Chapter 19
Indie
master of puppets - metallica
Present Day
The SUV screeches into the gravel driveway, skidding in the ice and the rear end swerving with the dramatic braking. Fear instantly clutches my throat.
Mom always clears the driveway, even if she isn’t going anywhere. It’s a habit she took from my dad, more so something he’d scold her to do whenever he was gone on a deployment, so she didn’t wreck her car.
How long has he had her before the text?
My hand reaches for the handle as Dawson grips my upper arm. “Wait until the guys check the perimeter.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. It’s been over five hours since we left; we hit speeds I’d never dream of managing on that highway. Thankfully these cars were built to handle the weather. Otherwise, we’d probably be dead.
The rest of the SUVs fill the driveway, spilling onto the sombre street, Ultio members filtering out across the lawn and sweeping into the driveway.
Dawson’s ex-military side is radiating off him right now. He sits with a radio clutched in his hand, a gun in the other. Eyes dart across all corners of sight as the black-cladded bodies slink into various areas around my mom’s house.
Minutes feel like hours, my gaze flickering to the handle and the front door. The electricity is sparking through my entire body. I just want to run inside that house and grab her.
Kill him for laying a finger on her.
After all she’s done for Barry. She treated him like a son, when he was young and his parents didn’t have time for him. Or when they’d jet off on vacation, she’d have him over here with Louisa learning his favourite meals to cook.
And this is how he repays her.
My hand tugs the lever, Dawson’s objections being closed in as I slam the door, cocking the gun on my march to the front door.
The sound of heavy footsteps run up behind me, and I’m whipped round to face him. “If anything happens to you, Saint will fucking skin me alive,” he growls, and I tug out of his grip.
I don’t answer him, just stare, making my intentions very fucking clear.
Seeing the defiance in my eyes, the rise and heavy falls of my chest as I glare at him, he gives in. Pulling the radio up to his face, he clicks the receiver. “Heading in through the front.”
Gripping my arm again, he tugs me behind his back. I don’t even object because, honestly, I can’t fuck this up.
I need to live long enough to watch Barry suffer. And Louisa, letting her husband do this to her own fucking mom.
Dawson’s movements are slow and precise, footsteps a stark contrast to the heavy thumps that usually accompany him. He leads me up the couple steps into the porch, turning down the radio and slowly turning the door handle.
I can’t breathe.
The images of finding Jenna’s body flash through my mind.
The blood-covered walls.
The phone flashing with Regina’s name as it lay next to the dead body.
The stab to my heart resurfacing.
But Jenna is alive.
That wasn’t her.
It won’t happen to my mom.
It fucking can’t.
The hallway reveals itself to the same beige-coloured paint that’s coated the walls since I was a teenager. No blood stains sprayed across any surfaces, no chill in the air as if death is waiting on its discovery.
My shoulders relax, and my lungs kick back into function. Holly walks through the hallway, clicking her radio to speak low as she nods towards the doorway of the dining room.
Dawson steps aside, and I rush through to find my mom laid out on the sofa, hands bound as someone tries to cut them free.
I pause, my throat tight as I stare at her bruised face, blood trickling down her busted lip.
I collapse to my knees when I reach her, my fingers instantly going to her pulse. It’s there, but it’s weak.
Before I can ask to take her to a hospital, Kyle—Ultio’s medic—drops beside me with a rucksack, pulling out medical equipment as he looks her over.
He glances at me, a weak smile on his lips. “She’s just knocked out, possibly forced to take something and make her drowsy. I’ll check over her and arrange for her to stay somewhere out of state if you don’t want her at the Pit.”
A tear slips down my cheek as I nod. A broken, “Thank you,” leaves my lips in a vulnerable whisper.
“No sign of Barry,” Dawson calls, walking in behind me.
I find that unsettling. Did he get spooked, knowing I would likely turn up here with Ultio? Or are we still playing a game no one knows the fucking rules to?
A shiver runs across my skin; something doesn’t feel right. And I said before I’d never doubt my instincts again.
Rising, I turn to face Dawson. “This could still be a trap. We need to get my mom out of here. Right now.”
He runs a hand across his jaw. “It was either going to be that, or a threat. The place is clear. I’m leaning towards the latter. That doesn’t mean someone won’t be watching. We might get company on the way back, so be prepared.”
Just as Kyle goes to lift my mom, voices crackle through Dawson’s radio. “We’ve got someone on the roof outside the bedroom.”
Dawson moves like lightning, closing off the doors and shutting the curtains, turning to look at me as he heads to the door, gun raised. “Stay in here, stay low, and do not leave unless I tell you.”
Before I can object, the door clicks shut, leaving me inside with Kyle and Mom. My hand reaches for my gun on the floor, and then I hesitate. “Is she at risk of waking up?”
He shakes his head, laying Mom back on the sofa, thumb tugging above her eye to reveal dark, unfocused eyes.
“The sedative they’ve given her is pretty heavy.
Her breathing and blood pressure are fine for now, but we need to get her on oxygen as soon as possible.
A head injury like that and sedatives could mask other symptoms.”
My jaw flexes, as if Barry knocking her around like this wasn’t enough. Now, I’m stuck with the decision of taking her back to the Pit to keep her safe or getting her checked out from an out-of-state hospital, and getting her staying there.
The latter leaves her wide open for more harm; they’d find her. I need to potentially reveal a gut-wrenching truth, or else I’ll truly need to lie to her.
Fuck, this is becoming a bigger shit show than I planned.
The door bursts open, and Kyle and I point our weapons towards the door simultaneously, then lower as Dawson and Holly have a beaten and bruised Morgan slung over their shoulders.
“What the hell?” I murmur, walking towards them as they lower him into an armchair.
Morgan groans as he’s lowered, and Dawson takes his wrists to cut him free, followed by the ties around his ankles. “Holly spotted him on the roof outside your room. Gagged.”
What the hell is fucking happening here?
I watch as he stretches his trembling limbs out from the restraints, cracking his neck as I spot dried blood coating the side of his head, a nasty bruise above his eye. His face is reddened from being out in the cold so long.
“Morgan, it’s Indie. Are you okay?” I ask, kneeling down before him as he rubs the raw marks across his flesh.
His bloodshot eyes focus on me. He doesn’t look to have been drugged like Mom was, and I wonder if they’d tried to take care of him before getting her.
My voice is still gentle, despite the anger burning beneath my fibres. He’s taken a blow to the head. Hopefully seeing all these armed people, he might think he’s hallucinating.
He reaches his hand out, and I take it, his ice skin melting against the wrath beneath mine. “Indie. God I’m so sorry, I tried to help, tried to get your mom.” His voice breaks, shaking his head as he squeezes his eyes closed.
“I know you would have, and she’s okay.” I tilt my head over my shoulder, his gaze following it. “We’re going to get you two somewhere safe, okay? Can you tell me what happened?”
His glassy eyes drop to the ground as he leans forward on his knees, speaking with his head dipped.
“A group of men broke into the house. I was upstairs in the bathroom when I heard the commotion. Ran down the stairs as soon as I heard your mom screaming for help.” He clenches his fists, and my body goes entirely still when I read his face.
“They beat her up, tied her up in the kitchen while taking photos. When they noticed me, they dragged me up the stairs and did the exact same thing. Next thing I knew, I woke up on the roof outside your window and couldn’t shout for help. Thought I was gonna freeze to death.”
“Did you recognise any of them?” Dawson asks, standing over us with his arms folded across his chest with his gun on display.
Morgan looks up at him, gawking back slightly as he takes in his form, likely just realising the people that helped him look terrifying. “N-No. No, there was just so much going on. They were wearing masks.”
I’ve never heard of anyone mentioning Omnia doing anything like that. When my gaze travels to Dawson, he gives me a subtle nod.
He’s clearly familiar with the fact from the videos he’s seen.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he recognised Barry, but right now, I don’t want to cause any hysteria. And with the way his head probably feels, the last thing he needs is an unveiling I’ve already had the hardship of knowing.
The wooden grandfather clock chimes on the fireplace, and I glance to see it’s five pm; the daylight is already beginning to fade, and we won’t make it back for hours yet.
I have another fucking decision to make, I don’t know how I’m going to break this to my mom, or how long I can hold it off before I do.
“Indie, would you mind giving me a hand to the kitchen? I need some water,” Morgan asks, saving me again from another spiral.
Dawson shifts to help, but I wave him off. With the way he looked at him earlier, I could bet he wouldn’t be able to hold the glass steady under his heated glare.
“Sure, let me help you up.” I reach my arm out for him, and he takes it, still a little unsteady on his feet. After a couple seconds letting the dizziness settle, we slowly head towards the kitchen.