Morgan tugs the gun from my hand, palming me as he takes the other from waistband, sending his foot barrelling into the side of my head.
My hands smack off the ground, and I fight the dizziness as nausea swarms from my stomach.
I drop my voice to a whisper, opening my blurry eyes to the crimson-dipped room. “You’re going to fucking regret this.”
Morgan presses his foot into my back, snapping my arms as they give out behind my back as he places something around my wrist. It’s heavy, cold, and too tight on my skin as it bites into my flesh. My shoulders draw back as my hands are inevitably handcuffed behind my back.
He grips my arm, yanking me to unsteady feet to face him. I force down a swallow. It’s like the mask has been snatched from him.
Evil seeps from every pore, his eyes look dead inside, and his real smile sends shivers running down my spine.
“Barry said you’d been taught a foul mouth. Didn’t mention the bad behaviours too. That kind of shit won’t serve you well where you’re going.”
I’m yanked forward and dragged through the dining room, Kyle kneeling beside my unconscious mom, hands behind his head as three men aim their guns at both of them.
I try to pry myself out of Morgan’s grip, but steel blinks before my eyes and whips me across the face. My knees buckle to theground with the impact, and I gasp as I fight with the burst of blurring vision, spitting blood onto the floor.
“Get up,” he barks, dragging me into the corridor. My unfocused gaze clashes with Dawson’s; the look on his face is of utter devastation.
His hands fist in front of him, so hard the skin around the cuffs turns white, bleeding into the reds of his fingers as he fights to contain himself.
The whole ground floor is surrounded, the lasers seeping through every window, and when I glance out to the open front door, Saint’s people are on their fronts, hands on their heads as Omnia’s guards pollute the entire lawn.
Two of them for every one of us, not accounting for the ones hidden in the woods.
We’d never be able to get out of this alive.
Morgan shakes me. “Not going to say goodbye to your friends?”
My lip curls up as I turn to glare at him. How the hell did he ever pull off acting like the nicest guy in the world; he literally acted like a gust of wind would make him piss his pants.
I guess an acting career is one of the core values of the Omnia.
“I don’t need to,” I murmur, tearing my gaze from him and fixing it on the ceiling.
His hand digs into my pockets, rummaging until he grabs my phone, and my heartbeats ease when that’s all he looks for.
But when my phone clatters off the hardwood floor, the glass cracking under his heels as it smashes into the screen, crunching it until the picture of Saint and I turns into violent red and black lines, he may as well have done that to my soul.
All my favourite pictures were on that device.
“How about now? Seeing as you won’t have access to either one of your guard dogs.”
I scoff, but Dawson tries to interject, the buttstock of someone’s gun ramming into the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.
These motherfuckers.
I might have to kill him first, and each day that passes my list seems to grow bigger, but it won’t be this precise moment.
I’m dragged through the doorway of the house, my boots crunching in the snow as I’m led to a blacked-out van pulled up the opposite end of the street.
My gaze travels to all the masked faces on every single one of the men who work for Omnia, and it does nothing but make me huff a pathetic laugh at them.
That is, until the hiss of air sounds behind me, one of them crouched down, stabbing a knife into all four of our Ultio’s SUV tyres.
20
Saint
