Morgan looks up at him, gawking back slightly as he takes in his form, likely just realising the people that helped him look terrifying. “N-No. No, there was just so much going on. They were wearing masks.”
I’ve never heard of anyone mentioning Omnia doing anything like that. When my gaze travels to Dawson, he gives me a subtle nod.
He’s clearly familiar with the fact from the videos he’s seen.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he recognised Barry, but right now, I don’t want to cause any hysteria. And with the way his head probably feels, the last thing he needs is an unveiling I’ve already had the hardship of knowing.
The wooden grandfather clock chimes on the fireplace, and I glance to see it’s five pm; the daylight is already beginning to fade, and we won’t make it back for hours yet. I have anotherfucking decision to make, I don’t know how I’m going to break this to my mom, or how long I can hold it off before I do.
“Indie, would you mind giving me a hand to the kitchen? I need some water,” Morgan asks, saving me again from another spiral.
Dawson shifts to help, but I wave him off. With the way he looked at him earlier, I could bet he wouldn’t be able to hold the glass steady under his heated glare.
“Sure, let me help you up.” I reach my arm out for him, and he takes it, still a little unsteady on his feet. After a couple seconds letting the dizziness settle, we slowly head towards the kitchen.
Dawson calls behind me, “The guys are clearing out. I’ll try calling Rex again.”
I give him a thumbs-up over my shoulder, turning the corner and heading through into the dimmed kitchen as I help Morgan onto a bar stool.
I walk over to flick the light switch on, but nothing happens. My finger keeps flicking it up and down, and then I notice the smashed bulb across the countertop.
Fuck’s sake.
“Lights are out. I’ll try to get someone round to fix it,” I say to Morgan, reaching up to the cupboard to grab a glass. It’s not high on my priority list, and not as if Mom will need it right now, but I’m trying to keep a normal vibe around him for now.
He looks pretty shaken up; the shock is probably still taking over his system, hence why he hasn’t asked why I’m running around with people who have guns and bulletproof vests.
It will be my luck that wears off when Mom wakes up, and the migraine of thinking about handling that duo situation starts to prick at the back of my skull. “Do you need a painkiller?” I ask, tugging the packet out and closing the door, taking two for myself. My brows bunch when I notice he’s not in the seat.
Shit, did I not hear him fall over?
Just as I drop the glass and packet on the counter, something hard presses into the base of my spine. “You’re gonna be real fucking quiet, and I’ll tell you why it’s in your best interest.”
My hands fist at my sides, nails digging in painfully sharp at the voice.
At another fuckingtraitor.
“We have this house surrounded; all it takes is for me to give the signal, and each one of the bodies with you will be returned in pieces.”
“Fu—”
The barrel presses in harder, a sharp pain digging into my flesh. Morgan adds pressure with every word he quietly spits. “You’re going to come with me. If you don’t, we’ll have men swarming your hideout within the hour. Seeing as you didn’t bring Regina, we’ll make sure to have some fun with her before leaving.”
Over my dead body, you sick son of a bitch.
I pivot around, sending his armed hand out to the side as it runs over my bicep, the kitchen lighting up with the bullet he shot. My fist slams into his face whilst the other hand snatches the gun from him, aiming it at him.
The minute the pad of my finger graces the trigger, chaos erupts.
Red streaks of light beam from the backyard, laser sights slicing through the dark at multiple angles as the Omnia’s men line the entire boundary of mom’s house, weapons raised and ready to shoot on command.
Shouts and curses boom from the hallway, doors crack and smack off the plaster, the pictures along my mom’s walls shuddering and clattering to the ground as struggles break out.
Dawson roars my name, panic laced in his calls until it’s cut off, the familiar sound of a punch to the gut having my name folded in with a groan.
I stare down at Morgan, gripping the counter with the evilest fucking smile dipped in the shadow of red. “Decisions always have consequences, Indie.”
The back door bursts open, and I whip round to send two bullets into the intruder—that is, until a laser points in my eye, temporarily blinding me as I’m smacked over the back of the head with the glass I took out, the impact dropping me to my knees.
