“Fuck,” I hiss when my eyelashes stretch and pull against each other, most likely because of blood having dried on them.
I can’t see clearly, and have to force my lids to stay open when a wave of dizziness washes over me. I feel sleepy, disconnected from my surroundings, but I try to focus on every little thing I can. It’s so goddamn hard since my ears are buzzing and my head is heavy, but still, I try.
“Get her up, Chris,” says an unfamiliar, commanding voice.
My heart races up to my throat as I push my body forward in a feeble attempt at dragging myself away from the crowd I feel circling me. But I’ve barely lifted my chest off the ground when a pair of rough hands grab my arm, all but hauling me up to my feet.
A broken scream rips through me as my muscles throb in pain. I sway a little when my head swims, but the man –Chris, apparently – stabilizes me before I can fall.
“Let…” I swallow the chalky dryness in my mouth when my words fail me. “Let me…go,” I whisper, I think. Or maybe I say it out loud. I honestly can’t tell the difference right now.
Chris ignores me as he proceeds to bring my hands behind my back, crosses one of my wrists over the other, then wraps a cable tie around them.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” I grit out as I try yanking my hands out of his hold. “Fucking stop!”
The harsh plastic bites into my skin as he clips it – completely undeterred by my protests.
“I’d suggest that you keep your mouth shut and let my guard do what he’s been told to do, Cignette,” says that same voice from a moment ago. “After all, you and I both know that your defiance is inconsequential to us.”
My nostrils flare as I look forward, and meet a set of eyes that are the exact same shade of blue as Timothy’s were. His red hair, peppered with prominent greys, is slicked back, whereas his white suit is held snug against his tall, lanky frame, which is balanced by the cane he’s holding in his right hand.
Fredrick Byron, flanked by over a dozen or so guards wearing grey suits, stares down at me with pure hatred marring his gruff features. Each of said guards is armed with a sleek AR-15, and as I twist my head to glance behind me, I notice six more of them, dressed in black, with their faces concealed behind masks. They’re all holding shotguns, and when I scoff at them, one of the guards raises his arms and points the tip of the shotgun’s barrel at my forehead.Typical.
With a laugh, I face Fredrick again. “You work fast,” I muse.
“You killed my son, youcunt,” he sneers. “Did you really think I’d sit back and let you get away with it?”
“I was hoping you’d thank me for it, actually,” I retort, then shake my head a little when my vision turns fuzzy.
Fredrick’s lips quirk up in a smirk as he watches me. “And why the fuck did you think I’d do that?”
I sniff. “Because you thought Timothy was more of a burden to you than an asset.”
He pauses for a beat, seeming disoriented, then swiftly regains himself. “He was myheir,” he states. “My flesh and blood; my–”
“God, I really didn’t take you for a whiner,” I cut him off, then stretch my neck when I feel some tension there. “Now I know where your son’s lack of self-control over speech came from.”
Behind me, Chris stiffens, which makes me want to roll my eyes.
Fredrick grinds his teeth as he glares at me, and then, before I can so much as blink, he raises his left hand and slaps me across the face.
I gasp as the breath is knocked out of me, both because of the suddenness of the assault, and the force used behind it. And, since he hit me on the same side as the wound on my head, the pain that rings through that area is indescribable. So much so that I feel a stubborn weight on my chest, right before my body bends over and I empty the contents of my stomach on his black Brogues.
Chunks of my vomit splatter over the grass, and as I retch a second time, Fredrick stumbles away from me, only to fall against one of his guards.
“Sir–”
“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, then straightens and glances at his shoes before letting out a groan. “Go find me some water,” he orders the guard. “Right now.”
The guard all but runs off to do his boss’s bidding, just as a man I’ve never seen before rounds the corner and makes his way to Fredrick. He’s short, portly, and has a head that shines like a toddler’s ass on a sunny morning.
His expression scrunches up when he reaches Fredrick. Placing a finger under his nose, he looks around, then mumbles a curse when he sees my vomit staining Fredrick’s shoes.
“The bodies have been dispatched,” he announces, turning his gaze to me.
My stomach flips when I notice him staring blatantly at my chest, right before dragging his eyes lower to the exposed skin of my thigh. His grin is gradual, just like his perusal, but when Fredrick clears his throat, he all but jolts out of his trance.
“Has our driver taken off, then, Heyman?” says Fredrick.
