Chapter Two #2
Running my gaze down each side of the hallway, I searched for a clue of Nate’s whereabouts, which came immediately.
The first door was open just a crack... the others all fully closed.
Fred would've strained to carry Nate upstairs.
The man was huge and muscular, and if he'd have been fitter, we wouldn't have managed to kidnap him.
We'd used his broken leg against him. Not that he hadn't put up a good fight, almost getting me killed.
Touching my head where I'd hit it, I cringed. The adrenaline pumped through my body, numbing all the aches and pains, but it wouldn't last long. I just had to check whether my prisoner was alive and then get out.
Holding the poker higher, I went straight for the door that was ajar, pushing it slowly until I could see inside.
The bed, typically, was around the corner behind the door.
Holding my breath, I stuck my head in the room and raised the poker above my head.
The bed sheets were ruffled but no one was on them.
Releasing my held breath, I twisted around, my gaze catching the bloody stain on the edge of the white sheet. Nate had been in the room.
Readying myself, I inched in further, searching every corner of the room. It wasn't that big and his huge bulk would've stood out immediately. A door was on the far wall, closed. The bathroom. Maybe he’d hidden inside or passed out in there.
Sweat lined my palm and I wiped it on my skirt before swapping the iron poker to it. Opening the bathroom door was going to be dangerous... and stupid.
Sidling up to it, I put my ear as close as I was brave enough, listening hard for breathing on the other side.
It was eerily silent. I inhaled and stepped back, bumping straight into something...
or someone. Squeaking, I spun, swinging the poker blindly.
Nate, all bloodied and bruised, caught my wrist, twisting until my fingers loosened.
My heart thundered as I punched out with my free hand, hitting him straight in the side of the head. He swore and wrapped both arms around me, squeezing my own arms against my sides and walking until I was shoved against the door, his whole weight pressed into me so I couldn't move.
Blood was smeared over one side of his face and dirt smeared across the other. His blue eyes were wide, staring straight at me. I tried to look away, but his angry grunt drew my eyes to his.
“Kill me then,” he said, his rumbling voice vibrating through me.
Blinking, I shook my head. “No, I need you alive.”
He pushed his face closer, his bared teeth the only clean thing about him. The scent of blood and burning slipped up my nose and my stomach tightened.
“Fine,” he spat, “then give me this...” He wrenched my wrist painfully again and the poker clattered to the wooden floor. “...and leave so I can do it myself.”
His breathing was labored and his arms weak. I shoved his chest and he stumbled back, his leg buckling under him. He righted himself and leaned forward, scooping up the poker and holding it out towards me.
“Now go,” he ordered, pointing towards the door with the weapon, “or I'll take you with me, like you deserve.”
Breathing hard, I edged towards the door, my mind whirling and confused.
“You want to die?” I asked, pausing by the threshold. “Why?”
Frowning, Nate stood to his full height and glanced sideways at me. “I'd prefer to be dead than subjected to your father’s sick and twisted games.”
My own eyebrows furrowed. “He's a bit unpredictable, sure, but he only punishes us to make us stronger.”
His snort sent spittle and blood flying and he turned to me and spat on the floor. He wasn’t exactly a gentleman! I swallowed and looked away from the bloody gloop.
“You're as fucking deluded as he is.” He tried to step closer, but his leg gave way and he crumpled to the bed, catching himself on the mattress before he completely stacked it.
The poker was loose in his hand.
Rushing forward, I grabbed the weapon from him and backtracked out of his reach. He stayed crouched by the bed, his teeth gritted and his leg bent awkwardly.
“Just do it,” he muttered, “Put me out of my misery. I'm not a biker without my leg and no doubt it'll need to be amputated soon.”
My heartbeat increased as I glanced at his bloodied jeans. He could barely hold his own weight and the accident had clearly caused even more damage to his leg.
“Get on the bed.” I stepped closer to him, taking the poker from his limp hand.
He gritted his teeth and lifted himself. As he wobbled, I went to him and propped him up. My muscles groaned as I maneuvered his heavy weight, helping him to lie on the bed. He expelled the lightest sigh, clearly relieved.
“You're all full of fight,” I muttered, moving to his injured leg, “even when you're broken.”
“It's the only way to survive.”
He hissed through his teeth when I reached for his leg, straightening it. Rolling my eyes, I lifted the flap of torn jeans and inspected the bandage on his leg. It was blood-soaked, which meant his wound must’ve opened. He’d need it cleaned if he was going to survive.
When I’d traced Moth’s phone to the hospital, I’d gone to investigate.
Spotting Nate lying helpless in the hospital bed, I’d been tempted to put a pillow over his face.
I’d held back, instead ordering my men to watch the hospital at all times.
Fred and his friend had been careless one night, falling asleep in their van.
When they’d awoken the next morning, Fly had disappeared, discharging himself in the early hours.
“What are you staring at?” he grumbled.
Swallowing, I shook myself and stepped away. “Your wound is bleeding; the stitches must have come undone.”
“Why do you give a shit?” Turning his head to look out of the window, he shrank back against the glare of the sun. “Give me the poker please.”
Glancing at the weapon in my hand, I stared at the sharp point.
I could drive it straight through his heart, killing him quickly.
Except, I had to remember why I’d gone to the trouble of tracking him in the first place.
His weakness had made him the easiest target, and also he’d hurt me the most, causing me a grief that no young girl should have to endure.
“I’m not in the mood to be kind today,” I muttered, turning to walk away.
He scowled and sat up, trying to lift his leg. We both swung our gazes to the door when something crashed downstairs. Ah, it looked like my father had arrived.
“Let me do all the talking,” I hissed, “and you might just survive this.”
Frowning, he shrugged. “I don’t want to survive, you stupid bitch. Don’t act as if you have my best interests at heart.”
“Don't fight them, Nate,” I said, stepping closer to the bed.
Scoffing, he stared at me. “Don't call me that. My name is Fly.”
Footsteps sounded up the stairs, fast and rhythmic.
My father had brought in the big guns and the heaviness of their frames vibrated the house as they stormed into the room.
Three men, dressed in black camo pants and tight tees, which stretched over their bulging muscles, stood with their weapons drawn.
Guns. Shit, my father really was scared.
“Nate!” One of the guys exclaimed.
“It's Fly,” my patient ground the words out through clenched teeth, “you know that, John.”
John and Nate had been friendly when he'd been living at the compound. When I’d tried to make friends with them, I’d been shunned. Their hatred for my father had run deep, and although John had been friends with Nate – wait, Fly – he could never bring himself to leave.
“You’re hurt.” John lowered his weapon and stepped closer.
Another of the men tutted and John froze, glaring over his shoulder at his comrade. They stared for a moment before a footstep sounded in the hallway. John shot back to his place beside the others, just before my father appeared.
“Well, well, well,” my father purred, his gaze roaming over my disheveled appearance, “what the fuck has been going on here, then?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, wincing from the aches that were slowly starting to stiffen my body. “I found him.”
Fly pushed up into a sitting position and scowled at my father. “And she was just about to kill me. So, please…” He gestured. “…let her get on with it. I’m sure you’d like the show.”