“Fuck you, Bolt. I can’t believe you would send a woman back to a man that abused her so badly for so many years.” Whistler has Bolt by the cut and Bolt dips into his pocket and pulls out a taser.
Zap. Zap.
He presses the buttons on the weapon, but Whistler doesn’t blink. “Go ahead. When I’m done twitching, I’ll get my bat and we will see whose weapon has more power.”
“Prez!”
The argument dies down when Tutu comes in with an envelope. It’s yellow, simple, but it means more harm than good.
The Scapegoat symbol is on the back and I set the coke aside, no longer thirsty.
“We have another delivery,” Tutu says, holding up the piece of mail.
Whistler snatches it from him and rips the paper apart until he pulls out another disc. “Fuck,” he curses and turns in the direction of the DVD player, pressing the button and inserting it in the slot.
“Where are those damn mob men that Irish guy promised?” Princess asks. “If we had them, I bet we could be having a different conversation with Kenneth.”
“Not coming,” Mercy replies. “There’s been an emergency and O’Crowely won’t explain or give details.”
“Fan−fucking−tastic.” Whistler shoves the disc in and it whirls loudly before coming onto the screen.
No need to press play. It begins automatically.
There are no words. No sounds. It’s just a pitch-black room.
“What the hell is this?” One fusses, shoving a chair to the ground. “Taylor isn’t even on the feed, damn it.”
Breaths begin to sound in the speakers and Whistler watches the TV with a hand over his mouth while One stands next to him.
I hurry to his side and take his other hand in mine, wanting to let him know I’m here when he throws an arm around my neck and buries me in his side.
Waiting to see what happens keeps me staring at the screen. Whistler’s hold on me tightens to the point where I almost can’t breathe. Almost. I love being needed so much.
“Nothing is happening. He sent this to—” One is cut off when Taylor falls to the floor, the camera zooming in on her pale face until we can see her tears and redness around her lids from crying. Her eyes dart back and forth before landing on the camera, staring straight into it as if she can see us.
It’s unnerving.
Her mouth is wide, and I can count every tooth she has as she lets out a murderous scream that causes everyone in the room to jump or curse from the unexpected sound. Her arms stretch out in front of her, her fingernails digging into the ground and breaking as she claws the floor. She gets pulled away, her cries echoing wherever she’s at.
“Turn it off! Turn it the fuck off!” Whistler cups his ears to drown out her cries and the sound of fists hitting flesh has me crying for her. “I said turn it off!” Whistler punches the TV so hard it spiderwebs and One unplugs it from the wall.
Whistler is a strong man, the kind that takes people under his wing and cares for them until he believes they are strong enough to stand on their own two feet. If it were anyone else, this would bother him too, but it’s his sister. He’s devastated. His eyes are red as he holds back his emotions and he grips the mantle and squeezes, so different than when he gripped the headboard last night.
A heartbreaking roar leaves him as the rage builds to a boiling point. I throw myself into his arms and he doesn’t push me away, he embraces me.
“She won’t make it another day. I’ll be carrying away her body if we do,” he says.
“I know,” Mercy slaps a hand on his shoulder. “We will figure it out within the next hour, okay?”
“I’m going to go get you a drink.” I kiss his cheek and slide my hand into his pocket and snag his keys before heading to the bar.
Twisting in and out of the path of the tables, I stare straight ahead and try to act normal. Bolt is sitting on one of the bar stools as I pop a beer open for Whistler.
“You’re going to do something that really pisses him off,” he says, stealing the beer from my hand as his own and taking a long swallow. “You agree with me.”
“I’ve always thought me going there alone was the best plan, whether he agrees with it or not.” I keep my voice low so only Bolt can hear me.
“I think it’s the best plan too, but you wouldn’t be alone. We’d just give you a head start. He won’t hear of it. Listen, I’m not about putting a woman in danger. We’d protect you.”
“I know that,” I say, softening the expression on my face. “You don’t think I know he will find me? Whistler is going to lose his mind when he knows I’m gone.”
“When we are gone,” Bolt corrects, draining his beer and slamming it down on the bar. He peers over his shoulder to see his brothers arguing, their voices rising again. “If we leave now, they won’t know.”
“You’re coming with me?” I chirp sounding more like Luke Skyhawker than myself.
“I’m the only one that agrees with you. And besides, do you even know how to drive a motorcycle?” he quirks a thick brow at me, judging me.
“Yes,” I scoff, crossing my arms in defiance. I’ve seen Whistler do it enough. I can figure it out but I’m not about to look weak in front of a man.
“That right?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the P.
“Well, let’s see how you ride then, Ms. Charlie.”
I take a peek at Whistler who is in One’s face now, his best friend. I can’t let any other relationships he has get ruined because of me. If he’d just let me be the plan, everything would be taken care of. “Let’s go,” I state, dragging my eyes away from Whistler. If I look at him for much longer, I’ll lose my nerve and stay, which isn’t the right thing to do.
My dad is next door with his crew, drilling, hammering, and building without a clue in the world as to what is going on because while I’ve told him about Kenneth abusing me, I haven’t told him everything else that’s going on. He doesn’t know two of his crew members were murdered because of me.
The less my father knows, the better.
Bolt hides me by staying to the side and keeping me close to him, using his body to block anyone else from seeing me. Everyone is too into arguing and hearing themselves over the others to watch me.
I’m timid little Charlie. I’m always too scared to do anything.
Well, fear be damned. I’m doing something even if it means risking everything. Bolt runs to his bike and Whistler’s is right next to his. They look similar, only Bolt’s is matte black with a shiny black exhaust system while Whistler’s is more classic. Black tank, chrome everything, polished as if he just got it off the lot.
Okay. Please, let it start so I don’t look like a fool and please, don’t let me crash it.
Bolt starts his and throws his helmet on all while waiting for me to get my shit together. I’m sitting here, staring, afraid, nervous, and I feel like I’m going behind Whistler’s back.
God. I am fucked up in the head.
What woman would willingly lie to a man as wonderful as Whistler?
“Hey, we don’t have long before Whistler notices you’re gone and starts raising fucking hell, so we need to get going, Charlie.”