Crave

by Margaret McHeyzer

  I can’t move my hand to wipe at the blood, but I can feel the throbbing pain from the exact spot that Milina just pointed out. “I don’t know.” I look around the freezer as best as I can, and don’t see anyone else in here. “What’s the last thing you remember?” I ask her, trying to jog my own memory.

  “Um.” She squints her eyes and her eyes roam the room, while she must be trying to remember what happened too.

  “We were getting a pedicure, and we were sitting next to each other talking about Jaeger and Sarge.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. We heard gunshots,” I say, still trying to piece the disjointed puzzle together.

  “Then that guy ran in,” Milina says, creasing her eyebrows together.

  “Yeah,” I agree. I look away for a moment trying to remember past the haze.

  A quiet moment passes between us. Time stretches as an image starts to form.

  “Shit,” I whisper and look over at Milina.

  “I thought he was with Sarge, but he punched me in the eye.”

  “And he hit me with the butt of the gun,” I say remembering what happened.

  “Who are they, Nix?”

  “I don’t know.” I answer honestly.

  “Are they with Jaeger and Sarge?”

  “I haven’t seen them before. I don’t know who they are.”

  “What do they want with us?” Milina asks. She’s starting to lose it again, her chest is heaving heavily and tears fill her eyes as she starts trying to pull against the ropes again.

  “Milina, you need to calm down. Fighting the ropes isn’t going to help. We need to keep a level head until we know what’s going on.”

  Her tears begin to roll down her cheeks and her crying is reaching a fever pitch of frantic. “How can you be so calm?” she asks me.

  “I don’t know. But we can’t lose it and get ourselves killed in here. We just have to be quiet and figure out what’s happening.”

  Milina’s sobbing and the sound of the compressor motor kicking on are the only sounds in the freezer for the longest time. It feels like we’ve been in here for days, and every second that ticks by is elongated by the uncertainty of what horror awaits us.

  “Nix?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are we going to die in here?”

  “I hope not.”

  “It’s so cold. I can’t get warm.”

  “I know. I’m cold too. And really tired.”

  “I’m going to try and sleep; maybe it’s just a nightmare.”

  My mind slows as the icy air touches every part of me, my nose is dripping from the glacial draft that’s being pushed around by the loud wheezing motor. My eyelids get heavier, and I can feel my body beginning to lose its battle to stay alert.

  “Nix,” Milina’s voice is now soft, whispering, airy.

  “Yeah.” My tone’s so low that I’m not sure she can hear me.

  “You’re my best friend. I love you.”

  “I love…”

  “What the hell happened?” A deep, booming voice startles me.

  “We sort of left them in there.”

  “You’re a fucking idiot! You could’ve killed her. Leave before I put a bullet between your fucking eyes,” he hollers angrily.

  “Where am I?” I try and say. My head’s throbbing with a deep, painful rhythm.

  “Dillon, can you hear me?” the voice asks me.

  “Yeah,” I reply as I try and force my eyes open to see where I am. “Milina,” I call for my best friend, but hear nothing.

  “Wake up, Dillon.”

  My eyes flicker open, and my sight adjusts to the light in the room. It’s not cold in here and I’m lying on a soft surface. I can’t hear the whir of the freezer motor and I can move my hand to touch my aching head.

  It takes me a few seconds to realize that my hands aren’t bound together anymore. I lie on my side, and see a man in a suit sitting in a corner chair. One leg is crossed over the other and he’s nursing a tumbler of dark, amber liquid, carefully watching me.

  “Where am I? And where’s Milina?”

  A small smirk appears on his face, and he lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes a sip.

  He’s got neat, short brown hair. His dark eyes haven’t left mine.

  “Where am I?” I ask again as I try to sit up on the bed.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he says as he raises his finger and wiggles it at me.

  An uncomfortable silence envelops the room. I have no idea who he is or why he’s just watching me and not saying a word.

  The man takes another sip of his drink and lowers it to rest on his knee. He raises an eyebrow as his eyes travel down the length of my body and back to my face.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says as he lifts the tumbler and finishes its contents.

  I look past him and take in the room. There’s a huge window to his left, and outside the window, I can see that a giant tree is shadowing any scenery that might be visible.

  “I said, you’re beautiful,” he asserts, his voice louder and testy now.

  “Thank you,” I answer, hoping that’s the right thing to say.

  He puts the glass on the small wooden table beside the chair and casually leans back; his eyes bore into me intensely as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and runs them along his bottom lip.

  His eyes narrow, and he keeps his predatory, scary stare on me. There’s a shift of energy in the room, and it feels crowded with the sharp, twisted desire that’s suddenly coming from the man in the suit.

  “Very beautiful,” he almost whispers as he keeps his hard eyes on me.

  Tick, tock, tick, tock.

  My heart’s hammering in my ears, warning me of the deadly hazard in this room.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asks as he abruptly stands.

  I shake my head, not confident enough to actually open my mouth and say anything in case it’s the wrong answer.

  In two large strides he’s beside the bed, looking down at me.

  “I’ll give you today to rest. There’s a bathroom behind that door. You may take a shower. Tomorrow we’ll start your training.”

  “My training for what?” I ask in a small voice.

  He flares his suit jacket out and places his hands on his hips. He’s holding my gaze, though his eyes are wild and angry.

  “Stand,” he barks at me. Fury rolls off his body.

  Momentarily I’m stuck in a daze of ‘what the hell’ and don’t move.

  “Stand,” he screams at me as he leans down and grabs my arms, pulling me off the bed.

  I tumble into him and he pushes me back. I’m unsteady on my feet and fall to the gray carpet on my hands and knees.

  “What did I do?” I ask as I look up at him. My body’s trembling and my heart is straining as it pumps trying to keep a steady beat.

  “Shut up,” he yells. I feel it before I have time to brace myself. A backhand so powerful and sharp that my head snaps to the side.

  “I’m sorry,” I whimper, still not sure what’s going on.

  “I said, shut up.” This time I see it and cringe away, but the muscle behind the smack twists my neck a little too far and I fall flat against the floor.

  “You’re damn lucky your training isn’t starting until tomorrow, or I’d be beating the shit out of you today. I’m a man of my word; I won’t go back on it. Now…” he pauses and takes several deep breaths.

  I don’t know what to do, should I lay still or get up?

  “Up on your knees, head down. Don’t look at me.”

  Slowly I move my body to do as he says, still not sure what’s happening.

  “Faster,” he says, and although his voice is calm, gentle, and quiet, it makes me shiver in fear.

  “I’ll have food sent in here for you soon. As I said before, you’re allowed to use the bathroom, and you’re free to walk around in here. Don’t make a sound though, not a single fucking peep. I want to be able to see you but not hear you. Do you understand?”

  S
hould I answer or will I get another smack if I do? I’m torn and freaking the hell out, because I just don’t know what’s happening.

  “When I ask a question, I expect a response,” he says, again with a tightly controlled coolness.

  “Yes,” I whisper, too frightened to say anything else.

  “You will address me as Master,” he says.

  I’m still on my knees, and the confusion hasn’t lifted. If anything, that last sentence has sent me further into a spiral of confusion.

  “I’m going to have so much fun breaking you,” he utters, sensually.

  He runs his hand down my hair, in a caressing and soothing manner. But I make no mistake; he’s a crazy.

  Psychotic crazy.

  “If you try to break the window to get out, you’ll earn a beating. You’ll also fail, because the glass is bulletproof and shatterproof.”

  I hear him walk away, then I hear the bedroom door open and close.

  I close my eyes and slowly count to twenty in my head. When I’m sure that there’s no sound in the room other than my own erratic breathing, I look up to see I’m on my own.

  I collapse to the floor in a mess, crying and curling into myself.

  I’m frightened, unsure and absolutely terrified about where Milina is and what’s happening to her.

  Please God, let Milina be quickly saved by her family.

  If only I had someone who cared enough about me to save me. I wish my mom was still alive. She would’ve fought to find me.

  I lie on the floor, and pray that Milina is safe.

  My mind screams at me to fight. But my body is too frightened to do anything other than lie on the floor and wait for my death to come.

  My head keeps up its angry assault on me, warning me not to just give in.

  As I pray for Milina’s safety, I also pray for someone to notice that I’m gone and look for me, too.

  There’s a small spark of will that’s burning brighter by the second.

  He may want to train me. He might break my body; He may even crush my bones. But my mind will remain my own–he’ll never have that. I’ll protect it with every barrier I can build to keep him out.

  Whoever he is.

  Grit: Chapter 23

  The ringing in my ears is starting to quiet, and my blurry eyes are beginning to regain full vision.

  The bar collapsed on top of me when the assault on the clubhouse began.

  Pushing the heavy wood off, I get to my feet and stumble, disoriented. My head’s pounding and there’s thick, red blood dripping into my eye.

  Slowly I lift my hand and swipe at my bloodied eyebrow. The instant my fingers make contact I know that my forehead is spilt and I’ll need stitches.

  “Jackson!” I yell, but I don’t hear a response.

  Looking around the clubhouse, it’s a disaster zone. There’s rubble strewn across the entire bar area. The sofa is upturned, and on the opposite side of the room from its usual spot, the pool table has been completely destroyed. There’s a massive hole in the wall where there should be a door.

  Shit, Phoenix, where is she?

  I take my phone out of my pocket, but it’s been destroyed too, shattered beyond usable.

  Dragging my heavy feet into the meeting room, I go to the small cupboard and get another phone out. The first thing I do is try calling Phoenix again.

  Her phone goes straight through to voicemail.

  Shit.

  I dial Sarge’s number. It rings three times and he answers, sounding groggy. “They took the girls,” he manages to say, although it sounds like he’s slurring.

  The only person that I can think of who would want revenge on us is Cain. But Cain doesn’t know yet that we’ve made the decision to cut all ties with him.

  Unless…

  There’s a mole at the table.

  Shit.

  “You alright?” I ask, knowing the answer’s not going to be a good one.

  “Fuckers shot up the tattoo shop. Mindy the receptionist is dead. I caught a stray through the arm. But I saw two of ‘em with the girls over their shoulders. Must have knocked ‘em out. I tried getting to ‘em but they turned and kept shootin’ up the shop.”

  “Can you drive back?”

  “Yeah. Nothing serious. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

  Sarge hangs up and my next call is to Aaron.

  “Yeah,” he says, answering the phone immediately.

  “Clubhouse. Now.”

  My tone tells him that I’m serious, “Shit, what’s happened?” he asks as I hear him start his bike.

  “Did you find Dark?”

  “Nope. Looked for him, but his old lady has no idea where he is either. I’ll be there in a few.”

  Hanging up, I go back out to the yard to see what the hell’s happening out there.

  Jackson’s dead, motionless, lying on the cold cement beside his bike parts.

  Christ!

  Jason rides in and I watch him slow as he comes through where the gates usually stand.

  He rides up beside me, takes his helmet off and looks around.

  “What the hell happened?” he asks. His eyes take in the clubhouse that lays broken and in rubble.

  “We got hit. I need you to call all the members.”

  Jason gets off his bike, and takes a step away from it. His eyes are jumping from area to area, trying to understand what’s happened.

  “The members. Tell ‘em to get their families into lockdown,” I say, angrily.

  “Yeah, right. On it.” He takes his phone out and starts making calls.

  I pick Jackson up, carry him inside the clubhouse and lay him on an untouched spot near the kitchen. I go back outside and find that Lion’s buried under the collapsed side wall of the clubhouse. I can hear him calling for help, and trying to maneuver himself out from under it.

  The wall has him pinned from his hips down, making it hard for him to move.

  “Wait, don’t move,” I say as I try and shift the debris on my own.

  “Jason,” I yell for him to come and help.

  “Shit!” I hear him say as he runs over to me. Jason starts helping me move the collapsed wall off Lion. Within a few minutes, we’ve heaved it off him and I see that Lion’s leg is pretty ripped up, right down the bone near his knee.

  Jason automatically leans down. Lion puts his arm around Jason’s neck and Jason lifts him up.

  I walk around the rest of the yard while Jason helps Lion inside.

  A few stray bricks fall from the clubhouse. Dust particles fly through the air and the sound of sirens can be heard coming toward us.

  Running inside, I need to hide any weapons before the cops get here. “Who’s packing?” I ask Lion and Jason. They both shake their heads and I bolt into the meeting room, open the cabinet, and grab what we have there. A quick mental inventory reminds me of the guns in my room.

  I grab them and a duffel bag from my room, return to the meeting room and pack them all in there. There isn’t much on the premises because we haven’t had a run for Cain for a few days, and the guns from the Pace family haven’t arrived yet.

  “Jason?” I yell.

  “What do ya need?”

  I motion to the bag in my hand. “Take it and go to the safe house. Now.”

  He grabs the duffel bag and is gone within seconds.

  “J,” I hear Sarge yell.

  I find him in the kitchen, holding his arm.

  “Fuck, man,” I say as I rub my hand over my eyes then through my hair. “How bad?” I ask as I jerk my chin out toward his arm.

  “Had worse. Just need a bandage.”

  There’s still blood dripping from the wound. It doesn’t look life-threatening, but it’s bleeding pretty steadily.

  “What the hell?” Aaron says as he walks in and assesses the damage to our brothers and the clubhouse.

  He lights up a smoke and takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.

  “Cops will be here soon.”

  “Yeah they were
coming up behind me,” Aaron says.

  I go and stand outside and wait for them all to get out of their cars, weapons drawn, looking at us like we’re the criminals.

  Which we are, but not in this clusterfuck.

  They come screaming into the driveway, lights flashing, sirens blaring, drawing attention to themselves and to us.

  “Jaeger,” the Police Chief, Brian Michaels, says as he walks over to me and shakes my hand. He’s on our take, and has always looked after us here.

  “Brian,” I say as I extend my hand and lead him away from anyone listening.

  “What the hell’s going on? Blasts were heard a county away. I can’t keep the others out of here. Not with all this damage.” He sweeps a look at the huge hole at the clubhouse.

  “I know. Just keep ‘em busy outside.”

  “Who did it?” he asks.

  “Club business,” I answer, not letting him know anything that’s happening.

  Sarge walks over, clinging to his injured arm and stands by us. “What the hell happened to you?” Brian asks as he points to Sarge’s arm.

  “Flesh wound,” Sarge answers, nonchalantly.

  “Anyone hurt bad?”

  “Lion, he’s inside, and Jackson, he didn’t make it.”

  Brian rakes a hand through his hair and looks over at the other cops raking around the yard.

  “Where is he?” Brian asks.

  “Taken care of,” Sarge answers, as he gives me a look, telling me they’re good to go inside.

  “Jaeger, you gotta clean this shit up. I can’t have crap like this happening around here.”

  “Give me two days.”

  “I don’t think I can. The anti-terrorist unit will want to come and investigate this.” He swings his hands around the yard.

  “Hold ‘em off as long as you can.”

  “Not sure I’ll be able to. Can I let paramedics in to look at Lion?”

  I look at Sarge and he nods, telling me that they won’t encounter Jackson. “Yeah, send ‘em in and do what you can with keepin’ it quiet.” I clap my left hand on his back and extend my right, shaking his, essentially ending this conversation.

  Brian walks away, still assessing the damage to the club house.

  “Jackson?” I ask Sarge as we begin to walk inside.

  “In your room.”