Wren

Part 32

Wren sensed something was wrong. He lay facedown in the sand, not even noticing the way he breathed it in and it scraped down his throat. He slowly and painfully opened his eyes, tears pricked them from the scratches the sand had caused and the burning pain from the lights. 

There was something going on outside. He couldn't really hear. . . his ears were ringing and his head ached. . . but there was muffled thudding and shouting. 

There were almost no thoughts going through his head. . . he was in survival mode. He simply existed, pain was all he could feel even though most of it was numb. His body had shut down and his only thoughts were worries about his next beating. He didn't know who he was or where he was. . . he just-- was. It was dark and hot and he sank down into it, exhausted. . .

Light beamed momentarily into the room through the door that opened, and Wren instinctively tried to pull himself away from the people who were coming to hurt him. Had he breathed to loud? Was he still supposed to be chanting those words. . ? He couldn't remember them. . . 

The lights came on, but not the bright ones. Normal light. But Wren couldn't differentiate and covered his ears and tucked his head down under him into the sand, waiting. His body trembled uncontrollably. The music didn't start? He didn't care. He was on autopilot; not even thinking. He was terrified that something was different. Was he in trouble?

Something brushed against his back and weak adrenaline pumped through him; just enough to get him up to get away from danger. He kept his eyes shut tight as he scrambled away, his back slamming into a hard wall. He didn't dare cough. He didn't stop moving, just kept blindly stumbling around, falling to his knees and pulling himself up, then crashing into a wall and repeating the process. He heard distant, distorted talking and felt footsteps on the dense sand, and used those sense to steer clear of his attacker.

He staggered into a corner and fell to his knees. He was trapped. He turned his back to the danger, hoping the beating would be quick. 

The talking was so close. . . right behind him. . . a light touch on his back made him flinch so hard his face hit the wall, the bars of the muzzle busting his lip again. He held completely still; not thinking, just waiting. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Matteo and Vincenzo sat in one of their vehicles that surrounded the old factory. They'd checked property records and investigated every place Eduardo owned, hope flaring in them when they'd found the sketchy old lot on the outskirts of town. Then they'd known where to trace CCTV footage, and sure enough, had found the car.

It was the middle of the night, and a dim orange glow could be seen coming out of the open door. A guard stood in front of it, not really paying attention as he smoked a cigarette. 

"So that's the plan, then?" A crackly voice sounded in their earpieces. 

"Yes. I want this done as quickly and quietly as possible." Matteo answered Dace. There were three vehicles full of men ready to charge in; the Sabatino family's guards and personnel. 

"Alright men, let's move." Vincenzo ordered as he slid open the car door. He pulled out his gun and held it up, moving in quietly. Everyone from the other cars followed, fanning out in a semicircle and creeping closer. Matteo snuck up behind the man and placed a hand over his mouth and a gun to his neck, halting any resistance as he dragged the man away from the open door and off to the side. 

"How many are in there?" He growled into the man's ear. He shoved the gun into his neck for further motivation.

"12 men, and Boss." The man's voice trembled as he whispered back. 

"Where's the captive?" 

"In a room at the back, through the shelves and behind the only door. Why are you doing this?"

"You don't get to ask questions," Matteo handed him  off to one of his men, who promptly tied him up and started hauling him to one of the cars. He motioned for everyone to close in.

The moment they poured through the door, the men inside jumped up form their seats and attacked. Some were shot, but some made it close enough to throw punches. Turmoil raged around him, but all Matteo was worried about was finding Wren. He charged straight to the back of the building, coming face-to-face with Eduardo Herrera. 

He jumped from the chair he'd been sitting in, but didn't even have time to comprehend what was going on before Matteo threw the first punch. It knocked the man back a step, but he came back swinging. 

They scuffled, landing heavy blows to each other, but Matteo was able to get behind him and wrap his arm around Eduardo's throat, trapping him in a headlock. He held the gun to his temple for maximum effect. 

"Where's the key?" Matteo growled in his ear, eyeing the padlock on the door.

"Look who decided to show up. . . and after I'd convinced your precious boy that you weren't going to. How sad that you're too late--" 

Matteo tightened his arm around Eduardo's throat, cutting him off. What did he mean? Wren was okay, right? He was just a little beat up, and scared, but he was fine. He had to be.

"The key, motherfucker." He squeezed until Eduardo was ready to tell him, motivated by the lack of oxygen to his burning lungs. 

"Pocket-- left pocket," He wheezed.

Matteo dug around in the man's pocket until he fished out the ring with two keys on it. He handed Eduardo off to Vincenzo, who'd just made it out of the chaos up front. Vincenzo was rough as he bound Eduardo and dragged him away. Dace came up beside Matteo, anxious.

Matteo ran to the door, his hands shaking so bad that it took him a long time to get the key in the lock. It was the wrong one. He held his breath as he tried the other, feeling like he'd lose his mind if it didn't work. . .

The lock clicked open. 

                Part Thirty-Three Coming Soon