Awake (Book 3)

Five

August gritted his teeth against the pain, feeling the blood drip through his jeans and wind down his leg. A definite gash that would need stitches, for sure. He would take care of that when he wasn’t eagle-sprawled against a wall and able to fight back.

            “I’m not . . . telling you . . . anything . . . about her,” he gasped, muscles bulging with the strain of his tensed body. You’ve had worse, he reminded himself. So much worse. Remember when you were in the Middle East with your brother? And the torture you went through, there? You can take this. This ‘ain’t nothing.

            Angel smiled coldly and, without remorse, jammed a knife-like instrument straight through his palm, to the wall. The pain was immediate and tumultuous. Breathing hard, gritting his teeth, focusing on anything but his impaled hand was all he could do to keep from screaming.

            “Don’t bullshit me, August,” she spat. “You’ll spill eventually. Now, I can give you one more chance before the other hand bites it.”

            August breathed hard, glaring at her through his lashes. “Go . . . to hell . . . bitch.”

            She shrugged. “Very well.”

            And the second time around, August couldn’t help the scream that escaped.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He didn’t know how long it had been.

            Hours, days, weeks. After Angel left, she stayed gone. He was completely alone in the chamber, with nothing to listen to but the slow, steady drop of his blood splattering against the concrete flooring. It drove a man crazy, after a while. Numbness spread from his pierced hands, tingling through his limbs; his body’s natural defense against the pain.

            Or, just, survival mode.

            He was on survival mode, now.

            “Ellie,” he whispered, focusing on the weight of the necklace against his chest. “Ellie.”

            But of course, there was no answer. Just another plip of blood smacking the floor.

            In the deafening silence, immersed in his thoughts, August wondered about Jessica and Blake. Were they running things smoothly back at the camp? Were they out looking for him? Did they even know where to begin? He knew he shouldn’t have left them. It was a dick move. But he didn’t need them coming along and being a distraction.

            Or foiling your plan.

            He tensed, trying his hardest to block out that stupid voice in his head. The one he knew was all his own and never helpful, because all it had to offer was the truth.

            You’re an asshole, because you never meant to get out alive. This was your endgame all along.

            A growl bubbled passed his lips. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to hide from the truth, but it was already exposed before him.

            You wanted to die. You wanted to die and be with her because you can’t take this anymore.

            God. So what? So what? He was so done with it all. He never wanted to be a part of this fucked up business in the first place. What eight-year-old kid wants to do anything else besides climb a tree and be blissfully unaware of the cruelties of the world? What kind of sick person makes a child learn a thousand ways to kill somebody, before he can even understand half of them?