Souls' Collision | ✔

T R Y T H I S

~ Chapter Twenty ~

Red was unrecognizable.

Nothing but an anonymous body sagged against the wall, he remained restless. His muscles were fatigued, his lips cracked, but his eyes glowered at the space between his knees. A few minor puddles had formed, each consistent of blood derived from his wounds. Most of them had healed by then but the Daltons were merciless and the torture had at times become unstandable. The stench, too. Blood — it was allover him.

He'd remembered the smell of artificial coconut, tried to strengthen his resolve with the memory. But it hadn't strengthened him. To his utmost horror the thought of his mate made his shoulders slump further, his brilliant blue eyes glum. It didn't harden him. It cradled him, softly lowered his guard like a mother soothing its pup over a scraped knee.

And as soon as the Daltons rushed out of the torture chamber — hearing some orders he clearly hadn't — he finally allowed it to.

After a while his recollection had become so strong he was convinced he smelled her there with him. Of course the thought was ludacris — she'd never venture into the Dalton hideout and for good reason — but he couldn't let it go.

Wasn't the scent of her becoming stronger?

Couldn't he hear her voice echo outside the chamber?

No, he decided, and let his head lull tiredly; if he wanted to get out he needed to let himself heal.

He forced his eyes closed.

Then the door exploded.

Red managed to look up just in time to see his mate come shooting through the hole where the door had just been. She had blood running from her scalp down to her chin in a thin trickle and she spun around so that her attention was on the opening — she looked like a proper warrior.

His jaw slackened as he watched her raise her arm, now a weapon, and aim at whomever was outside.

Could it really be her?

"TRY THIS, FUCKERS!"

Red shrunk back as a hail of bullets exited her rifle. She kept a broad stance and yet attempting to control the recoil was straining her too much. Red could see it, he had to help — but his window of opportunity was closing quick. Almost immediately Liz had stopped her firing and motioned for someone to enter.

"C'mon," she called, out of breath. "There might be more coming."

Not waiting to see if her order would be obeyed, she finally looked around the room. Her eyes squinted through the darkness, traveled along the walls, the chains, the bloodied tools.

Red waited until they settled on him and flashed with recognition — then fear.

In less than a second, Liz was by his side, fluttering her hands over his body, unsure what to do.

"Oh my god," she cried. "You look awful. What happened to you? What should I do?" Her eyes glazed with tears as he couldn't find the strength to answer. In lack of better things to do she screamed, "Chris!"

Her partner finally entered, looking just as shaken when taking in his brother's appearance. He hurried to Liz's side, bent over the beaten remains of Red with a nauseated expression. "In the name of the Goddess..."

Red's bloodshot eyes momentarily widened. "You..."

Liz put a hand to her mouth. "Why would... Who would ever— Chris, I don't know what to do, I don't—"

"Alright," he interrupted as he came to terms with the fact that he'd have to be the rational one. "Alright, we need to remove the chains. I have a tool for that."