“You’re wrong,” One slurs from the floor, aiming his gun at Kenneth as he shuts one eye to focus. “It’s everything. Love saves, you stupid fuck.” He pulls the trigger and the gunshot echoes off the walls, causing my ears to ring. The bullet slams into Kenneth’s shoulder, One’s first no-kill shot since I’ve known him. Kenneth nearly cries out, but he doesn’t fall.
I bet he’s never fallen in his life.
The grip on my bat begins to loosen as I try to squeeze it tighter. I shake my head to try and beat the drug trying to seduce me but it’s working. My bat clatters against the floor as Kenneth leans against the wall holding his arm.
My vision fades to black, and I crawl to get my bat, but my limbs are getting heavier…my eyes flutter closed…I have to keep trying.
For Charlie.
My nose is killing me from where Kenneth elbowed me in the face. I’m not knocked out, but it does take me a minute to get my bearings about me. I shake my head to relieve the dizziness but only make it worse.
I inhale deep breaths and remember the gas filling the room. Taking the bottom of my tank top, I hold it against my face to cover my nose and mouth.
Why aren’t I passed out like Taylor?
I drag my eyes from the floor to her, then the windows, and see Whistler dropping his bat.
No.
It hits me that the gas isn’t affecting me like the others. Maybe it’s because he makes it from the drug I tested for him and I’m immune to it? Or I’ve built a tolerance, not immunity because I’m still dizzy. I grip the chair Taylor is in and use it to hoist myself up. When I do, I untie her hands, her ankles, and then take the gag out of her mouth.
Poor woman, she’ll remember this for the rest of her life. I know I will. I’ll remember every scar, every hit, every moment of feeling worthless, or when I thought I’d die. I’ll never forget the baby I lost from the abuse, and I’ll never forget feeling so small every day in the hands of a cruel man like Kenneth.
“Taylor?” I shake her shoulder, but she doesn’t wake up.
I can’t lift her but maybe I can turn the gas off. I just have to find the button. “Fuck,” I groan as a hang my head.
Kenneth has it.
“I’ll be back. I swear, okay? I’ll be back. I’m so sorry,” I tell her, even though she can’t hear me.
I trip over my own two feet as I head to the door, unlock it, and open it. Every member of the MC is down because of the gas, all except for Whistler, and Kenneth is bitching about a gunshot wound to his shoulder.
“You stupid fuck!” He slams One in the face with his foot and knocks him out indefinitely. Blood flows out of his nose and onto the floor. God, I hope he is okay.
Whistler tries to reach for the bat, but the more he tries, the more he begins to fall.
This isn’t his fight anyway.
It’s mine.
I dash to the bat, stumbling, slamming my shoulder against the window, and bite my tongue when it irritates the road rash.
My fingers circle around the handle of the bat and I kiss Whistler’s cheek. “It’s okay. I have it now.”
Kenneth’s eyes are shocked to see me. “You’re supposed to be passed out.”
“I guess all those years you stuffed your drug down my throat built up my tolerance.” I slam the bat into the wall and dust clouds the air.
His surprise only lasts a few seconds before a sneer takes over his face. “You don’t have the fucking guts,” he says, pushing against the floor to get away from me.
I lift the bat and swing, landing it right across his legs.
The wail that leaves him sounds so similar to mine every time he beat me. “That’s for tricking me into loving you.” I lift the bat and swing again, the nails shredding the flesh of his stomach. “That’s for manipulating me.” I take a different stance and let the bat fly, slamming it against his shoulder. “That’s for abusing me!” I scream until my voice cracks and tears break free from the liberation I feel.
“Charlie. Sweetie,” he tries to twist his lies again to get me to fall for him. His hand raises and the palm is coated in blood.
I swing the bat again, the tip landing in the middle of his hand, mangling it on impact. “That’s for your lies!” I snarl in anger, my breath coming out in stuttered beats. I swing again, clipping him right against the jaw. “That’s for my baby!”
He finally drops to the ground, lying flat on his back, and coughs up blood like I have so many times.
“I have the fucking guts,” I spit, his blood dripping down the bat and onto my hand. “And it’s because of how much I hate you. I’m taking all the pieces you have ever taken from me back. You were and will forever remain the worst part of me.” I swing the bat above my head and let it fly, his face flattening from the force. The nails stick into his bone and muscle and I have to wiggle the bat to get it free.
I swing again.
And again.
And again.
Smashing his skull in until it’s broken and his face unrecognizable. “This is for me. This is for Taylor. This is for every woman who will forever be safe from you.” I continue to beat him, years of pent up emotions taking over, blinding me with hate.
There’s a fine line between love and hate.
Love has the ability to make you feel like you’re floating while hate slithers in your bones and fills you with a different capability.
I don’t float.
I react. I need to react. I have to let the hate out. It’s consuming me.
The sick sound the bat makes every time it hits his body doesn’t faze me.
I don’t know how long I hit him for. I lose count. His blood is splattered across my face. My muscles shake from the exertion. I’m running out of steam and I remember why I came out here, to begin with.
He has the button to stop the gas.
I gather saliva in my mouth and spit on his body before throwing the bat to the side. “It’s you who doesn’t have the guts.” I sit on the floor and look away as I rummage through his pockets, gagging as the warmth of his blood slips through my fingers. It’s not in the left pocket, so I try the right, feeling the hard plastic.
I don’t take it out. There’s no need. I press the button and the hum of power used to pump the gas finally stops.
It’s over.
He’s done.
I sag against the floor and smile, cry-laughing that I had it in me all along to fight for myself.
A moan from behind me has me spinning around and Whistler is trying to push himself up again. “Cupcake,” he slurs, blinking up at me through those dark, glassy eyes.
“Whistler.” I scurry/run/slip and fall because of the blood as I try to get to him. When I do, I throw my arms around him, then drag him to where I can rest my back against the wall. His head is in my lap while we wait for the drug to fade and for the other members to wake up again. “I love you,” I tell him, leaning down and pressing a kiss against his forehead like he always does with me.
“You did it,” he slurs like Bolt did. “You saved yourself and everyone here. Taylor—”
“—She’s okay. Passed out, but alive.” I run my fingers through his hair. “We’re all alive.”
“Knew you were a fighter. So strong.” His eyes begin to close. “Never… needed… anyone… but yourself,” he says slowly as he falls asleep.