Chapter 19 Raven
Raven
Iwas pacing the cramped space of my makeshift cell, each step a silent scream in the dim light that barely fought off the shadows at the corners of the room.
The meat packing plant, with its stench of blood and cold metal, had become my new cage.
I could feel the walls closing in, suffocating me with the reality of my captivity.
"Get it together, Raven," I muttered to myself, my voice barely breaking the silence.
My mind was a damn hurricane, thoughts tearing through at a hundred miles an hour, all of them circling around one desperate need—escape.
My movements were restless as hell, mirroring the chaos inside my head.
I traced the same pattern on the concrete floor, back and forth like some caged animal plotting its next breakout.
But this wasn't some wildlife documentary; this was my life, hanging by a thread because Daddy dearest didn't know when to quit his power plays.
Just then, my ears pricked up. There was a heated exchange happening somewhere beyond the thin walls—a muffled war of words that set every nerve in my body on high alert. I pressed my ear against the cool surface. Who knew eavesdropping could feel like a damn drug coursing through your veins?
"Shit," I whispered under my breath, catching fragments of the argument.
It was like trying to piece together a puzzle with half the parts missing.
But I had to know. Any scrap of information could be the key to getting out of this mess.
So, I held my breath, focusing everything I had on separating voices from the background noise of machinery and the occasional clang of metal.
The conversation grew louder, more agitated.
Someone was throwing around threats like confetti at a parade I didn't want to attend.
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms—a raw reflection of the turmoil twisting inside me.
Whatever they were planning out there, it had my name written all over it, and I'd be damned if I just sat here waiting for the hammer to drop.
A voice cut through the stale air, sharp as a blade and twice as deadly. "The bomb was meant for him, you understand? To wipe that bastard off the map." It was him—Charles Stansfield, Daddy dearest, serving up his venom like it was Sunday dinner.
I froze, my spine rigid against the cold wall. The words hit me with the force of a freight train, derailing every thought in my head except one: Vin. My breath hitched, and I could almost taste the metallic tang of shock on my tongue. Vin—my Vin—was supposed to be six feet under because of this?
I wanted to scream, to shatter the silence with the roar of my disbelief, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. My father, the man who read me bedtime stories and taught me to ride a bike, had plotted murder. And not just anyone's murder, but the man I'd risked everything for.
"Raven has no clue, does she?" The associate's question sliced through the room, taunting me with its cruel irony.
"Clueless?" I thought, a bitter laugh dying in my throat. "Oh, I've got a clue now, alright."
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and angry, but I blinked them back. No weakness, not now. Raven Stansfield didn't break; she broke others. And right then, I vowed to shatter the world he'd built, brick by filthy brick. Vin wasn't dead, but my father's soul sure as hell was.
"Happy trails, kiddo," he'd said, the day he bought me my first bike. The wind had felt like freedom back then. Now, it was just another lie in the guise of a fond memory. My childhood was nothing but a carefully staged play—one where the villain wore the mask of a loving father.
"Fuck this," I muttered to myself, the taste of betrayal stinging my tongue.
There was no room for softness, not anymore.
Raven Stansfield didn't do soft. I was all edges and angles, the girl who'd learned to fight because tears were useless currency in a world run by monsters. I tugged on the door again, and again, it didn’t budge.
I glanced at the ceiling and something in my head clicked.
I hoisted myself up, fingers finding the edges of a ceiling tile that had seen better days.
With a shove, it gave way, revealing the dark belly of the crawlspace above.
I didn't pause to second-guess the plan—there was no room for hesitation.
The air was close and musty. Pulling myself into the gap, I ignored the protest of muscles still sore from the fight that landed me in this hellhole.
The darkness clung to me like a second skin as I crawled.
When I reached a grille and peered through the slats, the sight below twisted my guts into knots.
Men worked with mechanical precision, chopping cow parts with the indifference of a clock ticking towards the end of a shift.
The reality of what lay beneath me struck hard, and my body revolted.
Vomit surged up, and I heaved, the acidic bile burning my throat.
It was a rookie mistake, one that cost me dearly.
The grille buckled under the convulsion of my retching, and I plunged through the opening, landing with a wet splat among the discarded remnants of once-living creatures. I lay there, dazed, covered in gore, and reeking of stomach acid—another piece of refuse in a room made for butchering.
"Fuck," I muttered, spitting out the taste of bile and blood. No time to dwell on the fall or the filth. The echo of boots thundering down the corridor was motivation enough. I scrambled to my feet, slipping into the mess, a vivid reminder of how quickly fortunes could change.
"Over there!" a guard shouted, his voice slicing through the cacophony of machinery and my pounding heartbeat.
Adrenaline flooded my system as I bolted for the windows, their grimy panes offering a glimpse of freedom just beyond reach.
Gunshots cracked the air, a lethal chorus to the soundtrack of my escape.
Pain exploded across my back, hot and searing, a thief come to steal my breath and strength.
I stumbled, the momentum carrying me forward even as my body screamed in rebellion.
"Vin..." The name was a talisman, propelling me onward despite the agony that threatened to drag me into darkness. I focused on the light, on the thin line between captivity and liberation. It was a race against the bullet's kiss—a dance with fate I wasn't willing to lose.
The world tilted, a hazy tilt-a-whirl of grimy windows and blood-slicked floors. My legs betrayed me, buckling under the weight of the lead buried in my flesh. A ragged gasp tore from my lips as I clawed at the concrete, each breath a battle waged within my chest.
"Vin," I rasped, the name a shard of glass in my throat.
It was all I could manage—his name, a prayer flung into the void.
He was a ghostly sentinel in my mind. A spray of bullets chewed up the wall beside me, a staccato beat urging me to move or die.
But my body had other plans; it faltered, succumbing to the crimson tide that spread beneath me.
"Come on, Raven, you've survived worse than this," I told myself, but it felt like a lie wrapped in bravado.
The shadows crept closer, seductive in their whisper for me to just let go, to sink into the cool embrace of oblivion.
"Live hard and die free," Vin's motto echoed in my skull, bitter and sweet—a reminder of what we'd lived and what we might never see again.
I tried to picture him one last time—those penetrating eyes that had seen through all my defenses, the hard lines of his face that softened only for me.
"Vin, I..." Words failed; there was so much left unsaid, so much love and rage intertwined like barbed wire around my heart.
With a final surge of will, I pushed against the pull of darkness, reaching out for something—anything—to anchor me to the living.
But the darkness was a jealous lover; it wrapped cold fingers around my consciousness, bidding me to dance one last waltz.
And as I thought of Vin, of the ride-or-die bond that tethered our souls, I let the night take me, hoping against hope that somehow, he'd feel the echo of my thoughts across the miles.
"Find me," I whispered into the encroaching black, a silent plea carried on my last breath.
Then everything went dark.