by Marie Wathen
“It's only a few feet, just jump!” She shouts, running away toward the side of the building.
“You little bitch. I'm busting the mother fucking door down if you don't open it now.” The male voice threatens still beating against the motel room door.
“Fuck.” I growl low through gritted teeth.
Surveying the short span from the window down to the ground, I confidently drop and land just as a loud noise erupts inside the room, confirming the guy followed through with his threat. Splintering wood followed by a clearer angry voice draws my attention back to the window. A dark set of eyes narrows on me then scans the back parking lot.
“Hey!” Pointing a gun at me, he fires once narrowly missing me.
Making up my mind that my ass is dead if I stay here, I slam against the back wall of the motel, swinging around the corner, away from the next round. A small import car with the passenger side door open is racing toward me in reverse. Fearing it is another thug working with the guy upstairs, I lean my back against the partially open maintenance door and force my way inside. Tires screech to a stop as I hear another yell.
“Morgan, get in the car.” Seeing the driver is the girl, I debate momentarily between whether getting in the vehicle or hiding in the maintenance closet is the safest idea. Rolling her eyes, she adds, “He has friends inside the office getting your credit card information. Now get in the goddamn car.”
Wasting no more time, I jump into the passenger seat seeing the thug from upstairs rounding the back of the building. More shots fire at our getaway vehicle as she slams her foot on the gas pedal. Swerving around the front, she maneuvers the car onto the busy street, recklessly pulling out in front of a loaded bus. Horns honk and vehicles miraculously avoid her aggressive tactics. She guns the gas again whipping into the oncoming traffic lane.
“What the fuck?” I shout, bracing a hand on the dashboard. Her eyebrows furrow as she glances from the rear view mirror back to the highway in front of us, repeatedly.
Sighing heavily, momentarily contemplating, she says, “I can't believe they found me so quickly.”
“Who are you? And who in the hell is your friend back there?”
She laughs dryly, “Friend is not exactly what I would call Boot.”
“Wait, is he your pimp?” I ask narrowing my eyes on hers.
“Are you for real?” Whipping around to face me, all humor has left her features. “No, he is not my pimp because I am not a hooker. It really is best if I don't tell you anything.”
“Fuck it then,” I huff. “Take me to the damn airport.”
Calming slightly, she lowers her tone. “Dammit. They have your credit card information now. Nothing will stop them from looking for you too.” Groaning loudly after banging her hand twice on the steering wheel, she finally says, “They are hired killers Morgan.”
Candy’s words scare the hell out of me. Shifting around in my seat, I slouch and let out a heavy sigh as the understanding settles in my brain while the color quickly leaves my face.
“I think I'm going to be sick.” I moan uncontrollably, clutching one hand stiffly across my abdomen while the other slowly strokes over my forehead, wiping away the sweat quickly accumulating. “Seriously, you need to pull over!”
“What?” She asks incredulously.
“Pull over now before I puke in the damn car.” I snap, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, hoping to stave off puking.
Understanding finally settling in her eyes, she jams her foot on the gas pedal and passes several more vehicles before taking a side road off the main highway. Another half mile later, she jerks the wheel to the right and pulls behind an old laundry mat. Quickly, I hop out and rush toward the back wall, placing a hand against it for support. Repeating what I started in the car, I take long, slow breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth and after a few minutes the wave of nausea subsides.
Sliding down on my ass, I lean against the wall and draw my legs up, draping both arms over my knees. Candy drops down beside me, peering at me from under long dark eyelashes.
“I'm really sorry about everything. I have some…” She sighs, “Things happened recently that I can't really explain to you. But I'm doing everything I can to distant myself from those things. It appears that I've run out of time.”
Unable to comment at first, I focus on the broken glass under my shoes. Candy doesn't add anything else to her explanation and that pisses me off.
“Is Candy even your real name?” I mock disbelieving that I would meet the one girl in Vegas with this name that isn’t a hooker.
Slanting her head, she stares momentarily before answering. “Yes, it is my real name.”
“Are they coming after us?”
“Yes.” She sighs, running her hands over her thighs then adds. “But I have a plan to keep us safe.”
“Are you out of your damn mind?” I snap, growling at her suggesting we stay together. “I am not going anywhere with you. Those bastards shot at me.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I don't give a shit who they are or what you've done, I am not getting involved.”
She averts her eyes from my hard stare and whispers, “It's too late for that Morgan. I've already explained that they know who you are and because you're with me your life is in terrible danger.”
“No,” I shake my head, “they have my name, but they don't know who the hell I am.” Pausing, I add, “I won't run, if that's what you're suggesting. So you better come up with plan B.”
I'm a fucking Walker for god-sake. Some mother fuckers want to kill me they better be ready for a damn fight. Running makes me look like a punk. Leaving Willow was on my terms and had nothing to do with running away from a fear. Or does it?
What am I afraid of exactly? Not my mother’s manipulating, and certainly not my father’s evil. Taking over control of WC doesn't scare me. Even the emanate possibility of marrying Elise isn't enough to make me run away from a lifetime of planning and preparing to run the family business. What in the hell did I run from? Waverly, I swear it sounds like her name is floating in the air around me.
Along with huffing loudly, Candy’s fidgeting breaks me from my internal battle. Momentarily staring down at her fingers, her lids lift slowly piercing me with guilt laden eyes.
“Not running, but I am suggesting hiding. We need to stay under the radar for a little while. A week, two tops.” She starts. Looking deeply into light green eyes, I study her briefly wondering how much I can really trust this stranger. I don't know anything about her or why she's being hunted by gun-packing thugs. “Just think of it as a mini-vacation where you can disconnect from the world and after a short time all will be well again and you can return home.”
What damn choice do I have at this point? I think that I've fucked up royally. Leaving all of my responsibilities behind in Willow sounded like a damn good idea. Now I'm not so convinced. I may have fucked up a little more than royally.
This is not the great life.
Chapter Eight
Breesan
In no rush to get to my car, I finally push two on the panel inside the elevator just as the doors begin to slowly close. I let out a noisy breath and lean against the back wall. Playing different scenarios through my head on how to deal with the freaky texts, I consider contacting the person and suggest a meeting. Yeah, that is the perfect set up for a scary movie, I remind myself. Not that Jason or Freddie would text one of their victims prior to a slaughter scene, but this is real life and someone recently tried to kill one of my friends. It could all be related.
Telling Marcus about the text would be the logical way of handling it, but what if he thinks I am involved somehow? No, that's preposterous. He isn't quick to judge. He would use the information to help with the police investigation and catch whoever did this shit. He's a cop so he will do what is right. Plus, he cares about me so I need to trust him not to betray me. I decide that I’ll tell him this afternoon.
Having several friends, who I want to trust,
is going to take some time accepting, but only being nineteen, time is one thing I have on my side. Sadly, I did waste a lot of it keeping them away. Ashamed of my selfishness, I stare off trying to contend with the guilt of the ones I've hurt all these years and recently.
I drift away to yesterday on the beach with Morgan. He and I will be friends, nothing more. His kiss is inconsequential; it doesn't mean anything to me and won't come between me and Marcus. Oh Marcus. I feel my smile grow wide thinking of him.
The elevator doors open to the second level garage and I see Anna hugging Waverly. A car passes me hitting a puddle of water that's run off from the upper level. It splatters on my legs and I inwardly cuss, not wanting to disturb their conversation. I’m glad Anna doesn’t only depend on my friendship, she loves easily. I quietly make my way to them, leaving a large space between us, but Anna spots me and waves me over.
Dammit, I am not prepared for girl bonding situations yet, I groan.
Ready or not Anna’s outstretched hand demands my response. I move closer ignoring her and lean my back against Waverly's red Porsche. I hope I can fade into it and avoid joining their discussion altogether.
“Waverly, it is crap! And you know it is crap. Morgan is not going to marry Elise. She's in his past and you are his future.” Anna says, keeping her voice soft.
“No, we're over.” Shaking her head in a jerky motion, Waverly sniffles and says, “He doesn't want to have anything to do with me. Yesterday, Morgan told me that there was someone else, but I thought he meant her.” She says, pointing at me. Anna’s shocked look mirrors mine. “But apparently Elise is who he was really talking about. Dammit Anna! How did I fool myself for so long?” She growls angrily, pushing away a stray tear. “He never wanted anything from me other than a good fuck. I was never good enough for more.”
Placing her hand on Waverly's shoulders, Anna gives her a hard shaking. “He's a twisted little turd and he always has been, but Morgan won't marry her.” She pauses, “I don't care what Haleigh thinks, Waverly. She doesn't know Morgan. He is a real butt kisser, but he is too free to be tied down to someone like Elise “The Beeotch” Carrington.” Anna smiles encouragingly, but Waverly’s eyes remain downcast. “Morgan likes to have fun. Okay, so sometimes he has the wrong kind of fun, but Waverly, when he marries she won’t be someone like Elise. She will own his heart.” Anna tilts her head, giving a solemn pout to Waverly and adds, “I know that right now it cuts like a knife, but once you talk to him about this you'll see that it really is just crap.” Waverly remains silent, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Okay?” Anna adds, trying to push Waverly into accepting what she believes.
“Dammit Anna, you shouldn't be out here dealing with my bullshit.” Waverly wipes her cheeks and runny nose with the back of her hand. “You have so much more important shit going on than dealing with me. I'm just being a pathetic girl because her fuckboy dumped her for some lifestyles of the rich and famous bitch.” She whimpers, “I'm fine. I will be fine. Okay? Just go and forget all of this happened. Please?” The pain in her eyes mirrors her begging tone, but is she begging for help or understanding. Sweet Anna doesn’t miss her sadness.
“Hush Waverly! I will not let you do this to yourself. Breesan and I are here for you, so get over yourself for goodness sake.” Anna studies Waverly briefly. “Now, let's start with getting you cleaned up. We're going to my house so I can shower and change.” She holds out the edge of her dress as if we can't see all the blood without her pointing it out. “Why don't you come with us? It will be fun.” She ends her promise with a smile and Waverly relents to Anna's persuasion with a small nod.
During their conversation I practically zoned out standing here. The past few days I have barely slept. The little sleep I had wasn't good and my mind is basically running on autopilot; but somehow during my anesthetized state I manage to hear a car coming up the ramp behind me. Turning my head mechanically, I see it park a few spaces away from us and unconsciously stare, but don't really see it. I didn't intentionally stare at it, not at first, my eyes just locked on the vehicle as a distraction. I stand here for a moment until it hits me that it is the blacked out black sedan that followed me the night Marcus was in the hospital. Now my staring is cognizant from fear and my body begins to tremble. I watch as the driver gets out, scans around the open area, and then looks in our direction. I do not recognize him at all.
He is an extremely good looking man, tall and muscular with medium brown hair that hits just below his ears. He looks up with his gray eyes, catches me staring and then flashes a really warm smile. I shift my gaze when the passenger steps out of the car, looking in our direction too. This guy is just as nice looking as the driver, but his hair is blonde, cut short on the bottom with long bangs hanging in his dark blue eyes. He is also tall, but much thinner than the driver. What stands out as peculiar to me is that they are dressed similar in all black. Black shirt, black jeans worn in mid-June in Alabama combined with the suffocating heat index increases my suspicions that there is something wrong with this scenario.
Snapping out of my daze, I turn around, face Anna and lean in close to whisper, “Hey, I think those guys are coming over here.”
We stand between the men and the elevator so it is possible they are just going to keep walking, but there is a mischievous glint in the driver’s eye, indicating he plans on speaking. Anna and Waverly glance up from their conversation just as the men approach. Waverly seems comfortable, offering the driver a pleasant smile. Both men pass me, stopping next to her.
“Hi.” Waverly says, “Did you come by to see Tristan?”
The men look at each other and nod simultaneously. Then the driver turns and answers, “Yeah, that's why we're here. Are you ladies coming or going?”
“We were just leaving,” Always so friendly Anna answers with a pleasant smile. “Do I know you?”
“Not as well as I would like.” The driver says.
Anna’s body language shifts from receptive to defensive hearing his words; as does mine. When they first approached a niggling sensation had moved into the back of my head, but now I have numerous, deafening alarms going off. A rush of gooseflesh moves across my entire body, and I slide my hands up my arms to settle them. My right hand continues up to my neck and to the back of my head as I attempt rubbing away the strange sensation.
“Seriously?” Anna snaps, “That's my boyfriend upstairs in the hospital bed so it will never happen for you.” Huffing out with a repulsed tone, she turns her head toward me and I see a new fear deep within her chocolate eyes jump out.
At that exact moment a hand lands hard on my shoulder, squeezing painfully. I squirm away, but the grip tightens and with a stiff arm he prevents me from turning completely around. There must have been another man in the backseat that didn’t get out immediately. The guy grabs me around the waist with his other arm and pulls my back against his chest. I'm trapped against his body with his arms wrapped around me so I begin kicking backwards with my feet hitting his shins repeatedly. With little room to move I pull my arm out and jab my elbow into his ribs twice before he traps it again. Screaming for help, I jerk my body wildly trying to force him to drop me. He covers my mouth with one hand as he lifts me off the ground with the other, and then shoves his face into my hair.
“Keep struggling,” he growls beside my ear. “I like it when you fight.” Instantly, my body stiffens recognizing his voice and his haunting laughter, following the threat. Moving his mouth against my ear he breaths into it deeply. “I told you I'd have you again before they killed you, Sweetness. I always get what I want.”
The guy at the gym, who wanted to do repulsive things to me, the same large thug who stabbed Marcus, spoke those words to me. He spins me around then shoves me roughly against Waverly's car. One look and my suspicions are confirmed; it is the same guy.
In my peripheral I see the other two men holding something over Anna and Waverly's mouths. Both girls’ struggling last only momentarily before their bodies go limp in
the men’s arms. Glancing up at my attacker, I watch his face twists into a gross snarl. Fear gut punches me and instantly I want to fade away.
He traps my body against the car with his feet on either side of mine, his hips pressing into me. He grips both of my hands, lifts them and crosses them tightly over my chest. Lowering his gaze, his dark eyes rake over my body while he licks his lips. Stay in the moment, I remind myself. These guys are not going to do this to us. Fighting is the only option at this point because I refuse to fade away. With every bit of training and strength I can muster before squeezing my eyes shut and slamming my forehead into his nose. Hearing the loud crack of bones and cartilage, I open my eyes and see his blood gushing.
I repeat the action before screaming, “Get the fuck off me.”
“You fucking bitch!” He growls in pain.
Quickly backhanding me across the cheek, the bastard grabs my throat in his huge hand, squeezing hard. I struggle violently against his massive body, trying to pry away because I’m beginning to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. My right leg rests between his thighs so I lift it in a quick move striking him hard in the crotch. He pushes hard against my arms then drops one hand between his legs. With his grip loosened, my hand falls free allowing me to quickly strike him across the back of his neck. He releases me only to slap me across the cheek again.
Throwing all of his body weight against me, he presses me harder against the car. I twist my body sideways and begin sliding away attempting to get free from the painful wedge he has me in against the car door. His foot tangles with mine, causing us to fall together onto the ground. I land on my knees hard and my palms slap against the concrete. I feel a quick stick then a stabbing pain in my hand from a piece of glass jutting out of my pinky finger.
While struggling to crawl from under his weight I see more broken glass under the rear wheel of the car. I stretch my hand out, reaching for a large piece. He begins crawling over me, wrapping an arm around my neck and squeezing forcefully. I throw my head back again, missing his head this time. However, while avoiding my head he loosens his grip on me enough that my few inches of freedom allows me to grab the glass shard. It slices into the bend of my fingers and the blood begins flowing down, but I don't let it stop me.
