A Dangerous Game

Chapter 15

My brain is slow and sluggish, but with a blink, I'm suddenly thrust forward into reality.

I gasp, my eyes fluttering open. They feel impossibly heavy along with the rest of my limbs, a disturbing feeling compared to how nimble I usually am. But even worse is the man beside me, holding me up by my shirt collar. His grip chokes me and I struggle to breath as he crushes my windpipe before he rolls his eyes and lets go of the fabric. I fall to the ground, collapsing like a sack of potatoes. He doesn't bother to guard me, knowing I can't go anywhere as the drug flows ever so slowly through my system. I'm not sure what exactly they gave me, but I don't bother to dwell on it for long. It doesn't matter what it was, but rather how long it will last.

"Why hello there," booms an unfamiliar voice. It's not particularly loud, yet it holds so much power I subconsciously shrink away as his figure appears, barely a shadow until he steps into the dull light.

It's Wilson.

I try to keep my breathing even as he approaches, but it's hard as article after article scrolls through my head. Robberies, killings, bullet wound survivors. So much chaos, so much pain, and he's at the head of it all.

"I'm assuming you know why you're here," he drawls, leaning over me. He snaps and my captor steps forward, sneering, and lugs me up once again. My knees buckle, his pressuring grip under my armpits the only thing keeping me standing as Wilson draws closer. He reaches out to touch my bruised cheekbone, his lip curling inwards.

"That looks nasty," he says which faux sympathy. The he grabs my hair and yanks my head back, bringing tears to my eyes, only to send his fist hard into my stomach. I gasp and bend over, but I don't have time to recover my breath as he continues to beat on me, attacking my arms and sweeping my legs out from under me. The man holding me steps back, watching with a devilish smile as Wilson kicks me in the side. I hear something crack, my side burning with fire every time I breath, before he's picking me up. I offer no resistance as he tosses me at the wall, my body as limp as a rag doll. My head smacks against the brick hard enough to make my teeth rattle and he pauses, panting and staring at the damage he left.

"Pitiful," he spits at me, his face red. I don't have the energy to even flinch at his words. My mouth tastes like metal and I realize I must have bitten my tongue when I hit the ground. I swallow it down, my whole body aching. Pebbles dig into my skin, leaving indents and sharp scratches behind. Four inflamed red lines puff up from where his fingernails dug into my arm. I don't remember where they came from through my painful haze.

"You should be lucky you gave my friend the slightest bit of mercy, or I would force you to use your own hand to slice off your fingers," he snarls in my face. "But alas, we must wait for Tomlinson. If he paid any attention to my words, he'll be here any minute now."

He wrinkles his nose at me like I'm a half dead rodent his cat dragged in and left on the rug for him to find. "Let's get you ready to greet him, how about?"

The last thing I see is his leering fist seconds before it smashes into my temple. Familiar darkness greets me on the other side and I sink into it, exhausted and numb.

I'm standing blindfolded, strong hands cementing me to the sides of the men holding me. It took ten agonizing minutes of walking, terrified that I was going to be led to my death, before we finally arrived at our destination. Now I sag, the fabric around my eyes itchy and warm on my brow. Sweat drips down the back of my neck and I shift from foot to foot, waiting, before finally the bandanna is ripped off my face and I blink against the light piercing my eyes.

The first thing I see is Harry. Bruises cover his arms like cheetah print, purple and red and yellow. My breath clogs in my throat and I swallow it down, forcing myself to be focused and calm.