Chapter 20
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CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNS SLOWLY. MY EYES crack open to the sounds of a vicious struggle. I hear my mother's cries, and I turn to find blurry figures dancing aggressively not far from where I am.
My movements are restricted, my shoulders stiff and aching, a strain in my arms which are painfully zip-tied behind my back. My right arm is completely numbed from all of my weight pressing down on it.
We've been dragged into the garage, the cars still parked lower down the drive from when we'd moved them out to prevent damages while Dad and I played basketball.
The garage door is open, and I wince from the vicious headache threatening to cleave my cranium in half.
The ramrod stiff spine only adds to my misery.
The haze clears away and my first instinct is to shout, not in surprise or shock, but out of fear when I recognize the two figures in front of me fighting like their lives depend on it.
The intruder is unmasked. He's got a noticeable scar on his right cheek that looks as though someone once jabbed a knife there and the skin never healed over right.
But he's now sporting new cuts that bleed, including a broken nose and a busted mouth.
The person I see fighting this terrifying-looking man makes my heart damn near lurch out of my chest.
Sky stumbles back, crashing against the shelved unit where Dad keeps his tools in closed cabinets and drawers. He's got scratches too, but he isn't as roughed up as the other guy.
Screaming past the cloth gag, Sky hears me and scowls, glancing over his shoulder in time to see the other guy approaching.
He dodges out of the way, moving back and swinging his fist up, catching the man in the face.
He pulls open one of the cabinets, the door swinging out and hitting the guy in the head.
The man stumbles away, and Sky grabs something from inside the cabinet.
My eyes widen when I see what he's chosen as a weapon. He brandishes a hammer, twirling it as a sinister type of smirk curls his lips. It dawns me how very little I knew about this boy.
We may have spoken frequently over the last few weeks, and I may have developed feelings, but there is way more to Sky Daniels that what people see – what he lets us see.
Right now, he looks the furthest thing from his usual cocky self.
He looks absolutely menacing and deadly, with tensed shoulders, a smirk on his face and blue eyes perfectly capturing the danger that radiates off of him as he marches forward, gaze set on his opponent like the man is a bullseye board.
The precision in his eyes as he stalks his opponent is unmistakable – a kind of twisted delight glimmering there that churns my stomach.
I look away hearing my mother's scream, catching a glimpse of my father turning toward her to shield her from the grotesque sight of Sky ramming the hammerhead into the man's shoulder.
There's a stomach-turning crunch and a slushing sound before the guy screams out agony, and against my better judgment, I'm already watching the scene unfold before me.
Blood spurts from the fresh wound on the man's shoulder. Sky moves back, twirling the hammer for a better grip, bringing down the flat side of the hammer's head across the man's face, skin ripping, blood spurting, and bone crushing.
Once, and then twice. The third time he swings the hammer, the man topples over, crashes to the floor, knocking over the steel shelving unit where Dad keeps pans of paint, bottles of engine oil, coolant, and WD-40, among other things.
He advances without bothering to spare the man, grabbing him by the ankle and dragging him out in the open where he has better access.
By the halfway deranged look on his face, Sky seems intent on finishing him.
There's almost a mad, killer gleam in his eyes.
He looks angry, but at the same time, as though he's enjoying the adrenaline rush of beating down a man near death.
Where did he learn to move like that?
He brings the hooked end of the hammer down on the man's kneecap, shattering bone, ripping flesh and ligament. The sound of the man's awful screams make me flinch, my heart pounding because now I'm wondering what I've gotten myself into catching feelings for someone capable of such violence.
The man screams again when that same hooked end claws across his torso. Blood splatters over Sky's face as he repeats the attack multiple times.
The sinister delight on his face is almost too much to handle.
The man retaliates, kicking his good leg out and catching him in the face.
Sky moves away. The intruder makes haste in getting to his feet, struggling do so, lunging forward in his crouched position.
He tackles Sky around the waist, ramming a fist into his left side, each hit harder than the next. The hammer slips out of Sky's grip, and he buckles from the pain.
My heart is in my throat. As violent as he's demonstrated, the idea of him getting seriously wounded spears me with desperation and pain I can't wrap my head around.
Grimacing, he grits his teeth, bringing his fist down over the back of the man's head, gripping a fistful of hair to throw an uppercut.
The man stumbles. Sky advances angrier than before.
His rapid-fire punches land in quick succession over the man's face, head, and shoulders, and my heart lurches when I glimpse the red spreading and saturating the gray material of his jersey.
Right in the area where that man brutally punched him.
The man scampers out of the way, ducking low.
He shoves Sky hard sending him crashing to the ground hardly a foot away from where Dad is tied up and he doesn't even look stunned at Sky's vicious display of skill and unrepressed violence.
He raises an eyebrow as the clink of the hammer draws our attention.
The intruder's recovered, limping forward. He hops lightly on his right leg, the other bleeding profusely. The hammer dangles in his grip, a grim reminder of the problem at hand. Fear crawls up my chest, the hair on my arms and neck raising, goosebumps flushing my skin.
My gaze snaps to Sky who's rolled to his knees, his body in a crouch like the line of defense between this intruder and my family.
The man grins – bloodied teeth a sinister addition to his scarred-up face. The sight chills me to the bone.
"So," he says with twisted delight gleaming in his eyes. "I'm right. Why else would you become so vicious?" His gaze flits to me, and my heart plummets.
Sky moves with haste, untying my father's bound wrists and ankles.
"Get him out of here," he tells him, the tone of voice noticeably different to anything I've heard him use before. It isn't a suggestion or him voicing the most sensible course of action.
It's a command.
While Dad hurries, immediately turning to Mom to untie her, Sky zeroes in on his target. He doesn't pay attention to the wound on his side let alone the amount of blood seeping through his clothes.
The man lunges, raising the hammer while I could do nothing but shout past the cloth gag, hoping and praying Sky would be all right.
He's already injured but my worry seems stupid in the face of the delight on Sky's face.
It's like he's become possessed, hyper focused on the man, attacking him blow for blow with maddening precision.
I couldn't say anything, managing to catch glimpses of them as I'm untied and herded back into the safety of the house.
Sky blocks an attack, delivering a punch to the man's stomach before bringing the side of his palm down on the man's arm.
It's all I catch onto before they disappear from sight, the sounds of crashing, agonized grunts and frustration filling the air.
In the distance, police sirens blare, the sound of it cutting away, lost in the unmistakable sound of breaking bones and the man's agonized scream.
I don't know what the hell possesses me to make sure Sky isn't critically injured.
He has the upper hand. Once inside the house, I take off, ignoring my parents' protests and Dad's attempt to snatch me back, dashing through the living room and out the front door, running around to the open garage.
The sight I stumble across strikes me with a sudden wave of fright.
The man's arm is broken – falling limply at his side. Sky has the hammer back, using hooked end across the man's torso in that same claw-like motion. The man barely utters a sound. More flesh and clothing rips, blood splatters, spraying over Sky's jersey and pants, his arms and face.
He's lost in the violence, his face the perfect picture of laser focus and stone. The fight is over. He's won and the man can't go anymore but he doesn't let up.
He advances, striking the hammer into the man's back.
"Sky! That's enough! You'll kill him!" I shout, far more worried for him and what this means now that the police have arrived. Car doors slam and officers shout at Sky to put the hammer down, advancing toward the fighting pair.
I can't do anything. I shouldn't do anything.
The violence, the rage. I can't comprehend it.
But I have to do something. What if he gets arrested and sent to prison?
The man manages to get away, running straight at me. I've barely moved out of the way when Sky's guttural, rage-filled cry splits through the air and he pounces, tackling the man to the grass. They struggle, and still Sky ignores my calls for him to stop.
Moving forward at the risk of putting myself in harm's way, I grab his shoulder to try to pull him away if only to lessen the severity of whatever charge might fall against him.
He swats me away, ripping his arm out of my grasp. He flips the man onto his back and straddles him, bringing down his fists, landing two or three hard punches before he's tackled by a police officer. They end up in a scuffle.
"Get the fuck off me! He has to fucking pay!" Sky rages, sounding more animalistic than anything I've heard. He thrashes, swinging out a fist out, but the police officer dodges the blow.
"Sky, don't! You'll get in trouble!" I shout, stepping back as another officer ushers me to a safer distance. My parents come running up to me, Dad standing in front of me, and Mom holds onto my arm almost as if she thinks I would rush forward to Sky's aid.
"Settle! Calm down, kid! Don't make this difficult," the officer facing Sky orders. A third officer intervenes and they tackle him to the ground, forcing him onto his knees. Sky thrashes and curses, growling and snapping like some kind rabid animal.
I'm rooted to the spot, caught somewhere between being very afraid of what I'm seeing and worried for him.
"Stop it," one of the officers snaps sharply. Sky curls his lip, eyes trained on the heavily injured man lying a few feet away, receiving aid from another officer.
"You better pray you don't fucking survive!
" Sky roars at the man as the officers roll him onto his stomach, arms twisted behind his back as he's put in handcuffs.
"I promise you, if I ever see you walking around in town, I will fucking kill you!
You hear me, you fucking bastard! I'll fucking kill you for this! "
That uneasiness bubbles again. I've never seen this side of Sky, let alone, have I known him to be this aggressive.
He usually avoids trouble. The mean aura and mystery that shrouds him turns people away, making them think twice before approaching him.
He's always the one who approaches people unless they are his friends or the really daring people who want to get into his pants a second time.
He's no different to a rabid animal right now, and that scares the shit out of me. Out of all his friends, Asher and Carter are the ones most likely to get into a fight. Carter still avoids escalations, but not Asher.
This one time in middle school, some kid mouthed off to Asher after finding out about his attraction to men.
He tried harassing him, but Asher knocked the kid out with a single punch and sent him to the school's infirmary with a busted lip and a concussion.
That kid grew up to become just like the rest of my 'friends', looking down on others if they don't fit into the stereotype of the high school social pyramid.
He hadn't stopped hassling Asher until an incident earlier in this school year when he joined the football team, got attention from some of the senior football players, built more muscle and grown taller. He thought he was tough shit.
It didn't end well. Though he had a height advantage, Asher proved it's got nothing to do with one's capability to win a fight. That led to retaliation from half of the football team and Asher single-handedly sent them all to the infirmary while he hadn't broken a sweat and remained unscathed.
Asher is the hothead of the group. They're all hotheaded, to varying degrees – except Laken, I've noticed – but this here is entirely different. To go mad in beating down a guy, switching to tools when fists aren't enough. Inflicting gross injuries and risking the penalty of arrest.
It's quite terrifying, and I wasn't sure the man was still breathing until the officer inspecting him checked for a pulse and confirmed that he's still alive.
"Who the fuck sent you, asshole?" Sky barks.
The officers have him in handcuffs. They're escorting him to the cars when he suddenly breaks free, making a mad dash for the injured man. He reaches him in quick strides, kicking the man's knee and side before he's tackled away. He dodges, ducking low but he's thrown from the side.
He and an officer fall to the lawn. Sky grunts and seethes, cursing violently.
"I'll find out, you fucking cunt! Even if I have to visit your fucking grave! You hear me! I'm not done with you, asshole! I'm coming for you –"
"Quiet!" the officer barks, pressing his knee into the base of Sky's spine, a hand on his shoulder keeping him pinned to the grass. Sky continues growling and snapping, bullets of spit flying out of his mouth.
His aggression steals my breath away. He's always frightened me but this. He's...terrifying.
Several seconds pass of this before his thrashing and cursing ceases. He lies silently on his stomach, breathing hard.
Dad leaves us, going forward to offer his medical services to the severely wounded intruder. He's not happy about it but that's my dad. He's sworn to offering help as a licensed medical practitioner.
My gaze roves over the chaos occupying the front lawn of my home. The cars, the police officers. The neighbors who have emerged from their homes to spy the commotion.
A pang flutters through my stomach, my heart lurching when I return my gaze to Sky.
He's already looking at me. The police officer still has him pinned to the ground but he's not fighting anymore.
He's just lying there, blue eyes blazing with repressed rage and an intensity I can't make sense of.
Tension locks his jaw, but his eyes never leave me.
He doesn't pay attention to anything that's happening, doesn't care that he's in handcuffs, or covered in sweat and blood.
I start going to him when Mom pulls me back.
"Mom, it's okay. Let me go."
Her face pinches in worry and disapproval that I want to go anywhere near Sky, but I care about that fool.
And he saved us.
I didn't want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't shown up.
Mom shakes her head, scowling lightly but she lets me go. The officers restraining Sky gesture me back, so I keep my distance kneeling at least two feet away from him because they don't know. As violent as he's shown himself to be, he's not going to hurt me – I just know it.
He locks his gaze on me, eyes inspecting me from head to toe. When they settle on my forehead, they darkened and his lips curl into a nasty snarl.
I forgot all about the small cut, touching the spot on my forehead, feeling the stickiness of dried blood. The skin beneath it pinches and pulls making me wince.
I glance up at the incoming whir of an ambulance siren, taking note of the small crowd of older people, stay-at-home moms, and babysitters with small kids gathered on the other side of the street.
I don't care about them. I don't care about anything else right now.
"Thanks for saving us."
Sky closes his eyes, features evening out in relief. When he opens his eyes, he isn't angry anymore.
"Are you hurt otherwise?"
I shake my head. "No. But you are." I glance to his side where most of the left side of his shirt is plastered to his skin with blood.
"I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."
"That's a lot of blood on you. How are you still conscious?"
He gives me a sideways smirk. It's so boyish and mischievous, I can't even understand how he's able to grin like that when he's probably in excruciating pain.
"I'm pretty healthy."
I swear, this boy is like some kind of vigilante. Good, but deadly, and cocky as hell.
I steal a glance at the officers then back to him, lingering on the handcuffs around his wrists. "They'll take you to the station. You'll probably get into a lot of trouble –"
"Hey," he interrupts, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I'll be fine, I promise. This is nothing."
I find that hard to believe. I don't want him to go to the police station at all. He's injured and needed medical attention too but if he's in any pain, he doesn't show it.
"If you say so."
"Do something for me." I look at him expectantly. "Get your dad to check that cut on your forehead."
This guy!
Here he is, in handcuffs and facing possible charges of assault, bleeding from a wound on his side, and he's worried about one tiny cut on me! Incredible!
He must've noticed my shock because he proposes, "Do this one small thing for me, and if that guy lives, I'll leave him alone. You have my word."
It's beyond me how he knows I don't want him finishing that man off or to risk catching extra charges, but he hits the nail on the head.
"Okay, I will. Just promise you won't go looking for trouble."
"I won't."