“We don’t have time for this,” I huff, rolling my eyes. Tapping Huxley’s shoulder, I jerk my head to step around the two, embracing each other, leaving them to quarrel about who should do what and creep through the building. The long hallway is framed by darkened windows either side; the low hum of vending machines met with the buzzing lights overhead. At the far end, a pair of double fire doors gleam, slightly ajar for a harsh wind to slip inside and curl around my spine. Low, gruff voices can be heard amongst the muffled sound of resistance.
Huxley curses under his breath but follows as I press myself against the cold wall, peering through the gap. Outside, a dimly lit pitch is shroudedby shadows, overlooked by empty stands. Three men are clustered near the stadium steps, crowding around a female figure as they successfully gag her with what might be a kneehigh sock. One tightly grips Meg’s arm, her face pale and tear-streaked, her sports uniform twisted and torn. She’s put up one hell of a fight, but it wasn’t enough. Her other hand is clenched around her phone, which one of the men snatches away with a growl.
“Bit too late for that, don’t you think?” He tosses the phone to the ground and stamps on it, shattering the screen. The other two laugh menacingly, dragging Meg away by her arm and hair. The other hangs back, placing a quick call in which he calls his mission a success, before following through another exit.
Hux and I wait for the quiet to settle before ducking out onto the pitch, keeping close to the stands as our feet move swiftly. Garrett and Axel are right behind, our heated breaths creating clouds of pale smoke in the air. I manage to catch the far door just before it slams closed, a jolt of pain crunching along my fingers that I ignore for now.
The moment we step inside, the coppery tang of blood hits me. It’s faint but unmistakable, mingling with the sterile scent of fresh paint and old wood. My stomach drops. Red streaks skid across the polished floor, scuffed with a struggle. They’ve hurt her.
A labyrinth of cold concrete hallways stretches ahead, each turn blindly leading us into a stilted darkness. The faint sound of Meg’s muffled cries bounces off the walls, haunting and disorienting like a cruel game of hide-and-seek.
Huxley stays close to my side, his eyes sharp and scanning, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. Garrett and Axel trail behind us, their hushed footsteps falling in sync with ours. No one speaks. The weight of the silence presses down on us, heavier with every hallway we pass, the sound of Meg’s cries growing faint and then vanishing altogether.
Slowly, the reddened scuffs on the floor become a singular line, and I can almost pinpoint where Meg has passed out, forcing her to be dragged the rest of the way. The coppery scent increases, leading us to a metal door labeledLocker Room A.My heart thunders in my ears as I share a small nod with Hux, reaching out for the door handle.
Suddenly, a door to our left bursts open, slamming against the wall with a thunderous crack. Four men step out of the next locker room,their necks branded with thick, black numbers. Prison tattoos. One carries a crowbar, its metal glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights behind them. Grins are plastered across their scarred faces. They knew we were here.
“Looks like we’ve got company,” Crowbar sneers, his voice rough and guttural. His gaze rakes over us, landing on Garrett when he steps in front of Axel. “Back down, kid. We’ve got what we came for.”
“Where have you taken her?” Garrett’s tone is dangerous, his fists already clenched. I’m glad he can pretend we’re not hugely out of our depth, because the tremble to my sore fingers wouldn’t have managed it. The man with the crowbar chuckles, tapping the weapon against his palm.
“Too late. She’s ours now. But you can join her if you’re feeling brave.”
I don’t know if Garrett is still riding the high of being Axel’s protector or if he felt the need to prove a point. But something causes him to lunge first, his fist colliding with the man’s jaw in a loud crunch. The crowbar is dropped, skidding away as Garrett is half dragged into the room, their bodies grappling for control. The distinctive slam of bodies hitting metal sounds as Axel kneels to pick the crowbar up, feeling the weight in his hands. When he blinks up at the man slamming Garrett into the lockers again, there’s a deadly determination to his hazel eyes.
I barely have time to react as another guy charges me. He’s massive, his shoulders wide enough to block out the light. I duck under his first swing, his meaty fist whistling past my ear. Using his momentum, I drive my shoulder into his ribs, but it’s like hitting a brick wall. He snarls, grabbing the back of my jacket and carrying me into the locker room, effectively cornering us inside before tossing me into a nearby bench.
Pain blooms in my side as the wood splinters beneath me. He advances on me before I’ve got to my feet. A heavy boot slams into my gut, robbing my lungs of air. Around the tears springing to my eyes, I see him turn towards Axel.
“Wait-” I fumble with his ankle, feebly trying to cling onto his trousers. I can’t be sure my hand even closes into a fist, the pain splintering through my fingers and across my torso stealing all of my focus, but it’s enough to garner his attention. He lifts me again, pinning me up against a metal grate to level punches into my side. I grunt, throwing rogue swings that don’t connect, all the while keeping the others in my eye line.
Huxley moves like a storm, fluid and unstoppable. He dodges a knife aimed at his stomach, twisting his attacker’s wrist with brutal precision until the blade clatters to the floor. Without missing a beat, he delivers a sharp elbow to the man’s temple, sending him crumpling to the ground. Behind him, Axel approaches the man struggling with Garrett, and with a wince, lifts the crowbar high into the air. It comes down with a sickening sound I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.
Metal meeting flesh, dull, wet, and final. The goon crumples to the floor with a thud, his body limp and unmoving, his head split and oozing around the crowbar still embedded in his skull. Axel’s hazel eyes widen, his breath hitching in sharp, shallow gasps. Blood splatters his face, masking the horror that blossoms underneath.
“Fuck. Holy fuck,” Axel’s voice is twinged with disbelief as he stares at his own hands, as if they’re foreign to him now. His chest heaves, and for a moment, it’s as though the world has frozen around him. This isn’t what we signed up for. We’re not killers; we’re basketball players for fuck’s sake.
The moment shatters when the man holding me up releases my jacket and roars in rage, his boot crashing into Axel’s side and sending him sprawling to the floor. “Axel!” Garrett shouts in protest, surging forward, but he’s intercepted by Huxley’s assailant, who drives a fist into his stomach and forces him to double over.
Huxley’s voice cuts through the chaos as he scrambles toward his friend, but the two goons left are on a warpath, not letting either him or Garrett close to a gasping Axel on the ground. A trembling hand hovers over his left ribs, not daring to touch himself through his hoodie. Fuck, his ribs. I army crawl across the tiled floor, outstretching my own hand. A heavy boot quickly stamps on my fingers, crushing them beneath the sole and twisting. I scream, the pop of bones reverberating through my entire arm.
Axel is hauled up by his shirt, delivering a brutal punch to his face. The impact sends him crashing into the lockers, his head bouncing off the unforgiving metal, and his body drops right in front of me. Withinreaching distance, but I don’t dare try to touch him again. It’ll bring too much attention to both of us. Instead, we stare into each other’s eyes, Axel’s becoming more distant by the second. Blood trickles from his nose and the corner of his mouth, pooling beneath his face. His eyes flutter shut, and an eerie stillness settles over him.
“Enough,” a thick voice booms. Whoever has entered has enough authority to halt the goons in their revenge. “Leave them. It’s time to go.”
The assailants retreat as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving devastation in their wake. Garrett stumbles free of his attacker and collapses to his knees beside Axel. His hands shake as he reaches out, gently cradling Axel’s face. “Axel!” Garrett chokes, his voice breaking. Tears spill freely down his cheeks, landing on Axel’s bloodied shirt. “Come on, wake up. Please, just...just wake up.”
The room is eerily quiet now, the only sound being Garrett’s desperate pleas. He leans down, pressing his forehead to Axel’s, his shoulders shaking as sobs wrack his body. “You promised me,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
As I work to pull myself up into a sitting position, cradling my broken hand, Huxley kneels beside them, his expression grim as he checks Axel’s pulse. A flicker of relief crosses his face, but it’s fleeting. “He’s alive,” he murmurs. “But we need to get him out of here.” Garrett nods wordlessly, his grip on Axel tightening as if letting go would make him slip away for good. I wobble, attempting to stand and failing twice. The third time, Huxley’s there to hoist me up with his shoulder.
It provides little comfort. My sense of gravity was unbalanced, and my body was protesting against every tiny moment. But none of that matters. We failed. Meg is gone, and Axel is hurt. Our spirits are beaten, and we’ve lost more than we’ve gained. I wanted to be the man Avery could rely on when she’s not here to fight her own battles. I wanted to be her hero.
Chapter Nine
The drive back to town somehow seems longer than the walk. I’m twisted towards the passenger window, watching the forest pass. It’s surreal that only this morning we were waking up for another day of trekking. Now we’re back to reality, and I can take a moment’s pause to realise what actually happened between these tree trunks. Avery and I bonded. Solidified something that’s been disjointed between us for years. At least it was good while it lasted.
Since hoisting Huxley’s SUV onto the back of his truck, Jimmy the mechanic has been harassed by Baxter constantly trying to sit on his lap whilst driving. Jimmy doesn’t seem to mind, chuckling and stroking Baxter’s head with one hand, the other lazily tossed over the wheel. He seems like he’s a decent man, about middle-aged, wife, and kids. He wears a white wife-beater despite the winter and has faded tattoos trailing his arms.
