Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
STORM
My first mistake was trying to move. The pain that shoots through every part of my body is beyond excruciating.
A muffled whimper escapes me. Not wanting to alert him that I’m awake, I slowly open my eyes.
My vision is narrowed by my swollen eyes.
Had he hit me more after I blacked out? I’m still in our bedroom, but as I look around for him, there’s no sign of him.
The closet is open, his clothes are gone, the draws are open, and random pieces of clothing are strewn about. He’s gone.
I sigh with relief as I force myself to sit up further.
I’m halted by my wrist. And as I turn, I see I’m cuffed to the heater.
“Shit!” I hiss, pulling on it, but every movement is like being kicked in the ribs all over again.
To breathe is painful, to move is agonising.
I try every which way to free myself, but nothing works.
A sob rips through me, and I collapse in a heap next to the heater.
Everything I thought he was, everything I believed him to be, was a lie.
How could I be so stupid? Me? I’ve been raised to not trust anyone but family.
I trusted the first person who had shown me love and kindness.
Fuck, I’m a fool. I should be feared, like my mom and dad.
Instead, I sit here beaten black and blue, handcuffed to a heater with no way of getting out.
I’m alone, and if no one comes, then what?
I can’t stop my thoughts from going to the darkest place.
All this time, Hendrix was right. I had changed myself for him.
I had become weak, a pleaser, worrying about him, and while there were times I stood up for myself, the old me, the me that I was raised to be wouldn’t be here now.
I would have left him straight after he pushed.
This was my fault. All my fault for being weak.
DAY 2
I’m thirsty, so fucking thirsty. My stomach rolls and growls angrily with hunger.
My wrist, now raw and bleeding, where I had tried to slip my hand through the cuffs.
I hear my cell ring over and over until I’m guessing the battery died.
I just hope my overprotective parents worry to the point they come looking for me.
I rest my head against the heater, tired, no exhausted, and in pain.
My eyes are heavy, and as I close them, I make a promise that I will try again when I wake up.
DAY 3
I’ve never felt this weak before. Just trying to stand sends a violent wave of dizziness crashing through me.
My knees buckle instantly, my body too drained to hold itself upright.
I stumble sideways, gripping the old metal heater beside me, the cold rusted edge biting into my palm before I hit the floor.
Thank God it’s summer. If the heater had been on, the heat probably would’ve scorched my skin raw hours ago.
“Think, Storm. Think.” My voice comes out broken and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. I force myself to look around the room again, desperate for something, anything, I can use; a weapon, a tool, a way out.
But there’s nothing. Just piles of clothes dumped in the corner.
Hopelessness crashes into me so hard it steals the air from my lungs.
I want to scream, cry, claw my way through the walls.
But what’s the point? Nobody will hear me.
Sliding further against the wall, my body finally gives out completely.
A raw, jagged scream tears from my throat, pure frustration, pure terror.
The sound shreds my already burning throat, leaving it aching.
Tears sting my swollen eyes, but I don’t fight them anymore. I just let them fall.
THUD. THUD. THUD. The sound drags me awake. My eyes flutter open slowly, heavy and unfocused. For a second I don’t know where I am. My mind is thick with exhaustion, drifting somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. THUD. THUD. THUD.
Then footsteps grow closer. My heart stutters violently.
No. No, no, no. He’s back. Fear floods me so fast it’s suffocating.
Every muscle in my body locks as panic claws its way up my spine.
I brace myself for pain before he even reaches me.
Another beating? Please... Maybe water this time.
The bedroom door slams open, and light floods the room so suddenly it burns my eyes.
I flinch hard, squinting against the brightness.
“Fuck… she’s in here!”
Cash.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts. He drops down in front of me instantly, his hands lifting like he’s about to cup my face, but the moment he sees my injuries, he freezes. His breathing turns uneven. Rage flickers across his face so fast it’s terrifying.
“Cash?” I croak weakly.
His eyes snap to mine immediately, and then his expression breaks. “Yeah, baby girl,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re safe now.”
Safe. The word shatters something inside me. A sob rips out of my chest before I can stop it, and tears pour down my cheeks harder than before. “Cash…” I choke out.
“Where is she?!” a deep voice bellows from somewhere behind him. Dad. The second I hear him, more tears spill down my face.
“Dad,” I whimper.
Cash moves aside quickly. The moment Dad sees me, all the colour drains from his face. I’ve never seen my father look afraid before. Not once. But right now? He looks destroyed.
“It’s okay,” he says, crouching beside me. His voice shakes, despite how hard he tries to steady it. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re okay now. I promise.” His hand trembles slightly as he brushes my filthy hair back from my face.
“Got my bolt cutters.” Rage kneels beside us, his jaw clenched so tightly I can hear his teeth grind. His amber eyes sweep over my bruises, the cuts, the blood dried on my skin, and pure murderous fury darkens his expression. “I’m going to dissect him piece by piece,” he says coldly.
“Not now,” Dad snaps. The metal cuffs bite painfully against my wrists as Rage cuts through them. The second they fall away, agony rushes through my numb hand so violently I gasp.
Dad doesn’t hesitate. He scoops me into his arms carefully, holding me against his chest like he’s afraid I’ll break apart completely if he loosens his grip.
Pain slices through my ribs, and I suck in a sharp breath, but I still melt into him instantly.
Because it’s Dad. He smells like leather, oil, smoke… home.
“You’ve been smoking,” I murmur weakly against his chest.
A humourless huff leaves him. “It’s been a stressful couple of days.”
Then he presses a long kiss against my temple. I close my eyes, and for the first time in days, I feel warm. Safe.
“Rage, call Dixie. Get her to the house,” Hawk orders behind us.
“Already texted her,” Rage replies tightly. “She’s there with Star.”
Cool night air brushes across my face as Dad carries me outside. The sudden freshness makes my head spin.
“Storm!” Enzo’s voice cracks. I force my eyes open enough to look at him. His face is twisted with panic and rage, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying not to punch through something. Despite the split in my lip reopening painfully, I manage a tiny smile. Blood fills my mouth instantly.
“She’s okay, son,” Dad says firmly. “Open the damn door.”
“Fuck,” Enzo snarls, pacing beside the car. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Enzo,” I rasp.
He stops instantly. His eyes meet mine, and they are filled with helpless anger and grief.
“Drive us home,” I whisper. His jaw clenches hard enough to tick, then he nods once. Dad lowers me carefully into the backseat, but every movement hurts. My entire body throbs like one giant bruise.
Before pulling away, Dad strokes my hair gently, his eyes scanning every inch of my face. Searching. Checking. Making sure I’m really here. It’s then that I see it again. Fear. My father is terrified.
“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. The door shuts before I can answer.
I blink slowly, trying to stay awake. My gaze drifts toward the front seat and lands on a familiar pair of rich blue eyes in the rear-view mirror. Drix. Something inside me eases instantly at the sight of him.
“Drix,” I whisper, but his expression is unreadable.
No, not unreadable. Furious. His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes are burning with hatred so intense it almost startles me, but it isn’t directed at me.
At least, I don’t think it is. Then he looks away toward the window, and a sharp ache twists in my chest.
Before I can think too much about it, Dad climbs in beside me, holding a bottle of water.
The second I see it, thirst claws through me violently.
If I had any strength left, I probably would’ve ripped it from his hands.
Dad opens it carefully and lifts it toward me.
My hands shake too badly to hold it. Without a word, he steadies the bottle for me.
The first mouthful is heaven as cold water slides down my burning throat, soothing the raw ache instantly.
I drink desperately, almost choking in my hurry.
“Easy,” Dad warns softly. “Too fast and you’ll make yourself sick.” Reluctantly, I slow down. When I finally pull away, he sets the bottle aside.
Exhaustion crushes me instantly after. I slide closer without thinking, resting my head against his shoulder.
Dad’s arm wraps around me carefully, protectively, pulling me into the solid warmth of his chest. Like if he holds me tight enough, nobody will ever touch me again.
I curl into him weakly, my eyes drifting shut when his voice breaks the silence.
“I’m sorry I failed you,” he whispers roughly. The pain in his voice cuts deeper than any injury. A long pause follows before he speaks again, quieter this time. More dangerous. “I promise you, he will suffer.” Dad’s arm tightens around me. “I’ll make sure he fucking suffers.”