Chapter 19 #2
Dawson calls behind me, “The guys are clearing out. I’ll try calling Rex again.”
I give him a thumbs-up over my shoulder, turning the corner and heading through into the dimmed kitchen as I help Morgan onto a bar stool.
I walk over to flick the light switch on, but nothing happens. My finger keeps flicking it up and down, and then I notice the smashed bulb across the countertop.
Fuck’s sake.
“Lights are out. I’ll try to get someone round to fix it,” I say to Morgan, reaching up to the cupboard to grab a glass. It’s not high on my priority list, and not as if Mom will need it right now, but I’m trying to keep a normal vibe around him for now.
He looks pretty shaken up; the shock is probably still taking over his system, hence why he hasn’t asked why I’m running around with people who have guns and bulletproof vests.
It will be my luck that wears off when Mom wakes up, and the migraine of thinking about handling that duo situation starts to prick at the back of my skull.
“Do you need a painkiller?” I ask, tugging the packet out and closing the door, taking two for myself.
My brows bunch when I notice he’s not in the seat.
Shit, did I not hear him fall over?
Just as I drop the glass and packet on the counter, something hard presses into the base of my spine. “You’re gonna be real fucking quiet, and I’ll tell you why it’s in your best interest.”
My hands fist at my sides, nails digging in painfully sharp at the voice.
At another fucking traitor.
“We have this house surrounded; all it takes is for me to give the signal, and each one of the bodies with you will be returned in pieces.”
“Fu—”
The barrel presses in harder, a sharp pain digging into my flesh.
Morgan adds pressure with every word he quietly spits.
“You’re going to come with me. If you don’t, we’ll have men swarming your hideout within the hour.
Seeing as you didn’t bring Regina, we’ll make sure to have some fun with her before leaving. ”
Over my dead body, you sick son of a bitch.
I pivot around, sending his armed hand out to the side as it runs over my bicep, the kitchen lighting up with the bullet he shot. My fist slams into his face whilst the other hand snatches the gun from him, aiming it at him.
The minute the pad of my finger graces the trigger, chaos erupts.
Red streaks of light beam from the backyard, laser sights slicing through the dark at multiple angles as the Omnia’s men line the entire boundary of mom’s house, weapons raised and ready to shoot on command.
Shouts and curses boom from the hallway, doors crack and smack off the plaster, the pictures along my mom’s walls shuddering and clattering to the ground as struggles break out.
Dawson roars my name, panic laced in his calls until it’s cut off, the familiar sound of a punch to the gut having my name folded in with a groan.
I stare down at Morgan, gripping the counter with the evilest fucking smile dipped in the shadow of red. “Decisions always have consequences, Indie.”
The back door bursts open, and I whip round to send two bullets into the intruder—that is, until a laser points in my eye, temporarily blinding me as I’m smacked over the back of the head with the glass I took out, the impact dropping me to my knees.
Morgan tugs the gun from my hand, palming me as he takes the other from waistband, sending his foot barrelling into the side of my head.
My hands smack off the ground, and I fight the dizziness as nausea swarms from my stomach.
I drop my voice to a whisper, opening my blurry eyes to the crimson-dipped room. “You’re going to fucking regret this.”
Morgan presses his foot into my back, snapping my arms as they give out behind my back as he places something around my wrist. It’s heavy, cold, and too tight on my skin as it bites into my flesh. My shoulders draw back as my hands are inevitably handcuffed behind my back.
He grips my arm, yanking me to unsteady feet to face him. I force down a swallow. It’s like the mask has been snatched from him.
Evil seeps from every pore, his eyes look dead inside, and his real smile sends shivers running down my spine.
“Barry said you’d been taught a foul mouth. Didn’t mention the bad behaviours too. That kind of shit won’t serve you well where you’re going.”
I’m yanked forward and dragged through the dining room, Kyle kneeling beside my unconscious mom, hands behind his head as three men aim their guns at both of them.
I try to pry myself out of Morgan’s grip, but steel blinks before my eyes and whips me across the face. My knees buckle to the ground with the impact, and I gasp as I fight with the burst of blurring vision, spitting blood onto the floor.
“Get up,” he barks, dragging me into the corridor. My unfocused gaze clashes with Dawson’s; the look on his face is of utter devastation.
His hands fist in front of him, so hard the skin around the cuffs turns white, bleeding into the reds of his fingers as he fights to contain himself.
The whole ground floor is surrounded, the lasers seeping through every window, and when I glance out to the open front door, Saint’s people are on their fronts, hands on their heads as Omnia’s guards pollute the entire lawn.
Two of them for every one of us, not accounting for the ones hidden in the woods.
We’d never be able to get out of this alive.
Morgan shakes me. “Not going to say goodbye to your friends?”
My lip curls up as I turn to glare at him. How the hell did he ever pull off acting like the nicest guy in the world; he literally acted like a gust of wind would make him piss his pants.
I guess an acting career is one of the core values of the Omnia.
“I don’t need to,” I murmur, tearing my gaze from him and fixing it on the ceiling.
His hand digs into my pockets, rummaging until he grabs my phone, and my heartbeats ease when that’s all he looks for.
But when my phone clatters off the hardwood floor, the glass cracking under his heels as it smashes into the screen, crunching it until the picture of Saint and I turns into violent red and black lines, he may as well have done that to my soul.
All my favourite pictures were on that device.
“How about now? Seeing as you won’t have access to either one of your guard dogs.”
I scoff, but Dawson tries to interject, the buttstock of someone’s gun ramming into the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.
These motherfuckers.
I might have to kill him first, and each day that passes my list seems to grow bigger, but it won’t be this precise moment.
I’m dragged through the doorway of the house, my boots crunching in the snow as I’m led to a blacked-out van pulled up the opposite end of the street.
My gaze travels to all the masked faces on every single one of the men who work for Omnia, and it does nothing but make me huff a pathetic laugh at them.
That is, until the hiss of air sounds behind me, one of them crouched down, stabbing a knife into all four of our Ultio’s SUV tyres.