Victim

Chapter 9 - Lose

Xander's POV:

Present:

He had to find Marley. She could be anywhere. He wasn't sure that Marley necessarily was hurt, but he knew something was wrong.

He stalked out of the house and walked to his car. Grabbing his keys, he opened the door and heavily got in, slumping in his seat. He needed to think. He bit his lip, where could she have gone? Was she hurt, injured, lost?

The thoughts made him rub his face, and his brows furrowed. He should start with looking for her Downtown, that's where he would get the most information from.

Hopefully.

Feeling relieved at having a plan, he started his car. It was a good thing he got his driver's license that year, the police would handcuff his 17-year-old ass in a minute.

He stepped on the pedal and sped off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

2 hours later

This was hopeless, he'd never find her. She was probably pulling a prank on him. But it didn't make sense, she was still grieving. He was still grieving. She'd never do something like that so soon after Jessica's death.

His head hurt from thinking so much. Worry, frustration, and anger threatened to spill over, but he kept his calm. The sun was starting to set, the orange-gold stretches far and wide, the color of fire hearths and tangerines.

Just as he was going to give up and go home, he spotted a figure moving in a nearby alleyway. It looked oddly like Marley, the same black hair, and he recognized her wool coat. He quickly got out of the car and grounded his teeth, what the heck was Marley doing out alone at this time,

He ran after the figure and grabbed a handful of her bulky padded coat and yanked him back. The figure spun around in surprise, and the brim of her baseball cap hid her face.

"What are you doing so late all alone? I was worried sick and looked for you for hours and here you are, sprawling around like an alley cat. Why didn't you pick up your phone Marley?" He growled at her and snatched the cap off from her head, realizing only a millisecond later that he hadn't had to reach down far enough. 

This woman was too tall.

Because she wasn't Marley.

He took a step back, the gasp stuck in his throat, his pulse instantly going supersonic as the woman glared at him, her dark eyes barely visible behind the stocky bangs. Distorting her features.

"I... I'm sorry ma'am, I thought you were a friend." He turned to run, but it was too late. Her arm wrapped around his throat, yanking him to his toes, cutting off his air. Instinctively his hands went to her forearm, trying to sink his nails into her flesh, but there was too much padding in her jacket. He panicked, black dots starting to dance in his vision.

And then cold steel was pressing into his temple, and she was dragging him into the alley where he'd found her. "You'll be sorry you did that," she rasped into his ear. "You'll be begging for my forgiveness before I'm done."

Realization sunk into him; this woman would kill him if he didn't escape. His focus cleared as muscle memory kicked in and he heard his mother's voice in his mind, directing his movements.

Realizing his hold on the woman's arm, he twisted his torso, gaining as much momentum as he could before striking her belly with his elbow. Hearing her surprised grunt, he sucked in a breath and grabbed the woman's left pinkie finger, yanking it backwards. Ducking under her arm, he grabbed her hand, digging his thumb into the fleshy area between her thumb and forefinger, just as his mother trained him to do. Ignoring her cry of pain, he shoved the gun away with his free hand.

Then he ran, but she grabbed him again, covering his mouth with her hand before pulling him against his chest, back into the alley.

"No, no, no." He tried to scream the words, but they were too muffled to be heard. He tried to kick back against her knees, but he realized that this woman was somehow stronger and more skilled than he was, and he couldn't get a grip on anything.

She shoved him hard, his back hitting a brick wall, knocking the breath out of him. She leaned into his space, her forearm pressed into his throat once more, cutting off his air.

"You're too much trouble," she hissed, putting the gun to his head.

Xander needed to act fast.

Grabbing handfuls of fabric at her throat, he yanked her forwards with all of his might. Her hand skittered, the gun discharging with a soft pop.

A silencer.

Shards of brick rained down his head as the bullet hit the wall. Fueled by desperation, he brought up his knee sharply, connecting it with the woman's tummy.

He barely heard her curses over the pounding of his heart and shoved the woman away as he ran for the street. For safety.

A hard object made contact with his head, and suddenly the world slowed down. He lifted his hand and touched his head feeling blood on its back. He fell to the ground, and the last thing he was saw the woman dragging him to a truck.

***

He woke up, feeling an aching pain in his head. He groaned, and his stomach retched, his throat dry, how had he gotten himself into this mess? A distant thud echoed from somewhere, ricocheting into his ear. Someone was coming. With slow dawn, he remembered. Had he slipped or had she hit him with something? His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he relived the figure advancing towards him. How long had he been here? His head ached as he struggled to assess his surroundings. Looking around, he noticed he was in the back of a van.

Stomp. Stomp. Scuff.

The torture was unbearable. He blocked the harrowing thoughts of his oncoming captor and tried to construct a plan. He peered around the eerie room. Dust dulled each and every ornament, just adding to the clutter in the already paltry squalor. The lighting was poor, the only light coming from the van's door gap.

He tried to get up, but his leg crippled in pain. A huge burning sense jolted in his leg, and with horror, he realized that there was a symbol of some sort carved onto it. He looked closer and saw that an angel carrying a flaming sword was engraved onto his thigh. Hell, it barely looked like an angel. Looked more like something he'd draw in the first grade.

His blood had already dried up onto the carvings, which made it look more sinister than it already was.

What could it mean?

As his senses kicked in, he felt pains shooting up and down his body. Peering down at his hands, he saw that they were covered in cold, congealed blood. He gasped, realizing that was a mistake as soon as he heard noises coming from outside the van.

A man opened the door, and three men behind him followed. Xander gulped, he knew there was no chance of escaping now. There were way too many men, and he could see even more people outside.

The man in front approached him, and Xander noticed that his pose screamed power. His broad shoulders held high, his legs set aside, he loomed ominously in Xander's face.

"Where am I?" He demanded, his anger skyrocketing. "What the fuck do you want" He snarled at the man, not a bit intimidated by his large size.

The man narrowed his eyes, and instantly his arm swung swiftly, like steel, it impacted on Xander's. Fear bulged from Xander's eyes as the man grasped both his hands and heaved him up, his feet dangling in the air.

"You talk only when I say you can." He calmly told him and dropped him to the ground.

"Now, with that cleared up, let's get started."