Vengeance (COMPLETED)

Part 4

They've placed me in the back of a car, squashed between two men twice my size. Atticus sits in the passenger seat, an elder man driving the car. It's silent. The only noise is the wind blowing in through the window. It smells and I know it's me. Nobody else here has spent three days locked in a basement. It isn't until we arrive at a plane hangar that my fears are confirmed. I was right. Never fucking trust a Stavros.

"No," I state, my panic rising. "You're not taking me to Greece. You can't take me to him."

"We're not–."

"He's going to kill me. Just kill me here. You don't have to take me to him. Just kill me. Kill me now."

"We're not taking you to my father," Atticus turns to me.

"Just kill me now," I beg.

"We're not taking you to him," he insists. "We're hiding you from him. We want to keep you safe."

"I'm not fucking stupid!"

"Erin–."

"Fuck you!"

"Alright," he shakes his head and speaks to his men. "Let's just get her on the plane."

"I'm not fucking going with you!"

My cries are ignored. The men start exiting the vehicle. The one on the left grabs a hold of my arm, pulling me out of the car. I refuse to make it easy for him. I wrestle against him, kicking him with my heels until he sets me down on my own two feet. I stick my ankle out, tripping him just enough to release me. My body reacts before I can make a decision. I race to the nearest exit, sprinting to the tree line like my life depends on it. It does.

His men chase after me, calling out in an attempt to bring me back. A gunshot rings out, but it doesn't stifle me. I run through the woodland, dodging branches and roots until I trip on one. I smack down on the ground, my head hitting a fern. A sharp pain shoots up my leg. I try to climb back up, but I'm too weak. My leg can't hold my weight. No. No. No. Fuck. I need to keep going. I try again, but I barely manage to sit up before a group of men surround me. This can't be happening.

"No!" I shake my head. I force myself to look away from their weapons. "Please! Please don't kill me!"

The events of the past few days finally start to hit me. My fight-or-flight response has been in overdrive. My eyes start to well up, my lip curls forward, and my breathing stifles. I start to cry, thick, hot tears rolling down my cheek.

"Hey, you're okay," Atticus crouches down before me. I can barely see him through my blurred vision, but I'd recognise his Greek accent anywhere. "We're not going to kill you. We're not going to hurt you. There's no point in running. My father will find you wherever you go. We want to keep you safe — away from him."

"Please don't take me to him," I beg. "Please, I don't want to die."

"I promise, I won't. We're here to make sure that doesn't happen."

"I'll do anything."

"How about you take a few deep breaths for me? You must be dehydrated by now, and crying won't help."

He's right. Crying is the worst thing I could be doing right now. It makes me look weak. I do as he says, slowly breathing in and out until I've stabilised. My heart is still pounding, but that won't ease any time soon.

"My ankle," I turn to look at it, the stinging pain becoming more noticeable now my panic has settled. There's a deep cut by my Achilles, almost 7 inches long. Blood spills out of it. My socks are already stained red.