Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Winter
Cold seeps into my bones. My teeth chatter with enough force I’m surprised they haven’t shattered yet. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this punishment. The universe must have it in for me. At this point, I’d willingly go back to Halloween night and do things differently.
Actually, no I wouldn’t. Not if it meant not knowing Fang.
A door opens, casting a shadow on the concrete floor. There’s laughter somewhere above. Men chanting and clapping. Must be some party they’re having while I’m stuck in this icebox below.
The bulb above flicks on and then there’s a click from the door shutting. Footsteps descend the creaky stairs. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Glancing around the basement, I notice four deep freezers against the far wall. Images of me being shoved into one and locked away to die flood my mind.
Movement brings my attention back to the staircase. The first thing I notice are dirty and worn biker boots. Pretty much what I’ve come to expect from this group of bikers. When my eyes travel up, I see the nasty smirk on his face.
In one hand is a medicine bag, in the other is a bucket. Fear of what’s to come, I stand and run. Only I don’t go far. On my ankle is a shackle. The chain that is attached to the wall pulls tight and forces me to the hard floor. My palms and knees burn from the impact.
He chuckles and sets his supplies on a nearby table. Unzipping his bag, he sets out different tools. Torture devices. Drills, knives, pliers, a syringe, several vials of only God knows what. Fear twists my stomach.
The chain rattling echoes in the empty basement as I inch my way backward. There is nowhere for me to run. No chance of escape. My back hits the concrete wall. Stone bites into my flesh through the soft fabric of my shirt.
The man tips a vial then plunges the syringe into the bottle, withdrawing clear liquid. I watch as he flicks the syringe with a finger. All the while his gaze has not left mine. His movements are well practiced. This is a man who tortures for a living and loves what he does.
“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.” A wicked smile brightens his face. “Well, not much.”
What the hell is he going to do to me?
“Relax.” He sets the syringe on the table. “Boss will be down shortly.”
Maybe his boss will take a tumble down the stairs and break his neck.
A creak, a splash of light from upstairs, then the thud of footsteps. The Hollow Bones president appears with a cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes sparkle with wild fascination. Their leader is one who enjoys other’s pain. “Buckle up, buttercup, we’re about to go on the ride of your life.”
Hopefully Fang will find me soon. I have no idea what these two have planned for me, but I’m sure it’s nothing good.
The first man, the executioner, grabs the syringe. His footsteps are silent as he walks toward me. “Hold still.”
Like hell I will. I run to the right, only to come crashing to the concrete floor. Damn this shackle. Pushing up into a sitting position, I tug and tug on the metal that is now biting into my flesh.
Each step he takes, I tug harder. Trying to get away from the evil that is approaching. The president leans against the wall, puffing away on his cigarette. While the executioner gets closer and closer. I don’t know what is in that needle, but I’m sure it’s nothing good.
At the end of the rope, or rather chain, I have no prayer of avoiding the poison that is sure to be in that syringe. The toe of his boot bumps my knee. Squatting, he grips my chin, squeezing until I fear he’ll break a bone.
Anticipation of what’s to come eats me alive. Sweat dots my forehead. My heart pounds in my chest. He smiles wide. A grim reaper with dull yellow teeth, ready to rip me open and suck out my soul.
A pinch in my neck startles me. Eyes wide, I stare in disbelief when he pulls the needle from my neck.
Prez chuckles. It’s amazing how fast the poison flows through my veins.
At first, it’s just hot liquid seeping through my body.
Then my heartrate slows. Cobwebs cloud my thinking and my limbs grow heavy.
When he releases my chin, I fall. It’s not like a normal fall.
No, it feels as though I’m slowly drifting down to the hard floor.
It’s like watching a movie in slow motion, only I am the movie.
Fear ebbs away. In its place is peace. I watch the executioner with fascination and not a care in the world.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” I’m not sure which one spoke. The whole room is mixing into one. Every sound, every movement is all combined into a blob of motion and sound.
In fact, I don’t even remember why I’m here. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I know I should be scared. I know someone is supposed to come for me, but who. When? For the life of me I can’t recall who I’m expecting to come.
The world around me spins. I’m floating.
A face hovers over mine. Like a bad acid trip—not that I’ve ever done acid—his features morph into streams of color and light. “Relax and enjoy the ride.” His voice is too loud, yet not loud enough.
Of its own accord, my body follows his instructions and relaxes. I am one with the air. A giggle slips past my lips. This is nice. No worries. No pain. Just pure bliss. I think I want to stay here forever.
A cloud of smoke blows overhead. Each thread a different color. Blue, purple, red, green, yellow, and orange. I’ve never seen anything so amazing. As the cloud of smoke moves, it morphs into shapes. Animals. I lift a hand to touch them, but my hand becomes one with them.
Rippling colors explode, creating a galaxy above. Laughter pulses through the milky way. Warmth spreads through my limbs. Boots thud in the distance. Thud to the beat of my heart. Thud, thud. Thud, thud. Thud, thud.
“Fang?” His name slips from my mouth, though I don’t remember speaking.
Who is Fang? Is he someone important? I try to push through the cobwebs clouding my mind, but I can’t seem to break through.
The galaxy shifts, the room expands, and the thudding of boots grows closer. Out of the shadows a tall form appears. Brown eyes connect with mine. He looks familiar. My heart cries out to him. A combination of cool spices, lavender, and musky woods fill my lungs. It smells like home. Like love.
He crouches down, a smile brightening his eyes. “I found you.” Lifting a hand, he traces my bottom lip.
“You found me.” My voice is too loud inside my head.
Fang leans forward and brushes his nose against mine. I can’t tell you how I know it’s Fang, I just do. Kind of like a newborn baby recognizes her mom the first time she’s placed in her arms.
“Who the hell is she talkin’ to?” The intruder’s voice is too far, yet too close. I wish they would go away and leave me alone.
When laughter swirls in the air, Fang grows fainter and fainter. Until he vanishes in a puff of smoke. “Wait,” I call out. Yet he doesn’t reappear.
The only thing that does appear are two bikers. Both laughing like they’re having the time of their lives. “Dude, she’s flyin’ high.” I’m not sure which one speaks.
My world is still spinning. Sounds turn to colors once more. Euphoria washes over me and I laugh. I’m not sure why I’m laughing, it just tumbles out of me. The more I laugh, the hard they laugh.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but my lungs hurt, stomach is tight from laughter. Soon all laughter fades and I’m left with deafening silence. Confusion overwhelms me. The air is still swimming in color, but the silence hurts my ears.
A hand wraps around my throat, too tight. My eyes struggle to see the face hovering above me. I blink multiple times. The hand squeezes tighter. Swallowing becomes tough. A flash of red. The cherry of a cigarette. Instinctively I know it’s Prez.
Prez? Is that his real name? I can’t remember. It’s a funny name. My lips curve in a smile. Who names their kid Prez? Opening my mouth, I try to laugh, but the hand on my throat is cutting off all oxygen.
“God, she’s wasted.” The man holding my throat takes a puff of his cigarette, blowing smoke in my face. “She needs to come down so we can work on breaking her.”
A creak, a flood of light and loud music, then the click of the door. It’s all so beautiful when it combines with the streaks sparkling in the air. The hand on my throat releases. There’s movement but I am too distracted to focus. Too distracted to care.
“This her?” That voice sounds familiar. A voice I recognize from my childhood.
“Yep, that’s Fang’s girl.” That sounds like the executioner.
“Good.” The newcomer moves closer, gazing at me with hatred shining in his eyes. I know I should be scared, but this warm fuzzy feeling refuses to let in fear. Instead, I giggle. He lifts a brow. “Damn, how much did you give her?”
“Enough that she was hallucinating just before you came down.” Mr. Executioner places a rag over my face.
The fabric tickles, which turn my giggles into a fit of laughter. Water sloshes nearby. If I was in my right mind, I’m sure I’d be terrified. Three faces hover over me. A plastic cup is raised, and I watch as water trickles from the cup to the rag covering my nose and mouth.
Water continues to drip onto the rag until it’s completely saturated.
As my lungs are slowly being deprived of oxygen, they start to burn.
The burn forces me to inhale deeply. Big mistake.
Water enters my nose and mouth, filling my airway.
I cough and cough, but it does no good. Each time I inhale to try and cough out the water, more enters my lungs.
As I lie here, struggling to breathe, I watch the eyes of these men glaze over. They enjoy seeing me helpless. The one with the cigarette takes a final puff then places the fiery cherry to my collarbone. Burning registers in my mind, but my body doesn’t respond to the pain.
The rag leaves my face long enough for me to draw breath. Then it’s back. Once again water drips onto the rag, slowly drowning me. Laughter echoes in the concrete room. Searing pain slices up my forearm. This time I do scream, inhaling more water with each breath.
“There she is.” Prez leans forward, hand closing around my throat. “I was beginning to think we lost you to the high.” Ripping the rag from my face, he licks my lips like an ice cream cone. Cigarettes and whiskey cling to his breath, making me gag.
Dark hair and hazel eyes come into view. Those eyes look so familiar. Where have I seen this man before. Damn these drugs. My brain is nothing but mush. “I look forward to seeing Fang’s face when he gets a good look at you. That punk-ass kid has been a thorn in my side since he learned to talk.”
Fang. There’s that name again. Fighting these cobwebs in my brain is like cutting down stalks of wheat with a scythe. Laborious and time consuming. It’s like fighting a losing battle. I push and push, but the webs just won’t break.
The newcomer narrows his eyes at me. Curling his lip in disgust, he spits on my face. “Filthy Iron Devils trash.”
A memory tries to surface. Dark hair and brown eyes. The roar of a motorcycle.
Then another memory fights to surface. Dark hair and hazel eyes. Trips to the ice cream shop. Teddy bears and lullabies.
“It’s time,” Prez says.
The man with the hate filled hazel eyes nods, presses buttons on his cell phone, then walks out of the room.