Chapter 28 #2
As Boscoe keeps Dax out of the room, the other men talk over the top of each other, planning what to do with me. McCoy suggests sending a ransom video to my dad. I don’t hear Lance’s reply because I keep my eyes peeled over Boscoe’s shoulder.
Dax isn’t doing well.
His eyes glaze over, and he struggles to keep upright. As his body sways without control, I flail in my seat, attempting to get free.
When his eyes roll back, I scream. “Help him! He’s falling!”
Thud. The men turn to where Dax collapses.
“What the hell’s wrong with this kid?” McCoy mocks.
Lance shoves McCoy away and moves over to his brother. He pulls Dax by his T-shirt and taps an open palm against his cheek. “Come on, wake up.”
I thrash against my restraints. “He’s sick. He needs a doctor.”
Lance looks over his shoulder at me. “Sick with what?”
“Haven’t you seen him collapse before?” I glare at Lance with contempt. “Keeping him here is killing him.”
Lance scoffs. “Whatever.” He hoists Dax up and turns in the hallway. “Keep an eye on her.”
McCoy traces a finger along the part in my hair. “I’ll stay with her. We’ll have fun.”
Lance retches. “No, not you.” He then snaps his fingers at Boscoe. “You watch her instead.”
McCoy slouches with disappointment and helps Lance take Dax away.
“Dax!” I yelp, struggling against the rope.
“You hush now,” Boscoe says, standing over me with his arms crossed. “Screaming ain’t gonna do you no good.”
My eyes water. “Please, he needs help.”
Boscoe chuckles. “You’re concerned about him while you’re in this predicament?”
“I’m here because I love him.”
Boscoe grins, wandering to the doorway and peering into the hallway. He taps his elbow as if he’s biding time. Well, I’m not. I continue to thrust my wrists back and forth, hoping somehow the rope unties itself.
After a good ten minutes of turning my wrists red raw, Boscoe ambles toward me, stroking his long graying beard.
“I’m giving you five minutes,” Boscoe says gruffly. He smiles, showing off the gaps between his yellow teeth. “Because I like the kid.”
“What?” I mumble as he walks away.
I’m alone in the room, and somehow it’s more terrifying than Boscoe’s overwhelming presence.
Before I can guess what’ll happen next, someone races into the room.
Dax rushes over, lowers to his knees, and skids to a stop before me. His hands cup the sides of my face, and wrinkles gather around his eyes. “Oh, Sass. Why did you come here?”
He rests his forehead against mine as I reply with gushing tears. His fingers comb through my hair, and my anxiety lowers from his closeness.
When his lips press against mine, they’re dry and cracked. I gasp and pull away. “You’re not doing well.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replies, moving his hands down to my binds. “Getting you out of here comes first.”
“Dax,” I whisper harshly. “You just collapsed. They won’t do anything to me, or they lose their bargaining power. You need rest.”
“I won’t get that here. And you’re crazy if you think I’m walking away from you.”
“Boscoe said you had five minutes.”
“Don’t worry about him. I can handle it.”
“He watches every time someone beats you. Why would he help you now?”
Dax shrugs. “Because he’s never been the one that hits me.”
I gulp, giving up the minuscule control I have left.
Dax pats down his jacket. “He took away my knife. McCoy is good with knots, but I’ll try my best to untie you.”
“Are you sure we can get out in time?”
“No, but I can’t just leave you like this.”
Dax hurries his fingers around the rope, trying to pull the knot apart. There’s a tremor in his hand, and he brushes the sweat off his forehead.
“Dax.” My voice quivers. “You’re so pale, and you’re shaking.”
Dax grunts, clearing his throat. “I’m okay.”
As he continues to fight against the knots, the door pushes open and Boscoe trudges into the room. My gut plummets as the burly man glares at us.
“Kid,” Boscoe’s gruff voice calls out. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Boscoe disappears again, and Dax’s shoulders slouch. “The knots are too tight, anyhow. I can’t get them loose.”
I shiver, looking at the vacant doorway. “Is he coming back?”
Dax lifts onto his knees and caresses my face. “It was just a warning. We have time.”
My bottom lip betrays me with twitches. “And then what?”
Dax frowns, getting up and scratching his hand through his hair.
Fear floods my veins. “Dax?”
He turns his back on me, muttering, “Give me a minute to think.”
I fidget in the seat, suppressing the sobs in my throat.
My ears prick at a clicking sound. Dax then bobs his head down, and I realize he’s lighting a cigarette. When he turns back around, his frame hunches and the bags under his eyes appear gray. He unsteadily lowers to the concrete floor, and the ashy smell sends me grimacing.
Dax’s hand trembles as he lifts the cigarette to his lips. He takes a long drag and also takes his time blowing out the smoke.
“Baby,” I whisper as my heart aches. “Those things are killing you.”
His wrist rests on his knee, and he flicks ash onto the ground. “I don’t want them, but I’m going out of my mind. They’re the only thing keeping me semi-stable.”
Adrenaline surges through me. “I’ve gotta get you out of here.”
He looks at me with a guilty smirk. “You’re the one tied up, Sassy.”
I sit taller and thrust my fist upward in a futile attempt to break free. “But I’m walking out of here.”
He returns the cigarette to his lips, getting up. He ambles over to me, his eyes running over me adoringly. “You’re too much. I’d never have guessed such a good girl could be so feisty.”
“I told you,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I gave up the good girl routine.”
He takes another puff and expels the smoke out the side of his mouth. His hand brushes over my hair, and my skin tingles.
He angles the cigarette downward and lowers it toward my arm.
I suck in a breath, flinching in the seat. “What are you doing?”
Dax presses the ashy end of the cigarette against the rope. As it singes, the rope crackles and hisses.
“See,” he says in a gravelly tone. “They come in handy sometimes.”
I look and a smile curls his lips. My stomach flutters, and I let myself crack a smile too.
He lowers, kneeling in front of me, and butts his cigarette on the ground. “Do you trust me?”
“Wholeheartedly.”
Dax reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out his lighter. There’s a noticeable break in the rope, but not enough to tear it apart. Dax flicks on the lighter and moves the flame toward my wrist.
I hiss, backing up in the chair.
He holds my hand as he guides the flame over the rope. “I’m right here with you. I won’t hurt you.”
I squeeze his hand, holding my breath as the rope catches fire.
The flame breaks through the fibers of the rope, finally splitting it in two. Swiftly, Dax lowers his head, blowing hard to extinguish the flame. Coughing hard, he closes the lighter and pulls at the rope until my hand is free.
I pull my hand up and press it against my rising chest. With relief, a soft laugh trickles out of me.
Dax leans over, kissing my free hand. His breath patters against my chest, upping my adrenaline.
He pulls away, looking into my eyes. “Ready to go again?”
I nod.
Suppressing another cough, Dax flicks on the lighter and angles the flame at my other wrist. The flame catches onto the rope and licks my skin. I yelp in pain, and Dax hurriedly blows out the flame.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts, cupping a hand over my tender skin. “Are you okay?”
I press my lips together, nodding. “Mm-hmm.”
“Are you okay to try again?”
I gasp for breath. “Yeah. Just do it quickly.”
He releases my arm and lifts the lighter back to the rope. I hold my breath, watching the flame attack the rope. With a snap, it breaks apart. Dax struggles to put out the fire, instead having to unravel it from me while still burning.
The rope falls to the ground, heating my skin as it slips past, and Dax stomps on it.
He then rushes to tend to my arm. “Are you hurt?”
I pant, heaving my chest. “I’m okay.”
He clutches my hand, looking me over. “Are you sure?”
I push off the chair and fling my arms around him. “Yes. You’ve got me. How could I not be okay?”
As we stand, holding each other, Dax’s balance wobbles.
“I got you,” I whisper.
Dax doesn’t reply, instead walking me out of the room. In the hallway, he leans and scuffs himself along the wall. I whisper encouragement, pulling him up and helping him bypass the bar.
Lance, McCoy, Hugo, and Stitch’s voices echo from the bar, and I’m in no mood to serve Dax up to those wolves. A twinge of guilt cycles through me, presuming Stella is stuck with them. But I can’t get her while Dax is slumped beside me.
I nudge him. “C’mon. We’re so close.”
But it’s too late. His eyes roll back, and he slips out of my arms.
His thud wasn’t as heavy this time, and the bar sounds carry on. I lift his head onto my lap, coaxing him awake.
“What do you two think you’re doing?” Boscoe’s boots stop beside us.
I don’t look up. “He needs help.”
“His time was up, anyhow.”
“You’re not listening to me.” This time I do give him eye contact. “Boscoe, if you care about him, you’ll call for an ambulance.”
Boscoe shifts as if he’s considering it, and then grunts. “Nope. The cops will wanna talk to him. I can’t risk drawing more attention to the clubhouse.”
“This is bigger than that. He’s unconscious again, and if we don’t do something, he mightn’t pull through.”
“He’s tougher than that.”
“He has been, but there’s only so much fight his body can take. Please, Boscoe, get help.”
Boscoe fidgets in indecision.
“Lance will be livid if his brother doesn’t wake up,” I say, desperate to put the man into action. “Or what about his dad? What will he do if he finds out you stood here and did nothing?”
Boscoe huffs, turning in the hallway. “I’ll see if they’ve unloaded the truck yet. Maybe I can take him in that.”
With Boscoe gone, I run my hand over Dax’s icy face and the tears stream from my eyes. “Oh, baby, please wake up.”
My tears drop onto his face. When two fall onto his eyelashes, he moans.
I lean over him, buzzing. “Dax?”
He moans again, and his eyelids flutter.
I tap his cheek. “Dax? Dax?”
He coughs, turning his face to the side. His eyes lethargically open and close. When he shifts in my arms, he looks up and squints.
He coughs again. “Sassy?”
Happy tears blur my vision. “Yes, baby, I’ve got you.”
He struggles to keep his eyes open. “What happened?”
I brush my hand through his hair. “You fell again.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think you can get up?” I search the hall for anyone approaching. “We really need to get out of here.”
His eyes close again, and he mumbles, “No. Sleepy.”
I lift his shoulders, hoping he’ll sit up. “No, Dax. You can’t sleep right now. We’ve gotta go.”
His shoulders slump in my arms, and when his head bobs, I lower him in defeat.
Not again. I refuse to sit here and accept this.
I hoist Dax from under his arms and drag him across the floor. Somehow, I need to get to the Porsche. Searching for strength I don’t have, we curve around the hallway, and I spy a screen door ahead.
My heart palpitates.
There’s a screen door at the front of the clubhouse.
With his back resting against my front, I hug my arms around him, pulling him through the doorway.
As I puff out my exhaustion, three sheriff’s vehicles zoom down the road, sirens blaring.
They stop in front of the clubhouse, encircling the Porsche.
Blasted with shock, I lean against the doorframe, cradling Dax in my arms.
Officers race from their vehicles and approach the property.
Anticipation ricochets through my veins. “Help! He needs a doctor.”
An officer reaches for me, and I recoil. “Don’t touch me! Help him. He doesn’t have time to waste.”
The officer pivots and lowers to check Dax. While pressing two fingers against Dax’s neck, he uses his radio, asking for a medical team to arrive.
Relieved, I hold on to Dax. “Thank you.”
“We’ll take him from here,” the officer says. “You need to get back to your parents.”
My arms don’t budge. “I’m not leaving him. I’ll go to the hospital with him.”
“We need to get you to safety.”
“And I need to stay with him.”
The officer relents. As other uniformed officers swarm the clubhouse, a second officer helps get Dax out of the doorway.
As the officers enter through the side of the clubhouse, Lance and the other men shout at the invaders.
“Everyone down on the ground!” Sheriff Lennon’s voice booms from inside the clubhouse. “You’re all under arrest!”
As two officers prop Dax against the exterior wall, he groans sleepily.
The second officer taps Dax’s shoulder. “Are you awake, son? Can you hear me?”
Dax murmurs, and his eyes struggle to open.
I swoop an arm around his shoulders. “Dax? Dax, wake up.”
Soon, an ambulance speeds down the street with its sirens blasting.
“Sassy,” Dax mumbles.
The officer leans over him. “What was that, son?”
Happiness floods my body. “He’s talking to me.” I brush my hand through his mop of hair. “I’m here, baby. You’re going to be okay.”