Berserk

by K. S. Adkins

  “Red Bull, vodka, and sugar, I swear it!” he says, trying to keep me still. “Hold onto me,” he instructs, lifting me up and causing me to scream even louder.

  “Inside of me,” I pant. “It’s burning.”

  Losing consciousness, I reach for him, a man I don’t even know, wishing he was someone else.

  “Tearing me apart. Oh god, Max. Help me, please!” Then just like that with him screaming for me to open them, I closed my eyes and said fuck it, I’ve had enough. A girl can only handle so much pain.

  “Tony, it’s me again,” I yell into the phone. “Someone took her! If you know something, help me!”

  Where the fuck is he? He’s supposed to be my god damned friend. I’ve never asked the prick for anything until now, and this is how he repays me? I swear to god the second I get her back safe and he dares to show his face again, I will fucking kill him.

  She was blocks away. All this time wondering if she was still in the city, she was within jogging distance from my fucking house. Driving with Rogan is an experience that at any other time would have me white knuckling the dash, but since he’s getting me back to Jules I owe him a huge debt. The man can work a Suburban.

  Detroit has a lot of alleys and one-way streets which slows you down. Once we found the house she was being held in every last one of us barreled out of the vehicles and up to the door. That’s when I hear it: screaming. Not just any kind of screaming, but gut-wrenching screaming.

  Kicking the door in, I was not prepared for what I saw. A man was holding my wife in his lap while she screamed, thrashed, and clawed at herself. He was trying to subdue her. Without a second thought I raised my gun, fired one shot, hit him directly in the arm holding her. Turns out a shot with a .40 cal will seriously fuck a man up. It also delivers way more damage than a .22 did. I didn’t want to kill him, because we needed answers. The shot did its job, and he let go of her because I blew a hole in his shoulder, but he certainly didn’t want to. Bishop grabbed a hold of him while I secured Jules, separating him from her.

  Blood.

  There was blood on her stomach, between her legs, and under her nails. A flashback of her losing our baby comes back to me. Was this what it was like then, too? Trying to hold her still, out of the corner of my eye I can see Rogan and Rafe holding the guy up while her team works him over. I also notice the entire time he only had eyes for my wife, and those eyes look… concerned.

  Macy falls next to me, checking Jules over and biting her lip. Looking up at Venessa then over at the guys, she yells “Stop!” And oddly enough, they do.

  All you can hear is her screams. Even with her voice cracking, she still screams. Duffy looks ready to lose it, while Macy takes charge. Rafe tries holding her back, but she pushes him away.

  “What did you give her?” she demands, getting up in the cop’s space.

  “Had orders to tranq her,” he says but just as he finishes, Rogue elbows him in the mouth. Spitting out blood and a tooth he continues, “Gave her Red Bull, vodka, and sugar to help her so she could leave,” he says, looking over at her again. I want to hide her from his sight, but I don’t. He’s only talking because he can see her, so I allow it. “She drank it, started getting fidgety, then that happened,” he finishes, pointing at my wife contorted in my lap.

  Then just like that the screams stop.

  “Blue,” I scream. “Blue!”

  “How long?” Macy asks. “Minutes? Hours? How long? What time did it start?”

  “Ten minutes ago? Twelve, tops.”

  Then like an atomic bomb goes off Bishop tackles Duffy, Saint tackles Bishop, and Jumbo jumps on top. Everyone else is with me and Jules. Macy is doing medical things, opening her eyes, listening to her pulse, checking her wounds. That’s when the fighting makes sense to me, but it isn’t Duffy’s ass they should be kicking; it’s mine.

  “No,” I whisper, looking over to a bleeding Duffy. “This is my fault,” I say, looking around the room then back at my wife in my arms. “I did this.”

  Bishop throws a defeated Duffy on the floor in front of me while Rogan holds the unknown by the throat. “No,” he says. “He fucking did this.” Then beats the ever-loving shit out of him, and no one bothers to stop him, not even me.

  Once the ambulance arrives and loads her up, Bishop and Macy came with me. We flew over to receiving in an effort to save her life. Part of me wondered what happened to the unknown who held her, but I figured whatever happened to him was deserved for taking my wife from me in the first place.

  If they didn’t kill him, I would. That was a vow I intended to keep.

  Hours go by and I don’t move from my spot. When they took her back Macy went with her. Venessa has sent me several messages letting me know how the interrogation is going back at my house. Apparently, Rogan and Rafe took him down to my basement to get answers. According to Venessa, he’s singing like a canary and is worried about Jules.

  She also said that outside of tranqing her, he didn’t hurt her, that he was actually trying to help her. Yeah, that makes me feel better. Duffy comes to the lobby limping after getting treated for a dislocated shoulder, broken nose, two busted fingers, a cracked rib, and a minor concussion. Since he’s been back, he’s also not left my side, either.

  I get why he did it. I know for a fact that if he had even a small clue it could hurt her like it did, he’d have never done it. He also didn’t know that when he had it done she had suffered a miscarriage, not cysts. He loved her, he would never hurt her, and part of me feels like shit for him because I ordered him to do it when he didn’t want to.

  Bishop, Saint, and Jumbo are quiet. They make no moves, speak no words, and oddly enough it makes me more comfortable.

  Not having checked the time in a while when Macy comes out and kneels in front of me grabbing my hands, I feel the tears coming. Kneeling is bad. Kneeling is always bad.

  “Max,” she says quietly. “Look at me.”

  Turning my head away I see Duffy white knuckling the chair, so I turn back to Macy. I need to know. “She’s in recovery,” she says, and if I wasn’t sitting I’d have collapsed. Duffy grabs my shoulder and the others stand and walk over, flanking me. “She was injected in her neck with what appears to be my…” She chokes up, looking at me. “Max, I’m so sorry someone gave her my formula and she had a reaction to it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I grate out, holding her hand. “What else?”

  “Then she was tranquilized, and like what’s-his-face said, he gave her that drink to numb the pain and give her the energy to get away, except that happened at the same time we activated that thing inside of her.”

  “Fuck.”

  “It was placed on the exterior wall of one of her tubes,” she whispers. “It appears as if ingesting that drink plus the timing of the activation made her extremely ill.”

  Gripping me even harder Duffy moves closer to me. “Keep going,” he says. “There’s more, tell us.”

  “Her reproductive organs sustained damage, but they don’t know to what extent yet.” When she looks at me again her eyes have tears running freely from them. “The device inside of her went off like a bomb. It appears as if scar tissue had built up around the device. Max, has she ever been pregnant?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “She miscarried. The pregnancy was in her tubes.”

  “That explains the scar tissue,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Max; I didn’t know.”

  “Until a few hours ago, I didn’t either.”

  Duffy jumps up and starts bashing his head off the wall at the news. Before I can get there, his team gets him under control, barely. The last thing we need is getting kicked out. “When can I see her?”

  “A few hours, okay?” she says. “The doctors are getting her comfortable. Once she’s healed and sees an OB she’ll need to find out if she’s able to have children, but the doctor who is with her now can’t say. You have my word, the second it’s clear I’ll come and get you myself.”

  “Thank you,”
I tell her, hugging her to me. “Just, thank you.”

  She leaves, but walks over to the team and warns them, “Get your shit together or get the fuck out. This is a hospital, there are rules. You know what rules are. You’re a team; act like it.”

  Looking back at my hands, I take one, reach into my pocket, pull out her ring, and hold onto it. Promising myself it’s making its way back to her finger where it belongs, for good.

  An hour later while totally lost in thought, thinking about her and all the things we used to do, plus all the things we talked about doing but never did, Venessa sits next to me and bumps my shoulder.

  “You look like shit, Max.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The guys are holding him until you’re ready, yeah? No rush. How’s she doing?”

  Explaining to her what Macy told me she looks over at her team, then turns to me, tuning them out. “You did the right thing,” she says. “Yeah, it’s fucked. Yeah, she suffered, but you got her back and that’s what matters. In there, doc’s working on her fixing her up, doing what they do. She’ll be kicking their asses in no time, doing what she does.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Max,” she says. “Look at me. She’s alive, she’s here. Ask her about it, okay? She’ll tell you the truth. Work on this together. You can make this right.”

  Nodding to her, she bumps my shoulder again and lets me know she’s heading back to the house and that she’ll be in touch. Looking up at her team, I can’t help but feel grateful that Jules has them if what we had no longer has a place in her life.

  Even with my plans of putting the ring back on her perfect finger there’s a chance I’m too late. If that’s the case then when this is over, at least she won’t be alone.

  Today is my wedding day. It’s raining and chilly, but that doesn’t bother me. My soon-to-be husband is putting pins in my unruly red hair while I watch him in the hotel bathroom mirror. He booked us a honeymoon suite, and over on the kitchen table is the paperwork we completed just last week. When I woke this morning, he had already had breakfast brought up, and we had a delicious omlette with a generous fruit tray. Sipping coffee together, he asked me how I was going to wear my hair. I asked him what he preferred and he said, “Up, so I can stare at your beautiful neck.” So here he is, pinning my hair for me with gentle hands and extreme focus.

  “You could do hair on the side,” I tell him, squeezing his leg. “I’ve never been able to make it look this good; you have a gift.”

  He laughs never taking his eyes off his masterpiece. “Do you believe the tale that it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

  “No,” I laugh. “I also don’t believe in most tales. No sex before marriage, no living together, blah blah blah. How do you know if you’re compatible? I’m not saying you should sample the Lion’s offense, but you should certainly taste the milk before you buy the cow.”

  Leaning down to me he kisses my shoulder. “A lesser man might be offended by that, Blue.”

  “Maybe,” I admit, looking up at him. “But I’m not marrying a lesser man, I’m marrying you.”

  “This is what you want?” he asks, turning me toward him. “Forever with me?”

  “The second you stopped and offered me a ride, I was offering you forever. Everything I am is yours, Max. Then, now, and fifty years from now.”

  Taking me to city hall we waited in line with dozens of other couples. We didn’t notice them, though; for me it is all about him. When it is finally our turn we walk into the chambers hand in hand. We even wrote our own vows. The ceremony lasts fifteen minutes at best. The judge wants us gone, no doubt, but we are in no hurry. Kissing me in front of a room full of strangers, he whispers, “One day I’m going to give you the wedding you deserve, but for now you’ve made me the happiest man breathing, Blue.”

  “Today was perfect,” I whisper back, holding his face. “I have you; I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Jules Allen,” he growls. “Thank you for being my wife.”

  “Maxwell Allen, thank you for never leaving me behind.”

  In our suite several hours later, I make one call. When I shared the news with Lina she hears the truth in my voice and did what a best friend does. She supports me.

  “I’ve never heard you sound happier,” she says sincerely. “If you still feel that way in ten years, maybe I’ll consider getting hitched myself. Oh, who am I kidding, fuck that noise. Go make some pretty babies; I have shit to do.”

  I knew I was dreaming.

  The past and present are melting into one confusing thought. I miss him, I miss her. I’m in pain, but I don’t know why. Hearing my name, I fight to stay in my dream. I’m happy here, loved and safe. If I wake up I have to face a reality that isn’t a pleasant one. Then somewhere in my mind, I hear Lina telling me to wake up and quit being a pussy. Having no choice but to comply because she’s right, I make my way back to consciousness with a heavy heart and an itchy trigger finger. Yep, it’s all coming back to me now.

  “Open your eyes, Red.”

  “Open those baby blues for me.”

  “Don’t make me get bossy or call Lina. Oh, speaking of Lina, she said, and I’m paraphrasing here, ‘I say when it’s time, not her. Tell her to quit bossing me around, I don’t like it.’ I’m pretty pissed about that myself.”

  The term high as a kite is awesome. I am so blown out I feel like I’m flying above my own body, but I can hear Macy babble. God, but that girl can talk. That girl also helped save me and when I’m done flying, I plan to tell her as much.

  “Max is still your husband, you know, in case you were wondering. He almost set his house on fire when I sent Rafe over there to fuck him up; he walked in on him after he finished burning the papers on the stove. Are you mad at me for doing that? Well, if you are you’ll have to wake the hell up and do something about it.”

  Thinking about Max, I feel myself losing flight. Slowly I sink back into my true self while the weight of missing him settles on me. I do miss him so fucking much. He found me when I was eighteen years old; he found me and freed me all in one shot. I was free with Max, always.

  “She up yet?” asks Venessa, entering the room. “Does she ever look bad? I call bullshit. You’d think a ginger would at least have a connect-the-dot face, but not her, fuck no. She’s fucking beautiful, built, and has more guns than I do, bitch.”

  “Oh, shut up,” says Macy. “Both of you are all compact and stacked; that’s bullshit. Try being tall, skinny, and clumsy. She does have more guns than you, though. Me too, now that I think about it.”

  “Whatever, klutz,” she says. “Quit staring at Rafe’s ass and you wouldn’t run into shit.”

  “I don’t stare at Jonas’ ass,” she says, then adds, “Much.”

  “Yo Red,” she says. “Where’s Lina hiding? You two on the outs? Want me to pull her hair for you?”

  “She would crush you if you ever laid a finger on Lina,” says Macy. “And seriously, with Red all it would take is a finger.”

  “No one likes a show-off, Red,” says Venessa, pretending to be hurt.

  Finally I can’t take it anymore. On the inside I am laughing, but I also wanted out of this damn bed. “Do you two ever shut up?” I ask groggily and lacking impact.

  “Nope,” they say in unison.

  “The cop who held me,” I ask, remembering. “He’s alive?”

  “Unless you don’t want him to be,” says Venessa. “It just takes a call and a bullet.”

  “No,” I croak. “Don’t kill him.”

  “Killjoy,” she says. “Glad to have you back Red, I love you.”

  “I love you too, V.”

  “Well, that’s all the affection I have in me. If we aren’t killing anyone I’m going to bed. Later.”

  Taking a seat next to me, Macy takes my hand then moves the hair from my cheek. “We’ve been worried, Red,” she says. “You had a rough go there for a while.”

  “What the fuck happened?”

&nbs
p; After she explained it to me, for about a solid minute I wanted to gut Duffy, but another minute after that I understood why he did it. Horrible circumstances aside, had he not done it I probably wouldn’t be here at all. According to what’s-his-name, whoever wanted me would have come and got me eventually. None of that mattered at this moment. He knew. Max knew about the baby and he didn’t hear it from me.

  “Macy?” I ask her, getting sleepy. “Is Max here?”

  She probably answers me, but sleep takes over and I decide I’ll ask again when I wake up.

  “You aren’t much for rules, are you?” she asks, sipping the champagne I poured for us to celebrate.

  “How do you figure?” I ask, pulling her feet on to my lap.

  “I’m underage,” she giggles. “You are, after all, contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

  “You’re making me sound old.”

  “Maybe because compared to me, I don’t know… you are old?”

  “You defend our country for a living. Surely you’re entitled to a drink with your husband?”

  “Or two,” she giggles, then burps, “if you play your cards right.”

  Macy brought me into her room about an hour ago. She told me they gave her meds to keep her comfortable and that she’d be sleeping a while. She went on to say given her captivity her body most likely refused any REM sleep and would need this time to recover. Pointing at the IV she explains which are meds, and that the other is saline to replenish her because she was dehydrated and that it would help flush her system.

  So for the last hour I’ve been sitting here quietly, humming just watching her sleep. She’s never been a sleeper. The few times I was able to watch her she’d wake up, call me a creeper, then she’d let me make love to her. Leaning over I kiss her nose. Then I take her left hand putting her ring back on it, where it was meant to be.

  Then keeping a hold of it, I move the ring around her tiny little finger. When her fingers twitch I look up, expecting to see her staring back at me, only she isn’t. Macy assures me talking is good, so that’s what I do.