so bright with no lights around to dim them. Next to me, Bodhi’s back hits the car as he extracts a cigarette from his pocket, a lighter following.
“You mind?” he asks quietly, and I shake my head.
“No, but blow the smoke that way,” I say, pointing away from me.
He lights up and puts the lighter back in his pocket, tilting his head back to stare up at the sky with me.
“When I was younger, I used to climb up on the roof of our house, and there’s this one flat spot to lie down, close to the patio. I would stay for hours and stare up at the stars,” Bodhi says, head still tilted back.
I roll my head to look at him.
“Sometimes, Brock would come with me, after stealing some of Dad’s scotch, and we’d split it and talk about nothing and everything. We haven’t done that in a long time.”
“You’ll get to do it again,” I say softly, reaching for his hand and gripping it in mine.
He squeezes it hard before letting go.
“Yeah, I hope so,” he says, blowing a stream of smoke up and to the side. “You’ve been good for him, you know? And for me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“He’s like a mother hen. A tough mother hen but a hen nonetheless. He’s always making sure each of us is taken care of. And now that he has you, I think he has another purpose, which will hopefully get him off my back.” He grins at me, and I smile back.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about when he shows up,” I say. I don’t want to say if he shows up. But it hangs out there around us as we grow quiet again.
Bodhi turns his body toward me a little as he drops his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out.
“Hey—” he cuts off as the sound of someone running hits our ears, and he looks over his shoulder.
A man is barreling toward us, only illuminated by the moon, and we both freeze.
“Get in the car,” Bodhi whispers to me as he turns to fully face whoever is running toward us.
I’m frozen before I register what he says and turn to open the car door. I glance back at the man as he croaks something out, raising an arm in the darkness, and my heart starts to race. I close the door back and take a few steps forward before Bodhi’s arm stops me.
“Hey,” the guy says again, coughing for a second, and then he’s finally close enough for me to see him.
He lurches over, hands on his knees as
he heaves breaths in and out, and Bodhi and I rush forward to get to him. I crouch down, taking his cheeks in my hands and letting my eyes roam his face. There’s something speckled all over his skin, dry and flaky, but I don’t care. I drag him toward me, my arms closing around him as he leans forward. I stumble back under the weight, and Bodhi grabs one of his arms, propping him up under his shoulder.
“In the car. Let’s go,” he manages to wheeze out, and we throw the truck’s door open.
Those inside shuffle around quickly, so we can climb in. Corbin is in the front seat already, cranking the car, and once the doors are shut, we take off. I flip on the interior light in the back and suck in a breath as I take Brock in, his appearance scaring the shit out of me and everyone in the car.
“Holy fuck,” Bodhi says. He’s turned around in the passenger seat.
Brock and I are in the middle-row bucket seats, and Landry and Trixie are in the back. Trixie uncaps a bottle and wets some tissues she found in the very back, thrusting them toward me.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, reaching to dab the tissue on his face, and his eyes meet mine.
He opens his mouth to answer, his chest still heaving. I watch in horror as his eyes roll back in his head, and he slumps forward and then to the side as gravity takes over.
I’m dragging a cold cloth across Brock’s face when his eyes pop open, startling me. They always show them blinking sleepily in the movies, so it makes me gasp when, all of a sudden, he’s staring at me.
“You scared me,” I say with a deep breath and grab the cold cloth from his face.
“What are you doing?” he croaks. At least they got that part right.
I move to take the glass of water from his bedside table and put the straw up to his lips.
“Taking care of you. Now, drink.” I watch as he wraps his lips around the straw and takes a large gulp. “Slow.”
His eyes dart up to mine, and he releases the straw, bringing his head back straight again to look around his room. “How did I end up here?”
