Deckard

11.

Her Weakness

I didn't even notice my own bullet penetrate Doms shoulder as he runs, like a coward.

My whole world stops spinning as my own chest squeezes in agony as I watch Deckard's body fall helplessly to the ground. He falls limp. Un-moving.

The scream of horror that want's to rip from my throat is only held back by years of emotional suppression. For now, I couldn't let anger blind my vision. My husband lying dead on the cold ground. I had to keep up pretences, if whatever Deckard died for was to be completed. Then I would avenge him.

I would rip Dominic Toretto to shreds. I would spill his guts onto the ground in front of him and make him watch as I feed what remains of Letty and his sister down his throat. I'd make him watch as I torture them and eventually ended their pain by slicing their throats and bask in their agony as they drowned in their own blood. I wouldn't end Toretto's life. No. I would fúck him up so badly, mentally and physically, so that he wished he was dead- and unable to end it all himself. Only then; would he feel a fraction of the immense torment pummelling at my heart every time I took a breath.

Sirens wailing all around us as everyone climbers from their wrecked cars behind me. Everyone shouting for us to go. To run away and leave Deckard there.

It's hard to breathe. It feels like someone has just ripped my heart from my chest. That everything I live for was now gone. Taken away by two bullets that had been fired by someone who claims to stick to his code of family. A family we were not part of; therefore expendable.

"Megan, scramble!" Hobbs shouted from a few meters behind me. His large hand wrapping around my arm in attempt to get me to move before we were arrested.

Fast as lightning, I twist my arm from his grip, grabbing his large forearm and twisting it effortlessly so that his shoulder screamed in agony as I kicked his knee out from under him. He stumbled to the floor. Surprise evident on his face at the speed of my attack.

"Never, touch me!" I spit. My teeth bared as my face was millimetres from his own. Anger spilling from my pores as I shove him to the ground and take off into the shadows of the panicking streets of New York.

I made sure I didn't meet the team at the rendezvous point. I ran half a block, ensuring that Dom's team believed I was heading in the right direction, before doubling back on myself. Pushing in the opposite direction of the tsunami of fleeing people, I make it back to the crash site. Back to where Deckard was now being loaded hastily into the back of an ambulance on a stretcher. I didn't hesitate before sprinting over, grabbing the back of a paramedics tunic and yanking him back, out of the ambulance and slamming the door dramatically behind me after I had jumped in.

"What. The. Fúck!" I clenched my jaw as I spotted the well presented, Magdalene Shaw sitting daintily in the back of the ambulance. Deckard lying still in front of her as she shouts at the driver to 'get a move on'.

Hot tears suddenly blur my vision as I clench my fists at my side. How dare she have the audacity to sit there and look smug.

"Hello, love. I'm presuming the bugga didn't tell you the grand plan," I took a deep breath and looked anywhere but at her and the motionless body of Deckard, "Have a seat and I'll wake him up. He deserves a good slap for puttin' ya through this," her accent strong, different to my slightly Geordie one from the North of England where I grew up in Northumberland.

I take a perch on the spare seat at the back and watch as Magdalene takes out a large syringe and drives it harshly into Deckards chest. My face hot with rage at the fact that Deckard was interrupted when he attempted to tell me this ludicrous plan. I understood that it wasn't his fault that he tried multiple times to let me know, to try and ease this heartache.

With a large gasp for air, Deckard shot up into an upright position. Gasping hungrily for air after the serum had slithered it's way through his system.

"Jesus, mother. You're meant to avoid the nerves!" he whines like a bítch.

"I'll tell you who's got a nerve!" I snap, slapping my hand across his cheek, "You're a wanker. You know that?" the bewildered look across my husbands face at the fact that I was crammed in the back of the ambulance made him look like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Megan," he whispered, relieved and also petrified of what I would do to him next.

"Let's go to New York, he said. We'll be done in no time, he said. Well you know what? You'll either leave New York with your knees in place, or leave New York with them not in place. Choice is yours, sweetness."

"I love you too," Deckard chuckles at my angry outburst, taking my tear stained cheeks in his warm hands and kissing my deeply.

I wasn't having any of his tricks. No matter how much I wanted to desperately kiss him back and melt into his strong arms; I couldn't.

That was the most terrifying and soul destroying game he could have played. The agony that I felt at the thought of loosing him was disgusting. He knew that one of my greatest fears is loosing anyone I hold close. We had both lost someone special to us a few years ago. He promised he would try to never let either of us experience that pain again. That immense agony.
Yet here he is. Shattering my heart in his hands as he hides in the shadows with his mother. Pathetic.

Breaking his promise.