15. Fifteen Chris
Fifteen: Chris
The dim light flickered above, casting shadows across the shabby room where Ella sat hunched over a magazine. Her brow furrowed in concentration. I leaned against the door frame, watching her for a moment—fuck, she was something else.
"Adam gave me the heads-up last night," I began, my voice a low rasp. The words felt like sand tumbling from my mouth. "Priscilla now knows we've skipped town. She's got her dogs on our scent."
Ella's head snapped up, those brown eyes of hers wide with fear. My gut twisted. I'd dragged her into this shitstorm.
"Chris, what are we going to—" Her voice was cut by a loud knock, rattling the flimsy door on its hinges.
"Fuck." The single word was a snarl, ripped from deep within my chest. Every muscle tensed, ready for the onslaught I knew was coming. We were out of fucking time.
Grabbing my knife one hand, I raised my fists. I stepped closer to the door, ready to die, as another knock hammered through the room.
The door splintered in a burst of cheap wood, the locks useless against the brute force that threw it open. Two hulking guards barreled into the room like storming bulls, tailored suits straining over muscles.
"Get behind me," I snarled to Ella, voice low, guttural. She scrambled back, her wide eyes locked onto mine for a fleeting second, a silent plea echoing in that gaze.
"Come on then, you fucks," I spat, stepping forward, arms outstretched, ready to take them on. Every nerve alight, every sinew tightened. This was my goddamn arena. This is why no one fucked with me. I didn't use guns, guns were for pussies. No, the slice of a well sharpened blade brought the satisfaction of the kill.
"Chris, be careful!" Damn right I'd be careful—careful to end these bastards before they touched a single blonde hair on her head.
"Shut it, princess," one guard snarled. "Boss wants a word. Come with us, and bring the girl, and we won't have to kill ya both.”
"Through my dead body," I shot back, defiance hot on my tongue. The room reeked of sweat and threat, the air crackling with the promise of pain.
"Works for us." A grin spread across the other's face, twisted around the scar that marred his skin.
"Come get some," I challenged, fists hungry for the taste of blood.
They surged at me, all bulk and brawn, but I stood my ground. These goons had muscle, sure, but I had rage—an inferno roaring inside my chest, ready to incinerate anything between me and freedom.
"Oh my God!" Ella's voice was panicked as she watched. Couldn't let it distract me. Had to focus. Be the fucking hurricane I was.
"Stay down!" I commanded, my attention snapping back to the two brutes now splitting up, trying to flank me.
"Take him!" the first barked, and I braced myself, the air thick with the stench of the fight to come. My vision tunneled as I anticipated their next move.
"Bring it, assholes," I taunted, coiled tight and ready to strike. Let them come. I'd tear through their flesh, rip apart their sinews. For her.
And then, all hell broke loose.
The first goon lunged, telegraphing his move like a damn amateur. I sidestepped, shoved him past me. His momentum betrayed him, sending him careening face-first into the drywall. Dust and plaster rained down. "Sloppy," I scoffed, feeling that familiar surge of adrenaline.
"Son of a—" The second brute swung wide, aiming for my head.
"Too slow!" I ducked under his arm, driving my elbow into his gut with all the force of a freight train. Air whooshed out of him, and it was music to my ears. I grabbed his collar, smashed my forehead against his nose. Crunch. Blood spurted—a crimson spray painting the walls. Man, where the fuck did Priscilla find these guys? I wouldn't even need my knife at this rate.
"Fuck you!" he spat, swinging wildly again.
"Please, you don't look like a good lay." I caught his fist, twisted his arm back. Bones snapped as his face twisted in pain. He screamed, a high-pitched wail that would've been pitiful if I gave a shit. But mercy had no home here.
"Should've stayed away from us," I snarled, slamming his head back into the wall.
"Chris, we gotta go!" Ella's plea broke through the haze of violence.
"Almost done here, little ember." My words were a promise, one last gift for the bastards. The second guard stumbled toward me, half-blind with blood streaming down his face. I met him head-on, felt the jolting impact as my fist connected with his jaw. A satisfying pop, and he dropped like a sack of shit.
"Time to leave," I muttered, bloodied hands shaking—not from fear, but from the rush. Always the rush.
"Okay, okay..." Her breaths were quick, mirroring mine.
"Grab your stuff." I wiped my hand across my mouth. The taste of blood lingered on my tongue, a reminder of what had to be done to protect what was mine. She was mine. No one would take her from me. Not Priscilla, not these goons, not anyone.
"Okay," she repeated, her voice trembling but determined.
"Let's go, Ella. Now!" I barked, already moving, scanning for more threats. They'd come for us, sure as night follows day. And I'd be ready. Always am.
The room reeked of iron and shit, the guards' bowels having let go in their final moments. Gruesome art splashed across the walls, a canvas of blood that told tales of what happened when you fucked with me, with us.
I glanced at the bodies, a grim satisfaction settling in my chest. "She'll send more once she realizes these are dead."
"Where will we go?"
"Safe house. Can you hurry it along, Ella, please. You've been standing there, but we need to move." I grabbed our scant belongings, stuffing them into a duffel with more force than necessary. "Adam set one up in the next state."
"Ready." She stood beside me, her brown eyes meeting mine, finding an anchor in the storm.
"Good." I kicked the door open, stepping over the threshold into the night. We had to disappear into the darkness, become shadows among shadows. Fuck anyone who tried to follow. They'd learn, just like these poor bastards on the floor, that you don't fuck with Chris Fucking Charming.
The air outside was like cold steel against my skin, the night silent as a grave. I moved quick, eyes sweeping the rundown motel lot. Ella’s steps were hushed behind me, her breaths quick and heavy.
We rounded the corner of the building, every muscle tensed for a fight or flight. A lone streetlight flickered overhead, the buzzing sound like a taunt. I scanned the perimeter; no movement, no signs we’d been spotted. Yet.
"Fuck, this is too exposed," I muttered, feeling the open space like a target on my back. "We need to grab a car."
I led us toward the line of hedges at the far end of the lot, every step calculated. There was an art to moving without being seen. I mastered that shit years ago.
"Almost there," I breathed, the outline of the road whispering freedom just beyond the shrubs.
A car passed by, its headlights a momentary blinding threat, but it drove on, oblivious to the hunted prey mere feet away. We waited, counted heartbeats that pounded in my chest like war drums, then bolted across the street.
"Move your ass, sunshine," I barked over my shoulder, pushing her forward.
Our breaths misted in the cold air as we skulked through the back alley, my senses on high alert.
"Chris," Ella's voice was a whisper against the thumping of my heart, "there."
Her hand brushed mine, pointing towards a nondescript sedan. Older model, keys likely stashed above the visor—amateurs made it too damn easy. A grin split my face, the thrill of the steal pulsing through me.
"Good eye."
I pulled her behind me, reaching the car in three long strides. Quick flick of the wrist, and the door was open, the scent of stale cigarettes and fast food hitting my nostrils. Fuck, I hated stealing shitboxes, but beggars can't be choosers. My poor Audi. It wouldn't stay nice long in this shithole town.
"Get in," I ordered, my voice like gravel. The keys were right where I guessed they’d be. "Predictable." I jammed them into the ignition, the engine growling to life.
My foot slammed the gas, tires shrieking against the concrete, the world outside blurring into streaks of color and shadow. I pushed the car faster, the needle climbing. This thing had pep, I'll give it that.
I wove through the unfamiliar backroads. The only light was the harsh glare of the headlights slicing through the darkness.
"Left or right?" Ella's voice cut through the thrumming silence, her fingers drumming on the dashboard, the rhythm erratic.
"Left." My knuckles were white on the wheel, my jaw set so tight it ached. The road forked, and I took the turn, tires screeching a protest.
"Seems like we're headed into the middle of nowhere," she said, a quiver betraying her attempt at casual conversation.
"Exactly where we need to be." I shot her a glance, saw her chew her lip—a flash of vulnerability. "No one will look for us there. We won't reach the safe house for a couple of days. We need to find another cum stained motel to stay in and rest. And I need a fucking shower. I stink."
"But... what if they find us?"
"Didn't you see how easy those fat fucks were to kill? Ella, you're safe with me." A cold laugh escaped me. "I'll take down every last one of those sons of bitches."
"Violence... it's all you know, isn't it?" Her observation was a punch to the gut, yet I couldn't deny it.
"Survival, Ella. It ain't pretty." I spat out the words, bitter as the truth they carried. "Haven't had the luxury of sunshine in my world."
Her hand found mine, and she gently stroked circles into my knuckles.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. Not because her touch burned me, but because it didn't. And that scared me more than any gun to my head ever could.