Under the Influence

by L. B. Simmons

  Today is the day.

  Then I’m gone.

  THROB.

  THROB.

  THROB.

  CRINGE.

  Waves of pain radiate from the back of my skull and strike the backs of my eyelids as I try to gather my bearings. I attempt to pry my eyes open, but they slam back shut. My mouth remains closed, no matter how much effort I put into trying to cry out. My hands and legs don’t seem to want to work either.

  “Well, hello there, Ms. Locke. How nice of you to join me.”

  A deep, malicious tone alerts me to someone’s presence on my right. My chin remains attached to my chest when I try to twist my neck to see, so I give up trying to maneuver my failing body and just settle for having to listen to what’s around me.

  As footsteps begin to echo, I know my captor is on the move. I also know who it is, even without having the benefit of sight.

  The infamous Silas Kincaid.

  Dalton knew this was coming. He’s become increasingly agitated and gradually more paranoid over the past couple of weeks. And I have a feeling he’s going to be super pissed that I decided to make a run to my car in the middle of the night. While he was sleeping.

  Sure, Krav Maga is great when you have the chance to use it. But when you don’t even see your assailant before he clocks you in the back of the head and knocks you out, it’s kind of useless. It also helps when you have active use of your limbs.

  Probably something we should have considered during my training.

  The increasing volume of his steps tells me Silas is approaching me from the right. I hear slight shuffling, then his voice right next to my ear. “I gave you a little something to sleep until the festivities begin. Don’t fight it. Soon enough, we’ll be at our destination and I’ll make sure you’re wide awake so you don’t miss anything.”

  As soon as the words fill my ears, I feel myself begin to slip out of consciousness. I try to fight it, to hang on, but it’s pointless. Helpless against the drugs in my system, I slowly begin to drift back to sleep, but not before I feel it.

  The burst of heat as it detonates within my chest.

  The explosion of unadulterated fury.

  Anyone else in this situation would be terrified, but for some reason I’m not in the least. In fact, if I could smile, I would. Because that explosion, that insatiable burn for revenge, that’s not me.

  That’s Dalton Greer.

  And he’s on his way.

  “FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!”

  I pinch the bill of my cap as hard as I can between my hands and grind down on my molars, trying to calm the rage that I’ve kept contained for so long. But this, this overrides anything I learned during anger management and therapy sessions.

  The fucking patrol unit isn’t here.

  Spencer. Is. Not. Here.

  I should have been standing guard at her goddamn door instead of sleeping in her bed. I should have fucking known it would be tonight.

  April 23rd.

  Her birthday.

  Five years to the day.

  That motherfucker has her, and I know exactly where he is.

  Whirling around, I jog to my Rubicon while grabbing my phone out of my pocket. Clenching it with all my strength, my hand quakes as I try to control my anger. I stop right outside my door and close my eyes while attempting to swallow the knot forming in my throat.

  She’s mine.

  The words re-etch themselves in my heart, deepening my fury.

  Clearing my throat, I hit send, then immediately hear, “Greer.”

  “Where’s your fucking unit?”

  Losing control, my voice is frantic as I fling open my door and fall into my jeep. With the phone cradled against my shoulder, I lean to the side and grab my Glock G43 and a full clip. Slamming it into place, I cock it and slide it into the back of my waistband. I curl my fingers tightly around the steering wheel in front of me, squeezing until I have no more feeling in my hands. The rage is boiling, but I know I need to maintain control.

  “My unit? What the fuck are you talking about, Greer?” I can hear the anxiety rising in Lawson’s tone. He knows exactly what I’m talking about without me even having to say it. The fact that I can hear him getting dressed attests to that.

  “No one is outside Spencer’s apartment and she’s fucking gone. Your people are nowhere to be found.”

  Lawson mumbles something unintelligible over the line before clearly stating, “Murphy and Johnson were on rotation tonight.”

  Fucking Murphy. I knew something was off about him.

  “Yeah, well, they’re not here now.” Flipping the key, I rev the engine and throw the jeep into reverse. “The woods. Silas has her in the woods. I know it. Grab whoever you can for backup. I’m heading over there now.”

  Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, my tires protest before finally finding traction.

  “Greer. You have the shot, take it. Take him fucking out. And Spencer—”

  “On my life, Lawson, nothing will happen to her.”

  A heavy breath hits the airwaves. “I know. Just make sure nothing happens to you either. This is what you’ve been waiting for, you only get one chance. Keep a leash on that anger of yours, kid. It makes you irrational and you need to have a clear head or you’ll miss your opportunity to do this the right way.”

  So don’t go on a killing spree without just cause. Got it. But I sure as fuck can’t guarantee anything so my only response is, “See ya there.”

  Pulling onto the main highway, my knuckles are completely white as I continue to clench the wheel with every bit of strength I have.

  “Be safe, kid.”

  I disconnect the call.

  Due to my speed, mere minutes pass before I turn onto the road that led me to begin this crusade five years ago. This will be the last drive I will ever take on it.

  Because tonight I will finish this.

  I follow the path until I see the brake lights of a very familiar Mercedes CLA45 AMG, their red hue giving the appearance of demonic eyes watching my approach. With Satan himself standing outside.

  It doesn’t escape me that this car hasn’t been in use for a very long time, and I’d be a fool to think anything other than its presence on this particular night is intended to make a statement.

  Well, I hear him. Loud and clear.

  My jeep skids to a halt next to his car before I launch myself onto the ground. With the clearing now illuminated with both sets of headlights, it’s impossible not to see Silas Kincaid standing behind an extremely drugged Spencer, his green eyes narrowed on my face. She’s wearing the same tank top and shorts as she was earlier tonight, and I’m relieved to see both are intact with no signs of tearing from the use of force.

  Spencer’s head lolls to the front, just like Rat’s sister’s did that night, and I breathe deeply to restrain my anger. The edges of my vision blacken, and a familiar fury begins to ravage my entire body. My knuckles pop in succession as I clench my fists, and my fingernails dig into the skin of my palm, but there is no pain. I feel nothing other than the need for vengeance as it ignites, launching its flames clear down to the marrow of my bones.

  Instinctively, I crack my neck as I approach. “Subtlety has never really been your forte, ‘Caid.”

  “Nor yours, boy.” His lips break into a satisfied smile.

  “I’m not your boy.”

  His brows hit the night sky as his mouth dips in the opposite direction. “You were, though. At one time, you were mine, and in return I gave you everything you needed. Yet this betrayal is how you repay me?”

  My jaw tightens at his words, but I force composure into my voice. “I took what was given to survive. And yes, you provided that, but at what price?” I shake my head. “Not a price I was willing to pay. Not for Rat’s life, and sure as hell not for hers.”

  At that, Silas tugs the hair at the back of Spencer’s head and it bends as though she has absolutely no control. My teeth grind down so hard I’m sure one, or all, of my molars just cra
cked in two. My nostrils flare and I clench my fists to the point that blood is seeping into the skin of my palm.

  I don’t know what the fuck he gave her, but she’s not well. Her head falls back way too easily, and her speech is slurred as she tries to form words.

  Silas grins down at her before looking back at me. “So you would give your life for her?”

  “I would,” I respond.

  His eyes dart down to her blonde hair within his grasp before he states, “I never would have believed you so weak. You used to be strong. Resilient. Resourceful. Now you’re just a love-struck joke. It makes me sick.”

  The muzzle of his gun is pressed to the side of Spencer’s head as he speaks, and I fight the initial reaction to run to her. Deep down, I know he’s taunting me. If he wants to play, I’ll play. But not at her expense.

  Spencer leans forward as though she’s going to puke all over the ground in front of his pretentious Gucci loafers.

  “Speaking of sick, I need to stand,” she slurs. “Please, or I’m going to vomit all over these woods. Exorcist style.” She waves her hand drunkenly toward the branches surrounding us. “Pea soup on the pretty trees.”

  Yet, when her blue eyes rise from underneath her hair to meet mine, they’re focused. Maybe a little hazy, but she’s not nearly as drugged as she’s pretending to be.

  It’s then I know.

  She’s trying to get him to let her stand so she will have an offensive advantage, and fuck me, I might kiss Grady for his brilliance in Krav Maga instruction.

  Silas fists the back of her tank top and hauls her body upward, keeping hold while she struggles to get her footing. Obviously the drugs aren’t completely out of her system, but hoping that Silas gave her something that metabolizes quickly, I try to bide her more time.

  “So, this is your brilliant plan? Killing her as a form of revenge? Why not just shoot me and be done with it?”

  He moves to stand behind Spencer, most likely to protect his shoes if she does in fact get sick, then scowls at me over her shoulder. “Shooting you would be too easy. Too quick. There is no pain worse than watching someone you love die. It’s pure torture. It eats at you from the inside, the agony of the loss clawing until there’s nothing left. You will feel it for years, and I find great satisfaction in that.”

  I know that pain. I’ve been living with it for the past five fucking years.

  A menacing chuckle fills the air as he presses the gun against Spencer’s head. “I lost everything when you deserted my organization. Power. Respect. Money. All because you decided to grow a fucking conscience.”

  Spencer leans forward and he forcefully pulls her back into his chest, the anger in his voice when he begins to speak unmistakable. “To think you and your substitute daddy wasted all your time trying to take down my organization, when it doesn’t even exist. Not here anyway. There is nothing that was given to you that can be connected to me. I made sure of it. I paid to be sure of it. In fact, all evidence you have against me is being wiped clean as we speak.”

  “Murphy…” I mumble under my breath.

  “You’re still smart, kid, if nothing else. But not smart enough to know that I saw you before you were coming. Your little infiltration scheme was a farce.”

  At that, I laugh without absolutely any humor in my tone. “I could give two fucks about your organization. About its livelihood or its downfall. Because my plan, the one that’s actually going to come to fruition tonight, the one that you didn’t see coming, doesn’t have anything to do with your regime. It was never about taking you down, it was about taking you out. For me. For Rat. For every other helpless victim who’s fallen prey to your sick forms manipulation.”

  I break my stare to glance at Spencer, who seems more lucid as she listens to our exchange. Her face is intense and her stance is strong. She nods discreetly and my eyes remain on her as I continue to speak. “And by bringing me out in the middle of nowhere, holding my girl hostage, well…you’ve pretty much just given me a get out of jail free card.”

  From under the bill of my cap, I shield my eyes from Silas then dip my head, giving her the signal she’s been waiting for.

  And then she executes the move we’ve long since perfected.

  Before Silas has time to register her movement, her arm flies across her body and she grabs the barrel of the gun. In one swift motion, she twists the muzzle in Silas’s direction as she launches her body forward. Taken by surprise, he falls off center and she uses it to her advantage, throwing her arm backward until it lodges under Silas’s. She then whirls around, hooking his arm with hers and twisting the gun out of his grasp with the other hand. I reach back and draw my Glock from my waistband, ready take the shot I’ve been waiting to take for years.

  I aim it on Silas as she begins to shuffle backward as she’s been trained to do, and that’s when it happens. Still unsteady, her legs tangle with her steps and she begins to fall backward. And as she does, her hold on the gun falters. Everything begins to slow as it makes its descent to the ground, and it’s not until the dust stirs with its landing that my instincts take over. I raise my Glock and point it directly at Silas, only to lose sight of him as he dives toward the ground. Spencer launches her body forward at the same time and I watch in horror as they begin to grapple for possession of the gun.

  Panic thrums through my entire body. “Spencer, get back! Let it go!”

  My voice seems to register because she stills, then begins to crab walk back in my direction. Silas takes hold of the gun and my heart lurches into my throat.

  Pressing off the ground, she climbs to her feet then spins in my direction, her panic stricken face slicing my heart wide open. I haul my entire body forward, and with my arm jutting straight in front of me and my gun trained on Silas, I fire a shot just as she lands safely against my chest. Wrapping her tightly with my free arm, I curl both arms around her and turn our bodies, using mine for a shield right as another shot pierces the air.

  All control is lost as my legs give out beneath me and I crumble to the ground, taking Spencer with me. Pain splices through my entire body as though it’s being ripped in two. I grit my teeth and try to focus on my breathing.

  Spencer’s screams fill the air. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Dalton! NOOOOOO!”

  I try to console her. To tell her not to cry. To assure her that I will be okay. But nothing fucking works. Shock takes over and I’m helpless against it.

  The last thing I feel are the warm tears that strike my face as she leans over my body, holding me against her chest.

  The last thing I hear is her soft, soothing whimpers as she cradles me tightly.

  And the last thing I smell is the scent of Love and Happiness as it enters my nose and fills my lungs.

  Eventually, I’m forced to succumb to the demands of my body. As I disappear into the darkness, I breathe in one last time and pray to God that it isn’t the last breath I’m granted. Yet as I take that breath, I find comfort in the fact that if my time here on this earth has come to an end, there’s no place I’d rather be than in the arms of my angel when I go.

  RAGE.

  I’ve never known how powerful it can be when unleashed to its fullest extent. But as it takes control of my body, as every single muscle burns and trembles with its presence, it blankets the agony shredding my heart as I hold Dalton in my arms.

  I know now why Dalton found comfort in the sensation. Why he took solace in its existence.

  And just as he once did, I welcome it.

  A wheezing sound slowly filters into my mind as it echoes behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find Silas Kincaid lying on the ground, not even five feet away, with a bullet lodged in his throat. Blood trickles from the hole left by Dalton’s shot and his eyes call to me for help, but I have nothing to give. Not to him.

  My brain has completely shut off as I turn back to Dalton. Fury dictates my movements as I reach over his body and take the gun from his grasp. I glance once more at Dalton to solidify my decision, th
en release him as my body turns in the opposite direction.

  Slowly, I drag my heavy legs behind me as I crawl until I’m inches away from Silas’s body. He grasps blindly at his throat and rolls onto his back, his inhales for air becoming more prominent with the movement.

  Raising the gun, I place it right in the center of his forehead. My entire arm is shaking, barely able to keep the weapon steady, so I press it firmly against his skull to reinforce my hold.

  “Spencer.”

  A familiar voice flitters in then out of my hearing.

  “Spencer.”

  The voice is stronger now, firm and demanding, and a familiar hand curls over mine, covering my hold on the gun. Warm tears cascade down my face as I stubbornly tighten my grip.

  “I need to finish this for him. I need to do this. I have to do this. For Dalton.” My voice is unrecognizable as sobs wrack their way through my throat.

  “No. It’s done, sweetheart. Look, he’s finished it already.”

  I peel my eyes away from the gun and direct them at Silas’s face. There is no strain. No pained effort to breathe. There is only death as it relaxes his features.

  I turn to face the gentle brown eyes of Kirk Lawson, and his unshed tears bring me back to reality. I release the gun, giving him full possession.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know…”

  “I do. I know exactly what you’re going through right now, Spencer. And it’s more than okay to feel that way, but Dalton needs you right now. I need you to focus that intensity on helping him. You need to remind him of what he’s been fighting for all along. You need to keep him alive until the paramedics arrive.”

  I bite my bottom lip so hard, I taste blood. Tears continue to fall and I sniff them back while nodding my head absently. “Okay.” Looking back at Dalton, I breathe, “Yeah, okay.”

  My body seems so heavy, but I force it to move as I make my way back to Dalton. Taking him in my arms, I cradle his head in my lap, rocking him as I cry. Anger finds its release as I speak through gritted teeth. “You promised me. You promised you would never leave me again.”