Page 31 of Lost King

Squatting, Liam bends over to inspect the motor parts we've assembled, and I pivot around heading to his truck parked outside, and grab the parts box from beside the fender wheel. Turning the box over in my hand, I inspect it making sure he has the right gasket for the bike, which is why I don't notice anything is wrong when I step back inside the shed—until it's too fuckin' late.

"Stop right there motherfucker."

Stopping mid-stride, I raise my eyes finding Liam standing stock still with the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. The filthy fucker holding him? None other than Twiggy.

"You done fucked up," I inform him.

He laughs. Signs he's high as fuck on something evident by his dilated pupils and sweat beading on his forehead. His trigger finger twitches. Fuck. "Throw the piece I know you're carrying to the floor before I blow this kid's brains out."

My eyes shift to Liam's. So far, he's staying calm, which is good. This guy is already unpredictable. With him doped up on something, it makes him more so. The slightest movement from Liam could cause the guy to react without thought. Tossing the box I'm holding to the ground, I slowly raise my hands. With my right hand I reach into the left side of my cut and pull my pistol from its holster. Keeping my eyes on him the entire time.

"Don't fuck with me. Toss it. Now," he seethes. I do as he says tossing it to the floor, then use my foot to kick it, causing it to skid across the floor midway between us. I keep my hands up.

"The kid has nothin' to do with this. Let him go," I keep the tone of my voice even and chill. His chin lifts, "your life for his. That's the deal. That's the only way he gets to live another day."

There's no hesitation in my response, "deal."

The prick whistles. Shit. I hear boots crunch the loose gravel behind me. I know it's coming yet I keep my eyes trained on Liam. His face finally showing a hint of emotion. His eyes pleading with me to do something; anything but sacrificing my own life for his. I receive a sharp blow to the back of my head. I don't fight it. A boot to my knee sends me to the floor before the two fuckers haul me up, each holding my arms at my side.

My patience is runnin' thin. "I'm not resisting asshole. Now let the kid go," I demand.

"Tie him up," he orders, which they do by placing my hands behind my back. Several zip ties dig into my flesh. "On the floor. Face down," he orders, and I comply. He's smarter than I gave him credit for. He's made it much harder for me to try anything in this position. The other assholes snatch Liam and Twiggy strides over and kneels near my face and places the barrel of his gun against the back of my head. The others put a gag over Liam's mouth. He struggles against it earning a quick blow to the ribs.

I clench my teeth as I watch them land blow after blow to the kids face and body. "You motherfucker, you gave your word you would let him live. My life for his."

Leaning down, he brings his mouth close to my face. The vile stench of his breath making me want to gag. "I said he would live. I didn't say he would live unscathed."

With every blow, I cringe. Lifting a cheetah pipe off the workbench beside him, one guy raises it above his head and swings, bringing the steel down—hard, breaking Liam's arm, leaving it to dangle in an unnatural position.

Suddenly I feel a prick to the inside of my left arm. This asshole did not just stick me with a needle. My body jerks and immediately I try to roll away. Other than the occasional joint I've smoke through the years I've never touched any other drug in my life.

His laughter grates at my ears like nails scraping a chalkboard. "Only the best for you my friend," he and one of the other guys sit me on my ass. I zone in on Liam's beaten body lying motionless on the garage floor. Blood covering his face. The gag still in his mouth. Passed out but still breathing.

"You'll start feeling it in a second. You'll feel yourself levitate. It's fuckin' great," Twiggy tells me.

I fight it. I don't know what he injected me with, but my vision starts to blur around the edges. I shake my head trying to clear my head. I'm finding it hard to keep any train of thought or even hold my head up. My whole body feels heavy. Like gravity pulling me into the ground trying to swallow me. The last clear-minded thought I have before completely being pulled under by the drug coursing through my veins is of Emerson.

Chapter Sixteen

Emerson

Bracing my hands on the side of the bathroom stall at work, I stand on wobbly legs, wipe my mouth with the tissue in my hand and flush the toilet. Two days ago morning sickness hit me like a battering ram. And the throwing up is not just in the morning; it's all damn day. I wake up feeling like I have a hangover and the only difference is there was no alcohol or good time the night before to make up for feeling like shit the next day. When I step out of the stall, I'm startled when I see Christy standing by the sink with a worried look on her face. I didn't hear anyone come in, though I wouldn't have over the sound of my retching.

"Emerson are you okay? That sounded pretty bad in there."

Waving my hand, I amble over to the counter where I tossed my purse in haste a few minutes ago. "Yeah, I'm fine," I insist while unzipping my purse in search of the toothbrush and toothpaste I now keep in there.

"Are you sure? How long have you been sick? Have you seen someone about it? I know how you doctors are always taking care of others, but stubborn as hell when it comes to taking care of yourself," Christy huffs crossing her arms over her chest.

I know by her stance she's not going to let me off the hook. Christy is the most obstinate person I know. Working with children and teenagers all day every day makes her that way. Hell, I've seen Christy make some of the most arrogant, pigheaded doctors around here bend to her will a time or two when it comes to the kids she cares for, so I'd expect nothing different for someone she considers a friend. I wouldn't put it past her to drag me out of this bathroom kicking and screaming insistent I see a doctor.

Once I've rinsed my mouth and splash water on my face making myself feel somewhat human again, I chance a glance at Christy. Yup, still standing there with her arms crossed and head cocked waiting for my answer. Sighing, I turn and lean my butt against the counter. "I don't need to see anyone. It's just morning sickness," I confess.

The 'mom' look she had moments ago is replaced with one of shock followed by a full-fledged smile. "You and Quinn are going to have a baby?" she asks, and I nod.

"This is wonderful news. Congratulations," she beams. "I have to say I'm shocked I haven't heard about this sooner. You know with Quinn's big mouth and all," Christy giggles. "I mean shouldn't he be on some rooftop pounding his chest and announcing it to the world," she says with amusement. I throw my head back and laugh because she hit Quinn's mark with that one.

"No rooftop declaration of fatherhood yet, but he did waltz into the clubhouse earlier today and make an announcement to everyone there, and it did include the mention of his super sperm."