Cold As Stone

Chapter 26

This chapter is going to be pretty gory. So, I guess just a general trigger warning for that kind of stuff. There will be death. I probably could have split this into two chapters, but I really wanted this to be read all at once. Next chapter should be the last. Hope you all enjoy! Remember to drink your water and outlive your enemies. 

Two weeks have passed since Calum and Ryder came over. I haven't heard from them, but from how their guys around the school have been acting, they've been busy.

Mom and Dad have been busy, too. It only took a few days for them to become visibly tense. Unfortunately, that meant they'd been short with me.

I tried asking to see Red and Nathan, hoping I'd be able to figure out their location. Dad slapped me, and I'd fallen down the stairs. My face was bruised, and I was walking with a limp, so I haven't been allowed to go to school.

I walk down the stairs, wincing. My hip is killing me. I'm no longer limping, but I won't be winning any triathlons anytime soon. One or both have always been here, so I haven't seen Jackson recently. However, they're both needed for something tonight, so he's coming over.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and gingerly sit at the kitchen table. I take a sip while staring at the wall across the room.

My eyes snap to the entryway when Mom and Dad come downstairs. Mom is glancing through her purse, and Dad is on the phone. A knock comes from the front door, and Mom goes to answer it.

She comes back with Jackson. His eyes land on me and widen for a split second before a poker face smoothes over his face like a mask. Mom murmurs something to him, and he nods. She and 

Dad leave without even glancing at me.

Jackson doesn't say anything at first. He walks out of sight towards the front door. I peek out of the kitchen to see what he's doing. I see him peering out the peephole.

"What are you doing?" I ask. He glances back at me, his face contemplative.

"Go put on something. We're going for a drive. Actually, let me pick out your clothes," he says, walking past me and taking the stairs two at a time.

"Wait, what?" I ask, bewildered. I follow behind, much slower from the pain in my hip. "Why are we going for a drive, and why do you need to pick out my clothes?"

When I reach my room, he's tossed a pair of jeans onto my bed and is riffling through my closet. He pulls out a simple black T-shirt and throws it onto the bed with the jeans.

"What are you doing, Jackson?" I ask. He's looking at my shoes now, a Converse in one hand and a tennis shoe in the other. He lets the Converse fall to the ground and starts searching for the match for the tennis shoe.

"I told you we're going for a drive," he answers. He finds the match under my bed. "Put this on. I'll be waiting in the car. Be quick." He leaves the room, and I'm left staring at the now-closed door.

"What the hell?"

Ten minutes later, I'm getting into the car, dressed in what he picked. I still have no idea what's going on.

"Why the drive?" I ask.

"Sorry, wasn't sure if they'd set up anything to listen in or watch you," he says. "How are you feeling? The bruise looks bad." My hand drifts up to my face when he mentions the bruise.

"It hurts, but I'm healing," I answer.

"I'm sorry, Myra. I should have helped you sooner, but I had to wait for the right time." He keeps glancing in the rearview mirror like he's worried we're being followed.